论文部分内容阅读
I walk into the coffee shop and breathe in deep, savoring that familiar aroma. The smell of coffee, with a hint of 1)hazelnut, vanilla, mocha, and just a touch of 2)cinnamon. There’s only one place in the world other than a coffee shop that smells like that—Grandmother’s house.
Grandmother didn’t just like her coffee, and it wouldn’t really 3)do her justice to say she loved her coffee. Grandmother was to coffee what a 4)sommelier is to wine. She knew the 5)intricacies of coffee, the different tastes and even the textures. And only the best would do for her. No instant coffee, or coffee bought at the grocery store. She had to have fresh coffee, from a respectable coffee shop. “The morning cup of coffee sets the tone for the whole day,” she used to say.
I used to go to Grandmother’s every Sunday morning. Her routine was always the same. She would kiss me once on each cheek, hang up my coat and lead me into the kitchen, slice a piece of banana bread right out of the oven (sometimes 6)cranberry), and pour a cup of freshly 7)brewed coffee.
“Alexa,” she said to me one day. “Did you know that every person’s personality is like a flavor of coffee?”
“Really?” I said, amused at how Grandmother relished her coffee so much that she related everything to it.
“Yes,” she said. “You, my dear, are French vanilla. You are sweet, almost sickeningly so at times to the discerning coffee drinker.” I slightly 8)recoiled at Grandmother’s
assessment of me. You expect your grandmother to call you sweet, but never sickeningly sweet.
“Your father is 9)espresso,” she continued. “He comes on strong. There are many people who don’t like him, but others can’t live without that high feeling that he gives them. He has an addictive personality that many people can’t let go of.”
“Let me guess, Grandmother. You’re hazelnut.”
“Hazelnut? Why on earth would you say that?”
“Because I find your coffee talk a bit 10)nutty.”
I smiled at Grandmother, but I could tell she was not amused.
“Alexa dear, I am trying to teach you a lesson about life here. I do not need you 11)poking fun at me.”
A lesson about life? Is she kidding? “Grandmother, you can’t 12)dissect a person’s personality by comparing them to a cup of coffee. People are more complex than that. Everyone has 13)nuances,
personality 14)quirks, things that make them different. You just can’t go around saying, ‘She’s a dark roast, he’s an instant, he’s a mocha 15)almond.’”
Grandmother looked at me, almost a blank, dull stare. “Then you just don’t understand coffee,”
she snapped, clearing my plate and coffee cup from the table. “I guess not,” I sighed, exasperated at my hazelnut grandmother.
I went to Grandmother’s house many more times after that, and she always kept her same routine. It was a welcome routine, one that I enjoyed every week. Grandmother didn’t talk to me after that about the “coffee 16)catastrophe” as I called it, but eventually, she did start to make more ridiculous claims concerning her favorite drink.
“I knew your grandfather was the right man for me because we loved our coffee the same way,” she said. “Cream with just a touch of sugar.”
I rolled my eyes. “Grandmother, many people like it that way.”
“I disagree,” she said. “For most people, if they prefer cream, they like a lot of sugar, or at least a moderate amount. Those who drink it with just a touch of sugar usually put milk in it, or drink it black.”
“So what if Papa preferred his coffee black? Or with milk and 17)sweetener? Does that mean that you would have never married? That I wouldn’t be here today?”
“Oh don’t be silly,” Grandmother said. “I won’t think about your grandfather preferring his coffee any differently. I don’t know what would have become of us. But you, my dear Alexa,
belong to me. You would be here no matter what.”
The last time I saw Grandmother was a Sunday just like all the others. I sat down at the table with Grandmother and she looked at me with a very intense look in her eyes.
“Do you ever think about heaven?” she asked me.
I stared at Grandmother and stopped chewing for a moment.
“Well, do you?” she asked again.
“Umm, not really,” I said, growing increasingly uncomfortable with this line of conversation.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it lately,” Grandmother said. “I mean, I am getting to that age where I realize that I don’t have much more time here on earth. And I’ve just been thinking lately about heaven—and what’s there and what’s not. And I just hope that when it’s my time to leave this world, the next one has everything that I love here.”
“And what’s that, Grandmother?”
“Good food, good people, and good coffee.”
I smiled at Grandmother’s simplicity and love for the good things in life. And I hoped that she would find exactly what she would be looking for in the next world.
