Café Com Leite
I used to love to watch Papa when he made café com leite. It was as though he was the conductor and the coffee beans were his orchestra. He would grind the delicate coffee beans four times towards the right and three times towards the left. “It’s the only way to do it,” he said when I asked him one day. I used to watch the puffs of coffee bean coat the counters as he turned the grinder’s handle. The house would smell like coffee for days but we didn’t mind. He would meticulously place a wafer thin coffee filter into the carafe and pack the powder into it. He would press down gently to ensure that every last grind made it into the filter. The next part was my favorite, it was when the scalding water touched the powder and a smooth liquid poured into the carafe. I would wait eagerly for the carafe to fill. If I was pouring the water I knew the filter would overflow because of how quickly I would want to get to the final result, but Papa took his time, filling the filter only half way to ensure that the grounds had enough space to grow and breathe. “Patience is key, querida. That’s what makes my café the best in São Paulo.” He wasn’t wrong, his coffee was definitely the best in all of São Paulo, maybe in all of Brazil. The next task was always assigned to me. I had to watch the leite almost come to a boil. If Papa saw one air bubble form at the top of the milk he would spill it all out and grumble that the milk had to be perfect.
The assembly finally came, Papa would pull out our mugs and fill them exactly halfway with coffee. He would then absentmindedly reach for the pot of milk and as always he managed to release a string of Portuguese curses after burning his hand. I would always smirk when he did this, because he missed the same beat every performance, but to anyone not paying attention the result would still be impeccable. After composing himself and apologizing profusely he would slowly pour the milk over the coffee. After admiring his masterpiece he would turn to me and say, “Your café com leite should always be half leite and half café, don’t let those Americans and Europeans brainwash you with their watered down, foamy, ultra sweet lattes. This is the real café com leite.” One day I will tell him, it’s not café com leite because of the right ratios, but because of every twirl of his wrist and every effortless pour. Every movement he made resulted in the most melodious cup of coffee.
Hi! My name is Sara Shahein, a third year undergraduate student studying Literature. I am from Bridgeview, a suburb southwest of Chicago. I am part Brazilian and grew up with my grandmother filling our home with Brazilian dishes and of course café com leite. I enjoy writing creative nonfiction pieces, finding new favorite songs, and rotating between too many books at once.