Blueberry Memories

I woke up this morning with such a strong taste for something that I was actually drooling.  I turned over to tell Zahava about it but she was already out on her morning walk with Jordan.  I just have to share this with someone... so, guess what?  Lucky you!

I should begin by saying that one of the fruits that I miss the most here in Israel is my beloved New England wild blueberry.  I recall picking and eating wild blueberries on a family trip to Maine so vividly that the memory sometimes makes me stop and check my hands and chin for the tell-tale stains of this indulgence. 

Oh sure, they have blueberries here... but in such small supply and in such remote locations as to be almost non-existent.  Apparently the soil here is not ideal for growing blueberries.

If you want to bake with blueberries you have to either buy frozen bags of berries that are imported from the US, or suffice with the syrupy-sweet canned blueberry pie filling that sometimes shows up in supermarkets frequented by anglos.

But ironically, this morning's longing wasn't even for fresh blueberries... it was for an unlikely product I discovered late one night while returning home from a gig in Manhattan.

It was about 2:00AM on a warm June night and I was driving up the Merritt Parkway in my Jeep Wrangler Sahara Edition with the top down (can anyone say 'midlife crisis'?) watching the birch trees flip by and trying to stay alert for the deer that seemed to dart out at the most inopportune time.

I normally didn't have much trouble staying alert on these late night drives, but for some reason on this particular evening I was becoming hypnotized by the warm air on my face and the monotony of the white-barked trees slipping past. 

I had a huge fear of falling asleep at the wheel, so I always kept a blanket and pillow in the car in case I had to pull over and nap on the side of the road for a few hours (which I did frequently enough that many of the State Troopers knew me by name).  But just as I was preparing to pull over, I saw the lights of a familiar gas station emerging from the darkness up ahead.    I knew they always kept a nice selection of fresh coffees (did I mention I love coffee?) so I pulled in and parked the jeep near the door.

When I walked through the door I was nearly bowled over by the smell of fresh blueberries.  This was one of those Mobil stations with a bakery section where fresh donuts and pastries were brought in (from a kosher bakery, no less!) around the clock, so I immediately went looking for the blueberry muffins or danish that, judging by the aroma, had to have just arrived.

But there were none.

When I asked the attendant where the blueberry smell was coming from, he pointed to the row of insulated coffee pots.

Blueberry coffee???  The very idea was appalling... revolting, even.  But as the smell attacked my senses, the idea took root and for a full ten minutes I paced around the place trying to come up with a rational excuse not to try it.

I don't know how many of you have read Steinbeck's 'Cannery Row'... specifically the part where Doc becomes obsessed with the idea of a beer milkshake.  Long story short, he finds the idea of a beer milkshake simultaneously disgusting and enticing... but finally gets to the point where he absolutely has to try it.  So he waits until he is on a road trip and orders one from a shocked waitress at a roadside diner. 

Well, that's what this blueberry coffee was like for me.  It wasn't that I wanted it or didn't want it.  Once I'd smelled it, I HAD TO HAVE IT!

So I poured myself a huge cup of the stuff (the blueberry coffee, not a beer milkshake... pay attention people!), added my usual dose of Splenda and Half & half, and... the world tilted on its axis.

It was as though I'd just finished a big slab of fresh baked blueberry pie with a rich, buttery crust... and was simply washing it down with a strong cup of fresh coffee.  I took a few more sips, waiting for the cloying fruit flavor to emerge, but had the same sensation... not of drinking flavored coffee... but of washing down fresh blueberry pie with strong, unflavored coffee.

Heaven!

I didn't even make it all the way home before turning around, heading back to the gas station and buying a few pounds of the stuff to make at home. 

So when I woke up this morning with this stuff on my mind, I realized it had been years since I'd had a cup of this ambrosia, and it was everything I could do to keep my hands from trembling as I surfed over to the Green Mountain Coffee website to see if they even still made the stuff.   

You see in the past, this was a specialty flavor that was only available for a few months per year.  When it was gone... it was all gone.  Sure, you could sometimes find stray bags of the stuff on eBay at exorbitant prices, but no, I never went that far. 

So you can imagine the happy dance I did when I got to their site I found that not only was it now available year 'round... but it was now being made with Fair Trade beans!  What more could you ask?

The only annoying part is that, like many of the other retail coffee pushers suppliers, Green Mountain has shrunk their 'pound bags' to 12 ounces while keeping the price the same.  Not a very savory business tactic, to be sure... but I suppose if they have to shaft someone, it may as well be the addicts end-users who can afford it rather than the farmers and field hands who pick and bag the beans around the world.

Anyway, I wish I could offer you some consolation prize for having endured this private reminiscence.  Oh wait, I can!  Here's a link where you can go and get yourselves some of this fabulous stuff!

Kashrut Update:  In answer to an email I received; Yes Virginia... Green Mountain Fair Trade Wild Mountain Blueberry Coffee is certified kosher by the Orthodox Union (OU).