My mom could make a stiff espresso. She could drink it, too, and would do so con gusto twice a day, despite the fact that Mom was prone to the jitters. I don’t know to what degree Mom’s espresso consumption contributed to her nervousness, but I do know that her fondness for espresso drove my dad nuts. Dad believed that espresso was “una droga” (a drug) that was both harmful and addictive. For that reason, he forbade Mom to give me any, even when I was old enough to drink double tequilas. But by then, I had somehow managed to acquire a taste for Mom’s espresso despite my dad’s ban. It may have had something to do with the stuff my mom called “coffee ice.”
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