The not-so-perfect breve.

January 2017   -   Revised 2021

"Expectation is the root of all heartbreak."
- William Shakespeare

Sometimes their best is just less than you expected. 

Weeks before my trip, I had planned my perfect cup of coffee. A breve so good, so creamy–my taste buds would cheer and beg for more.

The smallest, sweetest bean stop in Crested Butte, Colo. is Camp 4 Coffee. Inspired by glimpses of lattes and sweet treats seen on my socials, my mouth agape, drooling over and dreaming of my next trip to the little ski town. I was was a woman on a mission: to taste the perfect breve. My hopes were high, and I was ready. 

Leaving my small town of Ada, Okla. and bad coffee behind (prior to Arbuckle Craft Coffee's existence,) on the morning of January 2nd alongside my best friend, Hallie and her family. Imagining the warmth and thick creamy coffee throughout our flight, I could see familiar shapes of rosettas and tulips in the clouds suspending me.. almost able to taste the delicious roast on my lips...and then again, on the drive from the airport to the cabin. 

Although the perfect breve was priority number one, we also planned to spend our week in Colorado snowboarding, seeking adventure, and enriching our tastebuds–unwinding from our busy lives. Having a dire inspiration with the snow and the trees looking like… well, like a photograph, I brought my camera along.

Upon Arrival...

and chilled to the bone from the Colorado cold, I was elated to warm myself with this much-raved, highly anticipated...mouth, coffee. I was finally going to enjoy the perfect breve. The coffee connoisseur within me, itching in anticipation. 

Then came the purge.

The grind...the tamp...the pull...the steam. 

A warm smile approached me at the bar, and from it an "enjoy," fell out. Fingertips touching as I grabbed the coffee; the electricity having nothing to do with the touch, and everything to do with the lust built from months of romanticizing this moment.  

Not only did the espresso taste like charred tree bark.. I could not wait a whole 5-10 minutes to enjoy my first sip; resulting in a gnarly burn on my tongue. This was not my only encounter with disappointment on this trip. I had the pleasure of revisiting an earlier snowboarding injury when I was plowed into the side of the mountain by a man on skis. (Typical.)

Perhaps Shakespeare was right, and expectation is the root of all heartache.  

Now, I could be heartbroken over the little breve that couldn’t. I could be disgruntled over my lack of photographic opportunity... or the panic attack I had on the mountain side. Though truly, I cannot complain. While the redolence of charred bark lingered, the burn on my tongue lingering a few days...memories were made and friendship strengthened (editing this four years later, and Hallie is still a dependable friend.) On our last morning–breakfast was served–and eagerly devoured, a sunrise blend enjoyed, and adventures had been taken.

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