Stir The Coffee Essay -- essays research papers

Through the steam of my espresso I could see a smaller than expected arrangement of gleaming red shoes swinging to and fro underneath the counter at the cafe. A young lady had been sitting on the red stool since I had shown up, simply sitting watching the cook flip flapjacks throughout the morning with a develop feeling of interest. All over, and here and there, again and again, the player consistently framed into tasty strong manifestations, some with blueberries, some with chocolate, some outright and straightforward. The cook brandished a superb cover that appeared as though it had been around perpetually, cooked a million hotcakes, and still lived to tell its story of the oils and garnishes and syrups it had found in its day. The old man’s red shirt could be seen through the consume gaps in the cover, as though they were war wounds. The cook didn’t appear to mind the warmth of the oven, or mix at all when the consuming oil from the dish spat at his substance. He was covered in a film of oil, margarine and hitter, and just sometimes parted from his cooking customs to wipe his brow with the sopping wet cloth that was thrown over his left shoulder. Every flapjack was a fragile creation that the elderly person arranged with extraordinary thought and exertion, making every one great, however none the equivalent. Never would the man be contrasted with any machine-each one was unique, each one extraordinary. The uncommon of the day was nutty spread hotcakes, in spite of the fact that I didn’t see anyone request that one. The young lady with the sparkling shoes, who had been there sinc...