Grandmother passed away later that week. They found her sitting in her favorite 18)rocker in the living room, half a cup of freshly brewed coffee by her side. And somehow, I knew that it was a sign that everything would be all right for Grandmother.
Now, years later, I’m frequently reminded of my Grandmother. The scent of freshly baked banana bread, or the way someone will kiss me on my cheek will bring a quick flashback of her. But my memories are always most vivid when I step foot into a coffee shop, the aroma of freshly roasted beans and brewed coffee livening my senses.
“What would you like?” the person at the counter asks me.
“A medium hazelnut,” I say. “Cream with just a touch of sugar.”
我走进咖啡店，深深地吸了一口气，又闻到了那股熟悉的芳香。那股咖啡的香味，夹杂着丝丝榛子、香草、摩卡和一丁点肉桂的气息，除了咖啡店以外，在这个世界上只有一个地方弥漫着这样的气息——那就是在奶奶的家里。
奶奶不止是喜欢咖啡这么简单，说句公道话，咖啡是她的挚爱。咖啡对于奶奶而言，就如同美酒对于斟酒侍者一般重要。她对于咖啡的纷繁学问，其不同的口味，甚至其结构特征都了如指掌。而她只喝最好的咖啡，既不要速溶的，也不喜欢从杂货店买的。她一定要喝有名望的咖啡店出售的新鲜咖啡。“清晨的一杯咖啡决定了一整天的基调。”她常这么说。
以前每个星期天的早上，我都会去奶奶家，而她也总会用同样的程序来迎接我。她会在我的两边脸颊上各亲一下，挂起我的外套，然后把我带进厨房，切一片刚出炉的香蕉面包（有时候是蔓越橘口味的），并倒一杯新煮的咖啡给我。
“阿丽夏，”一天，她对我说，“你知道吗，每个人的性格就像是一种口味的咖啡。”“是吗？”我说。见到奶奶如此钟爱她的咖啡，以致于将每一件事物都与之扯上关系，觉得挺逗的。
“是的，”她说。“你，我亲爱的，是法国香草味的。你很甜美，对于那些有品味的咖啡客来说，有时甜得都有些发腻了。”听了奶奶对我的评价后，我觉得有点不爽。你当然会希望奶奶说你很甜美，但绝对不希望是甜得发腻。
“你爸爸是杯浓缩咖啡，”她接着说，“他能给人以强烈的印象。有很多人不喜欢他，但也有人离开了他带来的那种兴奋感就活不下去。他有一种让许多人无法放手的致命的吸引力。”
“让我猜猜，奶奶，那您就是榛子口味的。”
“榛子口味？你到底为什么会这么说？”
“因为我发现您的咖啡论挺狂热的。”（双关语，nutty既指带坚果口味，也指对某事狂热。）
我冲着奶奶笑了起来，不过我能看得出她并不觉得这很好笑。“亲爱的阿丽夏，我是想在这里教你一个人生的道理，而不是让你拿我开玩笑的。”
一个人生的道理？她在开玩笑吧？“奶奶，你不可以用一杯咖啡去分析一个人的性格。人要比咖啡复杂得多。每个人都有差别，性格癖好相异，方方面面各不相同。你不可能四处晃晃，然后说：‘她是杯深焙咖啡，他是杯速溶咖啡，他是杯摩卡杏仁咖啡……’”
奶奶用一种几乎是茫然而沮丧的眼神看着我。“这么说，你根本就不懂咖啡，”她厉声说，从桌上清走了我的盘子和咖啡杯。“我想是的，”我叹了口气，对我这个“榛子口味”的奶奶感到有些恼火。
在那之后，我又多次去过奶奶家，而她依然以同样的程序来迎接我。我很喜欢这套程序，每个星期都要去享受一次。在那之后，奶奶再也没有跟我谈论过我所称的“咖啡大灾难”，不过最后，就她最喜爱的饮品，她还是开始发表了更加荒谬的言论。
“我知道你爷爷就是那个最适合我的人，因为我们都喜欢相同味道的咖啡，”她说，“奶油里加上一丁点糖。”
我转了转眼珠，说：“奶奶，很多人都喜欢那种口味。”
“我不同意，”她说，“对于大多数人来说，如果他们喜欢奶油，他们就喜欢加很多糖，或至少是中等量的糖。而那些喝咖啡时只加一丁点糖的人，通常会加入牛奶，或者干脆就喝黑咖啡。”
“那么，如果爷爷更喜欢喝黑咖啡呢？或者是牛奶加甜味料呢？那是不是说你就不嫁给他了？那么今天就没有我在这里了？”
“噢，别傻了，”奶奶说，“我从来没想过你爷爷会喜欢什么不一样的咖啡。我不知道我们之间会有什么不同的结果，但是你，我亲爱的阿丽夏，是属于我的。无论怎么样你都会在这里的。”
我最后一次见到奶奶也是在一个星期天，和其他星期天没什么区别。我和奶奶一起坐在桌边，她看着我，眼中闪烁着一种热情的光芒。
“你有没有想过天堂是个什么样子的？”她问我。
我凝视着奶奶，暂时停止了咀嚼。
“嗯，你想过了么？”她又问了一遍。
“唔……没怎么想过，”我说，对于这种类型的对话感到越来越不舒服。
“嗯，我最近一直在想这个问题，”奶奶说，“我的意思是，我也快到那个年纪了，所以我意识到我在这个世上的时间已经不多了。最近我一直在思考天堂是个什么样子的——那里有什么，没有什么。而我只希望当我离开这个世界的时候，另一个世界里也有我在这边所深爱的一切。”
“那是些什么，奶奶？”
“好吃的食物，好相处的人，还有上好的咖啡。”
