The Taste of Being Tired

I know when I am tired.
Not sleepy-tired.
Not night-tired.
But that tired feeling in the middle of the day, when the body is heavy but the head is still working.

In that moment, food is not the first answer.
Coffee is.

I don’t eat chocolate. Never did. I just don’t like it. People are always surprised by this, but for me it is simple. Chocolate makes me more tired. Meat also. Meat is heavy. It stays in the body and pulls me down.

Fish is different.
Fish is a booster.

When I am tired, I eat salad and fish. Fresh fish. Not salmon. I don’t trust salmon anymore. The cultivation in Norway, Denmark, Chile — too many problems. My body feels it immediately. So I eat fresh fish from the North Sea or fresh tuna. When I am really tired, I like sashimi. Only tuna. Clean. Pure. Simple.

But always — first coffee.

My coffee level is high. Very high.
Right now, I already had two cups. For travelling, I always have my thermos flask. Inside are three big mugs of coffee. And in my car, in the back, I have an espresso machine. So in the hotel, in the evening, I can still drink a good coffee.

My doctor says it is too much. He is probably right.
But I love the smell of coffee. I love the taste. Coffee is not only a drink for me. It is comfort. It is routine. It is care.

In the evening, I drink decaffeinated coffee. I learned that. Slowly.

People ask me why I don’t drink espresso in restaurants or hotel bars. The answer is easy: the quality is often bad. I ask for one espresso and get a glass full of brown water. That is not espresso.

There are maybe four or five restaurants where I trust the coffee. The others — no.

Sixteen years ago, my relationship with coffee changed. On my first day working for an Austrian distributor, a colleague invited me for coffee. The area manager joined us and said, “This is not coffee. This is something special.” And he was right. That machine, that taste — it changed everything.

I bought the same machine. Then another. Then another.
Now I have four. One is in repair. One is in storage. Old machines are better. Like people. They have character.

I drink Illy beans. Also Illy decaffeinated powder. My wife likes organic and fair-trade coffee. That matters to her, so it matters to me.

In Italy — especially Sardinia — coffee is a language. I drank much more there, because it felt right.

Lavazza? No.
On a cruise ship, I even sent a coffee machine back because it was Lavazza. Same problem. Same taste. Not for me.

Water is important.
At home, we have very soft water from the water works. Perfect for coffee. No filter needed. When I travel, I use hotel tap water. Mineral water is bad for machines. Too many minerals.

In Hamburg, the water is very hard. Many houses have built-in filter systems. Hanseatic style.

When I drive long distances — like today — I don’t eat much. Five hours in the car is tiring, but not hungry-tiring. Coffee and water are enough. I have a crate of water in the car. My wife has Chupa Chups in the middle console. Only for her. I don’t like sweets. I don’t like the wrappers even more. She leaves them everywhere. I clean them later. That is love.

After a long workweek, cooking wakes me up.
Cooking is holiday for me.

Thinking about ingredients, putting things into the pan, into the oven — that gives me energy. My wife is not allowed to cook. She is allowed in the kitchen, but cooking is mine.

I always cook too much. For six people, even if we are only two. Soups, chili, pumpkin soup — everything goes into the freezer. I know exactly what is inside. No lists. It is all in my head. Everything is labeled. That is enough.

Friday evening, we sit in the conservatory. Coffee. Talking. Planning food.
Saturday morning, coffee in bed. That is the highlight.

Shopping I do alone. I stand too long in front of olive oil. My wife would lose patience.

Last Friday, we had a Spanish night. Chorizo, Pimientos de Padrón, shrimps, squid, garlic, chili. On Saturday, friends came. Fillet of beef. Secreto. On Sunday, leftovers. Perfect.

I find good food through people. Customers. Conversations. Someone tells me about a butcher. I go there. I talk. I learn. I once drove home with a bag full of meat after talking one hour with a man who knew his cows by name.

Restaurants today are expensive. Too expensive.
€21 for a small schnitzel. €8.50 for water. That doesn’t feel right. I ask for tap water. They look at me strangely. I don’t care.

Now it is Monday morning.
Coffee is ready.
Thermos is full.
The road is long.

Thinking about food wakes me more than coffee ever could.

I start the engine.
And I drive.