Today is National Coffee Day. I could end this post right now, but I’ll elaborate. Coffee and I have a thing going on. It’s a simpatico relationship, unmarred by addiction. I started drinking coffee as a teenager, but didn’t go through the phases of tolerance that a lot of people do, much like learning to enjoy good wine–starting with Riesling and working the way toward a nice Cabernet. I didn’t have to douse my coffee with copious amounts of cream and sugar and then start backing off. No, I started full strength, black. And that’s how I still prefer it. I will occasionally order a Cafe Latte, no sugar or special flavors, just the steamed milk. If I do branch out and order something ridiculous like a salted caramel mocha, it’s because I consider it a treat much like a dessert and I could feasibly have a black coffee on the side. Most people don’t believe me when I say I’m not addicted to the caffeine. Maybe I am, but I honestly can’t tell a physical difference when I drink it. And I’ll drink it off and on right up until bedtime some days. It doesn’t keep me awake. I don’t feel a physical need for it immediately upon waking. In fact I normally don’t have my first cup until I get to work. I have even gone entire days without having any and never experienced the headaches others complain about. Hard to believe, I know. Today I brewed some in my office (yes, I have a coffee pot on my desk) and several people commented about how wonderful it smells. Well, duh. It’s coffee. It’s wonderful in taste and smell. My love affair with coffee is based on just that. I love it. The taste, the smell, the warmth. I could live without it, but why? And today I’m thankful it has its own holiday.