Caffe Interactions

It’s a statement I’ve been defending for years: coffee smells way better than it tastes. 🫣🤭🤫
And believe me, I’m a true coffee lover. You might think I’m a bit of a pessimist for enjoying something so much while being fully aware that the joy has a limit — a disappointing threshold I cross every morning with the first sip.

If you love coffee — or even if you don’t, because that means you’ve at least tried it — you probably know what I’m talking about. Whenever we walk into a café, we’re immediately surrounded by that smell. And I don’t just mean the scent that gives us hope to start another morning — that seductive promise of something good, ready to help us win the battle against the ghost that keeps us tied to bed.
No, I mean the smell. The one that, in cartoons, turns into a floating wisp of smoke that carries someone by the nose all the way to the kitchen.

Then comes the moment of hard adult truth — the first sip.
Yes, it’s good, really good, still comforting after waking up… but it’s not the same as its smell.
There’s a bridge between nose and mouth that somehow feels disconnected — and it’s an everyday negotiation we silently agree to accept.

The reason I started drinking coffee was family tradition — a ticket into the after-meal conversations, an excuse to sit and share with my loved ones. A symbol of company.
Then I realized many people share that same path — stories of families and gatherings around tables and sofas. Even my favorite writers wrote about coffee.

But despite that shared ritual, I don’t know if the disappointment is shared too.
And since I don’t really see myself as a pessimist — in fact, I’d say I’m quite the opposite — I’m going to propose a 180° turn to this feeling by sharing my latest discovery:

The distance between the smell of coffee and its taste is nothing less than lust for life.

An impulse.
A need.
A thirst for more.
A sense of curiosity, a drive to bridge that gap, to discover what’s hidden in between.
That never-ending doubt: do others feel the same?
Better yet — how does it feel for them? Do they taste and smell what I do?

There’s a quiet hunger that lives somewhere between scent and taste — a space where desire meets curiosity, and life quietly reminds us how much more there is to feel.

The gap between these two senses could be the perfect analogy for how uncertain life always is when we try to question or analyze it.
There’s no real answer to that.
It’s not about uncovering or training a new sense between taste and smell.
Nope. It’s simply about the space in between.
Mind the gap.
The one that has to be.

We are born and we die — two specific events in time and space.
(Let’s not bring quantum physics into it — not this time, at least.)
But life itself happens in between.
Shorter or longer, all possible lengths. Infinite alternatives of quality and adventures.
More or less love. Spicy, bitter, crazy, rich, poor, ruined, horrible, amazing.
Every adjective you could use to describe a smell or a taste — and argue about with someone — all of those, and infinitely more, can be used to describe that gap between birth and death: life.

And anyone who has ever enjoyed the pleasure of smelling something pleasant, tempting, and tasting something that brings comfort or satisfaction will now understand what I mean when I say: it makes perfect sense to want more.
Not all in one day — mind your head! 🤯— but day after day.

— “Yes, coffee please.” ☕
And there it is again — the gap.
And another day in this life we get to enjoy, taste, chase, question, argue, reflect, feel, win, lose, fail, get disappointed, succeed, fuck up, cry, laugh, shout, eat, sleep, rave and repeat. 🎶
Just like coffee — not all at once, but at least some of it every day.
For all the days still to come.Do I accept the distance between smell and taste?
Of course I do.
And please, don’t hesitate to expand it — be my guest.
Stretch the richness of my senses, because hell, I do lust for a long, adjective-filled life. ☕⚡