It was a Summer in the Snow party, one of those backyard bashes people throw for the Fourth, but in February. Hot dogs, fireworks, the whole shebang. Inevitably some poor fella would slip on barbeque sauce and fall backwards into the Jacuzzi. So I broke out my favorite French roast, and when it brewed, I passed the pot around. His frown reversed. The winter blues brightened. I had everyone crack a dark bean and inhale that smoky bold body, then take a sip of it in liquid form. Now that's what I call a lesson in “deliciousity.” |
