"How would you like that served sir, how many sugars"? The waiter asked and paused, waiting for a reply. I paused and looked at him and did not let my frustrations show; “ no sugar please” I answered and the waiter moved on. How should a double espresso be served I thought, is there any other way of serving a double espresso? At that moment I had a premonition which became true as the events unfolded, the waiter brought my espresso in a big coffee cup.
There is a tiny café in Marrakesh that serves the best espresso ever. It was in the early hours of the morning and keen to get some sun and wear my plaid Tommy Hilfiger shorts I had bought the day before I headed for the streets of Marrakesh. Before long I had found a perfect spot at the corner of the café with a wide view of the walking traffic outside. A peculiar hobby I picked up on sometime, I reckoned if bird watching can be a sport then people watching must have superior intended benefits. I opened my vanity fair and picked on a story I had slept on the night before.
The café had the attended displays and decorations of all Moroccan splendour with a heavy savory aroma of roasted coffee beans. I knew I was in the right place. Music was playing in the background, almost drowned in the hollowness of the wooden floors but enough to have a distinct rhythm and rhyme. Like wolves howling, tearing apart the stillness of the night, the sound system clearly playing a record vinyl crackled and howled reggae dub beat. The slow rhythmic thud and echo of every sentence heard was enough to have my heart pounce in a tizzy and in absentia nod my head in unison to the hypnotic, slurred melody. I made note of the song it was Outkast classic SpottieOttieDopalicious and momentarily stopped reading as I became engulfed in the moment.
My double espresso came, in the right little espresso mug, the handle hole not even big enough to fit my index finger. With my espresso came a complementary dark chocolate tab. I put down my magazine, sipped the very hot liquid and made a bite of my chocolate. The sound knocking on my eardrums I remained engrossed in this meandering and teasing delirium.
It was not just me in selfish delight, fellow patrons in conversations or reading the daily newspaper like regulars were and in adulation of the establishment. I noticed two rascals with their mother feverishly poking her and demanding something, like marijuana junkies impatient for a spiff. The mother seems to abide and offers the rascals their due and in turn the kids were smugly content. I became curious and asked the waiter if I too could have my due. Soon enough I was chewing on these succulent caramel palm dates with my second espresso and soon enough was namby pamby.
After a while I paid my dues and thought of the day ahead. It was the best way to spend the morning and vitalise before a photo shoot in Marrakesh.
But today, far from Marrakesh I got served an espresso only in name. What I expected came to naught and instead of vitality I got agitated, ruining the rest of my day. Oh well at least I had my ipod in hand. I drew a money note from my money clip and nicely placed it on the table. Picked up my novel, stood up gently placing my ear phones in the right ear and my finger tapped play. Outkast was my only redemption.