All you have to do is tell michael what you LOVE about coffee.
At Meilori's, Sam serves the best coffee -- black as night, sweet as sin.
Thomas Jefferson called coffee the favorite drink of the civilized world.
But McCord's coffee is the favorite drink of the supernatural world ... except for those who sip O- blood.
A double dose of dark roast taken from the fields of pre-Aztec Columbia . For each cup, two heaping tablespoons, smelling like midnight should smell.
A dash of the original chicory root from the moist soil of Ancient Egypt for bite and body.
Two more heaping tablespoons for the rune-carved pot, old when Eve was young. A phoenix egg cracked over the pot. The yolk cupped out and white and shells thrown into the pot, filled with the distilled tears of laughter.
Sam says he knows nothing that polishes coffee and makes it shine like that.
Only when the moon hides her face in winter is this coffee made over coals still burning from the first lightning strike in Eden.
The air to such an evening is very cold, so that the brew, rising from coldness to a rolling boil, breathes into the darkness such a heady aroma that you almost taste the smell caressing your nostrils.
Your mouth waters. Your tongue grows dry. And a hungry yearning to taste such a coffee fills you and never quite leaves.
The first sip of that coffee will haunt you every morning afterwards when you rise to the ditch water that criminally calls itself coffee.