We left Jordan a week ago.
This morning I longed for a tiny (thimble-sized almost) cup of steaming hot, powdery-at-the-bottom coffee with cardamom like we had there.
Some of the gang I was with in Jordan bought coffee as a souvenir from a spice shop in downtown Amman. I, ever the hypoglycemic, was thinking about maintaining blood sugar levels throughout the week and bought a bag of the best lightly salted, freshly roasted peanuts I have ever eaten. They were delicious, but oh my kingdom for the coffee now.
Actually, it’s not just the coffee I want. I’d like to go back there with that gang at a more leisurely pace. Or even to call a do-over and relax the way men there linger on street corners, in open fields, in cafés filled with the scent of fruit-flavored tabacco from the argileh pipes and tiny cups of coffee with cardamom.