The summer I went to university, a family friend in San Francisco gave me a single-cup, pour-over coffee cone and a pack of Arabian Mocha Java from Peet's Coffee. "This will change your life," she said. She wasn't wrong. I made my morning Joe with that cone for almost three decades (except for a regrettable fling with an Aeropress) before upgrading to a porcelain cone made in Japan. It's my first ritual of the day: grinding the beans, letting the grounds bloom, perfecting the brew, taking the first sip.
The second ritual is its inverse: the first drink of the evening. For years, it was a gin n' tonic, but half a decade of sober curiosity has eliminated the Mother's Ruin. Today, I take the tonic on its own, three chunks of ice and a dash of bitters for the hell of it. The concoction is irrelevant. It's the ritual that matters and the liminality — the crossing of the imperceptible threshold from day to night once the kids are asleep. It's a celebration, too — one that doesn't deliver pain the following morning.
My third ritual also occurs in the kitchen, though it's less bound by time than the other two. In 2012, my wife and I drove along the Pacific Coast Highway between San Francisco and Vancouver. We spent a couple of nights on Orcas Island, in Washington state, at a B&B run by an elderly couple who made granola for their guests. I fell in love with it. When we returned to London, I found a recipe that matched theirs and have been making it ever since. It's my go-to whenever I feel the urge to shut my laptop, switch hemispheres and use my hands; whenever I want to fill the home with the scent of cinnamon and maple syrup; whenever I want to bring back the sense memory of traveling to distant shores with the one I love.
We love our cryptic crosswords with both tea (my wife) and coffee (me) on a Saturday. It’s our connection ritual. And a victory for Katherine because she’s French and can do something (the cryptic crossword) most English people struggle with. We’ve learned together and it’s our happy place.
PS you might enjoy Robert McFarlane’s masterful books on place and places
I love this, Nick. My dad does the Guardian cryptic crossword every day, and I am always in awe of how deftly he pulls the solutions out of those dastardly clues. Love that you two do it together, to connect. And tres fantastique for Katherine!
Love this! Our all Issue 2 of the mag delves into nostalgia and why we do the way we do them, such an interesting topic of habits, and rituals.
I actually took a bit of me from every place I lived in (incl tea from the UK, Swedes are same as Danes haha). My thing in winter is that I always drank tea to my dinner back home, and I still keep doing it now haha!
The summer I went to university, a family friend in San Francisco gave me a single-cup, pour-over coffee cone and a pack of Arabian Mocha Java from Peet's Coffee. "This will change your life," she said. She wasn't wrong. I made my morning Joe with that cone for almost three decades (except for a regrettable fling with an Aeropress) before upgrading to a porcelain cone made in Japan. It's my first ritual of the day: grinding the beans, letting the grounds bloom, perfecting the brew, taking the first sip.
The second ritual is its inverse: the first drink of the evening. For years, it was a gin n' tonic, but half a decade of sober curiosity has eliminated the Mother's Ruin. Today, I take the tonic on its own, three chunks of ice and a dash of bitters for the hell of it. The concoction is irrelevant. It's the ritual that matters and the liminality — the crossing of the imperceptible threshold from day to night once the kids are asleep. It's a celebration, too — one that doesn't deliver pain the following morning.
My third ritual also occurs in the kitchen, though it's less bound by time than the other two. In 2012, my wife and I drove along the Pacific Coast Highway between San Francisco and Vancouver. We spent a couple of nights on Orcas Island, in Washington state, at a B&B run by an elderly couple who made granola for their guests. I fell in love with it. When we returned to London, I found a recipe that matched theirs and have been making it ever since. It's my go-to whenever I feel the urge to shut my laptop, switch hemispheres and use my hands; whenever I want to fill the home with the scent of cinnamon and maple syrup; whenever I want to bring back the sense memory of traveling to distant shores with the one I love.
❤️
We love our cryptic crosswords with both tea (my wife) and coffee (me) on a Saturday. It’s our connection ritual. And a victory for Katherine because she’s French and can do something (the cryptic crossword) most English people struggle with. We’ve learned together and it’s our happy place.
PS you might enjoy Robert McFarlane’s masterful books on place and places
I love this, Nick. My dad does the Guardian cryptic crossword every day, and I am always in awe of how deftly he pulls the solutions out of those dastardly clues. Love that you two do it together, to connect. And tres fantastique for Katherine!
Love this! Our all Issue 2 of the mag delves into nostalgia and why we do the way we do them, such an interesting topic of habits, and rituals.
I actually took a bit of me from every place I lived in (incl tea from the UK, Swedes are same as Danes haha). My thing in winter is that I always drank tea to my dinner back home, and I still keep doing it now haha!
Ahhhh I love this, Auste! And reminds me that I need to get my hands on a copy of your amazing magazine 👀✨