Thursday was National Coffee Day. What kind of coffee blogger trying to make a name for himself doesn't post on National Coffee Day? A Jewish one. Or at least, a half-Jewish one looking for a good excuse.
And since being half and half (something I never pollute my cuppa with, by the way) demands double family holiday obligations, I stuffed my Kipling duffel bag, pre-ground enough fresh roast to last the weekend and did what any good New York [semi]te does for Rosh Hashannah weekend: I headed for the Hamptons and indulged in glatt gluttony to sponge the very non-kosher Ruffino chianti from my stomach.
That—and my firm belief that to a true java junkie such as myself, every day is National Coffee Day. I'll let my declared Facebook religion attest to that (I'll give you a hint: it starts with "c" and has nothing to do with a guy nailed to a cross). So while I won't knock it, and say carpe diem to the marketing departments of my favorite roasteries with the mosteries, the mainstream declaration of yet another sales-driven fauxliday is pretty pointless to me at a personal level.
But after an extended stay at this summerland my family has stationed itself at for four generations, I'm ready to elaborate on the "sand" part of the blog, of which this 60-some odd year family tradition combined with a California upbringing are responsible for. Stay tuned for an end-of-summer review of East End java joints from the lunatic who refused to stand like a shmuck in hour-long lines and settle for mediocre corporate cuppas all summer at the convenient FourBucks, even if it meant driving another 10 miles for a quality local fair-trade product.
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