我对奶奶的纯朴，以及对生命中美好事物的热爱报以微笑，也希望她真能在另一个世界找到她所想要的一切。
奶奶在那周末去世了。他们发现她坐在客厅里她最喜欢的摇椅上，身旁还有半杯新煮的咖啡。不知道为什么，我明白这是一个征兆，表明了奶奶会一切都好。
现在，多年过去了，我不时还会想起奶奶。新出炉的香蕉面包的香气，或某人亲吻我脸颊的方式，都会让我脑海中突然闪现出她的身影。不过每当我迈进一间咖啡馆时，我的记忆总是特别鲜明，那新烤的咖啡豆和新煮咖啡的香气总能让我的感觉活跃起来。
“您想要点什么？”柜台上的人问我。
“一杯中杯的榛子咖啡，”我说，“加奶油和一丁点糖。”
Grandmother didn’t just like her coffee, and it wouldn’t really 3)do her justice to say she loved her coffee. Grandmother was to coffee what a 4)sommelier is to wine. She knew the 5)intricacies of coffee, the different tastes and even the textures. And only the best would do for her. No instant coffee, or coffee bought at the grocery store. She had to have fresh coffee, from a respectable coffee shop. “The morning cup of coffee sets the tone for the whole day,” she used to say.
I used to go to Grandmother’s every Sunday morning. Her routine was always the same. She would kiss me once on each cheek, hang up my coat and lead me into the kitchen, slice a piece of banana bread right out of the oven (sometimes 6)cranberry), and pour a cup of freshly 7)brewed coffee.
“Alexa,” she said to me one day. “Did you know that every person’s personality is like a flavor of coffee?”
“Really?” I said, amused at how Grandmother relished her coffee so much that she related everything to it.
“Yes,” she said. “You, my dear, are French vanilla. You are sweet, almost sickeningly so at times to the discerning coffee drinker.” I slightly 8)recoiled at Grandmother’s
assessment of me. You expect your grandmother to call you sweet, but never sickeningly sweet.
“Your father is 9)espresso,” she continued. “He comes on strong. There are many people who don’t like him, but others can’t live without that high feeling that he gives them. He has an addictive personality that many people can’t let go of.”
“Let me guess, Grandmother. You’re hazelnut.”
“Hazelnut? Why on earth would you say that?”
“Because I find your coffee talk a bit 10)nutty.”
I smiled at Grandmother, but I could tell she was not amused.
“Alexa dear, I am trying to teach you a lesson about life here. I do not need you 11)poking fun at me.”
A lesson about life? Is she kidding? “Grandmother, you can’t 12)dissect a person’s personality by comparing them to a cup of coffee. People are more complex than that. Everyone has 13)nuances,
personality 14)quirks, things that make them different. You just can’t go around saying, ‘She’s a dark roast, he’s an instant, he’s a mocha 15)almond.’”
