Black Coffee and Nachos (11/19/2019)
Black coffee.
Nachos.
When I was younger, my mom would take my sister and me to get our haircuts at a little place in Spring, Texas. It was one of my fondest memories growing up - a simple haircut. We would easily spend 2-3 hours as each of us took our turn in the chair. I remember listening to the women talking. Laughing. It was great that my sister JoAnna and I had the opportunity to observe women and how they interact with one another.
Gayle, the hairdresser, would take us to the washing station and wash our hair. I don’t remember ever having a haircut where they used just a spray bottle to wet my hair. (Sorry Denton girls that you had so many haircuts with the spray bottle!) The feeling of warm water. Fingernails scrubbing my scalp. The smells of the shampoo and conditioner, mixed in with the chemicals of hair dye and the ever-present smell of someone getting a perm (it was the 80s after all). When I reached middle school age, I was secretly horrified that Gayle would still ask me to sit in a little booster chair because I was SHORT! Once my mom figured it out, she let Gayle know. I wasn’t embarrassed about my secret being out, but rather relieved that my mom solved the problem.
My mom always had a cup of coffee with her. When it cooled off and she was nearing the end, she would let me drink some of it. Black coffee. I felt like she was allowing me a glimpse into the secret club… the “those who drink black coffee” club.
With our hair washed, cut, dried and styled, we would leave. The three East ladies. More times than not, mom would stop at Del Taco and we would get nachos. Del Taco no longer exists where we live, but I still get the Supreme Nachos every single time we stop at Taco Bell.
I am all about favorite things. And if you spend any amount of time with me, you will discover that I am wildly obsessed with black coffee and nachos (all nachos - the good and the bad)! It isn’t just about the cup of coffee or the container full of chips and cheese. It is really about the experience.
The experience of the black coffee. The routine of preparing a pot. The smell. The coffee mug that fits perfectly in my hand. The first drink of black coffee. Remembering my mom. My sister. How many times have I sat with coffee in my hand as I read, studied, and prepared for a Bible Study? Every Bible Study gathering included coffee. How many times have I met friends to talk about life and a cup of coffee was very much a part of those discussions? How many secrets spoken, tears shed, and laugher shared over a cup of coffee? How many more coffee dates will I have with the women here in the Dominican Republic? How many cups will be poured in our home? Will I pass my cup to my granddaughter one day in the future?
The experience of the nachos. The taste of the cheese. Sour cream. Jalapeños. A food meant for sharing. The movie theater cheese was fake and gross but shared many times between Scott and me. And those ballpark nachos when we were watching the Astros or our Jake playing in a little league game. Now when we go out to eat, Zoey and I like to try the nachos because she is my nacho eating partner. Will I share nachos with my new friends in the Dominican Republic? Will I sit at a ballpark with my grandson one day eating my chips and lukewarm cheese?
The nachos and black coffee bring back the fondest memories of my past, continue to be a part of my present, and will most definitely play a part of my future.
They are some of my favorite things for a reason. They have always included some of my favorite people. And been part of some of my favorite experiences.
Nachos.
Black coffee.