The now-empty cup sits stolidly on the table, showing many hints of the enjoyment of our interaction. The surface is creamy white and shiny, like the plates your grandma used to wash by hand every night after dinner. That surface will survive forever, as long as no one drops or chips the cup.
An elliptical collection of foam, graded from full coffee brown to nearly cream white toward the bottom glistens in the indirect morning light. It looks like there was a record high tide, which receded several hours ago. Toward the highest point, where it goes all the way to the rim, there is a trail of tiny dark brown coffee grounds, those few that made it through the espresso machine. Even the best packed charge of the finely ground beans lets a little through. The miniature spoon, used to scoop out the final taste of foam, stands nearly completely within the rim of the oversize cup. It is a wonderful contrast in size, the tiny spoon, within the open volume of the nearly comically-oversized mouth of the cup. This cup has nothing to hide.
As time continues, the heavier foam slowly edges toward the bottom, bubbles occasionally bursting and throwing off tiny bursts of light in all directions. Upon first glance, I would have said that there was not enough left in the cup for gravity to affect in this way. I can see the history of my own enjoyment written, no, painted on the side of the cup. Soon, the cup will restart its cycle, being washed and dried, in preparation for the next customer. I hope that this cup happens to be the last to leave this cafe when it closes.
Ambrosia Cafe, Sacramento, California, March 22, 2010
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