Grandmother looked at me, almost a blank, dull stare. “Then you just don’t understand coffee,”
she snapped, clearing my plate and coffee cup from the table. “I guess not,” I sighed, exasperated at my hazelnut grandmother.
I went to Grandmother’s house many more times after that, and she always kept her same routine. It was a welcome routine, one that I enjoyed every week. Grandmother didn’t talk to me after that about the “coffee 16)catastrophe” as I called it, but eventually, she did start to make more ridiculous claims concerning her favorite drink.
“I knew your grandfather was the right man for me because we loved our coffee the same way,” she said. “Cream with just a touch of sugar.”
I rolled my eyes. “Grandmother, many people like it that way.”
“I disagree,” she said. “For most people, if they prefer cream, they like a lot of sugar, or at least a moderate amount. Those who drink it with just a touch of sugar usually put milk in it, or drink it black.”
“So what if Papa preferred his coffee black? Or with milk and 17)sweetener? Does that mean that you would have never married? That I wouldn’t be here today?”
“Oh don’t be silly,” Grandmother said. “I won’t think about your grandfather preferring his coffee any differently. I don’t know what would have become of us. But you, my dear Alexa,
belong to me. You would be here no matter what.”
The last time I saw Grandmother was a Sunday just like all the others. I sat down at the table with Grandmother and she looked at me with a very intense look in her eyes.
“Do you ever think about heaven?” she asked me.
I stared at Grandmother and stopped chewing for a moment.
“Well, do you?” she asked again.
“Umm, not really,” I said, growing increasingly uncomfortable with this line of conversation.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it lately,” Grandmother said. “I mean, I am getting to that age where I realize that I don’t have much more time here on earth. And I’ve just been thinking lately about heaven—and what’s there and what’s not. And I just hope that when it’s my time to leave this world, the next one has everything that I love here.”
“And what’s that, Grandmother?”
“Good food, good people, and good coffee.”
I smiled at Grandmother’s simplicity and love for the good things in life. And I hoped that she would find exactly what she would be looking for in the next world.
Grandmother passed away later that week. They found her sitting in her favorite 18)rocker in the living room, half a cup of freshly brewed coffee by her side. And somehow, I knew that it was a sign that everything would be all right for Grandmother.
Now, years later, I’m frequently reminded of my Grandmother. The scent of freshly baked banana bread, or the way someone will kiss me on my cheek will bring a quick flashback of her. But my memories are always most vivid when I step foot into a coffee shop, the aroma of freshly roasted beans and brewed coffee livening my senses.
“What would you like?” the person at the counter asks me.
“A medium hazelnut,” I say. “Cream with just a touch of sugar.”
我走进咖啡店，深深地吸了一口气，又闻到了那股熟悉的芳香。那股咖啡的香味，夹杂着丝丝榛子、香草、摩卡和一丁点肉桂的气息，除了咖啡店以外，在这个世界上只有一个地方弥漫着这样的气息——那就是在奶奶的家里。
奶奶不止是喜欢咖啡这么简单，说句公道话，咖啡是她的挚爱。咖啡对于奶奶而言，就如同美酒对于斟酒侍者一般重要。她对于咖啡的纷繁学问，其不同的口味，甚至其结构特征都了如指掌。而她只喝最好的咖啡，既不要速溶的，也不喜欢从杂货店买的。她一定要喝有名望的咖啡店出售的新鲜咖啡。“清晨的一杯咖啡决定了一整天的基调。”她常这么说。
以前每个星期天的早上，我都会去奶奶家，而她也总会用同样的程序来迎接我。她会在我的两边脸颊上各亲一下，挂起我的外套，然后把我带进厨房，切一片刚出炉的香蕉面包（有时候是蔓越橘口味的），并倒一杯新煮的咖啡给我。
“阿丽夏，”一天，她对我说，“你知道吗，每个人的性格就像是一种口味的咖啡。”“是吗？”我说。见到奶奶如此钟爱她的咖啡，以致于将每一件事物都与之扯上关系，觉得挺逗的。
“是的，”她说。“你，我亲爱的，是法国香草味的。你很甜美，对于那些有品味的咖啡客来说，有时甜得都有些发腻了。”听了奶奶对我的评价后，我觉得有点不爽。你当然会希望奶奶说你很甜美，但绝对不希望是甜得发腻。
“你爸爸是杯浓缩咖啡，”她接着说，“他能给人以强烈的印象。有很多人不喜欢他，但也有人离开了他带来的那种兴奋感就活不下去。他有一种让许多人无法放手的致命的吸引力。”
“让我猜猜，奶奶，那您就是榛子口味的。”
“榛子口味？你到底为什么会这么说？”
“因为我发现您的咖啡论挺狂热的。”（双关语，nutty既指带坚果口味，也指对某事狂热。）
我冲着奶奶笑了起来，不过我能看得出她并不觉得这很好笑。“亲爱的阿丽夏，我是想在这里教你一个人生的道理，而不是让你拿我开玩笑的。”
一个人生的道理？她在开玩笑吧？“奶奶，你不可以用一杯咖啡去分析一个人的性格。人要比咖啡复杂得多。每个人都有差别，性格癖好相异，方方面面各不相同。你不可能四处晃晃，然后说：‘她是杯深焙咖啡，他是杯速溶咖啡，他是杯摩卡杏仁咖啡……’”
奶奶用一种几乎是茫然而沮丧的眼神看着我。“这么说，你根本就不懂咖啡，”她厉声说，从桌上清走了我的盘子和咖啡杯。“我想是的，”我叹了口气，对我这个“榛子口味”的奶奶感到有些恼火。
在那之后，我又多次去过奶奶家，而她依然以同样的程序来迎接我。我很喜欢这套程序，每个星期都要去享受一次。在那之后，奶奶再也没有跟我谈论过我所称的“咖啡大灾难”，不过最后，就她最喜爱的饮品，她还是开始发表了更加荒谬的言论。
“我知道你爷爷就是那个最适合我的人，因为我们都喜欢相同味道的咖啡，”她说，“奶油里加上一丁点糖。”
我转了转眼珠，说：“奶奶，很多人都喜欢那种口味。”
“我不同意，”她说，“对于大多数人来说，如果他们喜欢奶油，他们就喜欢加很多糖，或至少是中等量的糖。而那些喝咖啡时只加一丁点糖的人，通常会加入牛奶，或者干脆就喝黑咖啡。”
“那么，如果爷爷更喜欢喝黑咖啡呢？或者是牛奶加甜味料呢？那是不是说你就不嫁给他了？那么今天就没有我在这里了？”
“噢，别傻了，”奶奶说，“我从来没想过你爷爷会喜欢什么不一样的咖啡。我不知道我们之间会有什么不同的结果，但是你，我亲爱的阿丽夏，是属于我的。无论怎么样你都会在这里的。”
我最后一次见到奶奶也是在一个星期天，和其他星期天没什么区别。我和奶奶一起坐在桌边，她看着我，眼中闪烁着一种热情的光芒。
“你有没有想过天堂是个什么样子的？”她问我。
我凝视着奶奶，暂时停止了咀嚼。
“嗯，你想过了么？”她又问了一遍。
“唔……没怎么想过，”我说，对于这种类型的对话感到越来越不舒服。
“嗯，我最近一直在想这个问题，”奶奶说，“我的意思是，我也快到那个年纪了，所以我意识到我在这个世上的时间已经不多了。最近我一直在思考天堂是个什么样子的——那里有什么，没有什么。而我只希望当我离开这个世界的时候，另一个世界里也有我在这边所深爱的一切。”
“那是些什么，奶奶？”
“好吃的食物，好相处的人，还有上好的咖啡。”
我对奶奶的纯朴，以及对生命中美好事物的热爱报以微笑，也希望她真能在另一个世界找到她所想要的一切。
奶奶在那周末去世了。他们发现她坐在客厅里她最喜欢的摇椅上，身旁还有半杯新煮的咖啡。不知道为什么，我明白这是一个征兆，表明了奶奶会一切都好。
现在，多年过去了，我不时还会想起奶奶。新出炉的香蕉面包的香气，或某人亲吻我脸颊的方式，都会让我脑海中突然闪现出她的身影。不过每当我迈进一间咖啡馆时，我的记忆总是特别鲜明，那新烤的咖啡豆和新煮咖啡的香气总能让我的感觉活跃起来。
“您想要点什么？”柜台上的人问我。
“一杯中杯的榛子咖啡，”我说，“加奶油和一丁点糖。”