I had one last night.  At the Buena Vista, right there at the foot of Hyde Street.  They are like the Grand Canyon in one sense.  Of course in many other senses, it is nothing at all like the Grand Canyon.  It is not dry or dusty.  It does not have vistas that take your breath. The chances of it killing you are practically nil.  At least not an individual one.  Did you know that, not surprisingly, one of the main causes of death in the Grand Canyon is falling?  But what you might not have known is that the majority of these falls took place after someone uttered one of the following statements: “Hey, watch this!”; “Take one more step back” (while posing a photo), and “Hey, I’ve got to take a piss!”   The number one risk factor for dying in the Grand Canyon is being male.  I’m worried.

But the way that it is like the Grand Canyon is that until you see it with your own eyes, no photograph, no description can prepare you.  It’s just WAY better in person.  Unless you have to take a piss.

Joseph the bar tender has been pouring them for 31 years.  From the looks of the others, he may be the youngest one.  I know that the waitress was there when I first set foot in the joint almost 30 years ago.  It hasn’t changed at all.  Neither has she. 

The BV is always busy.  It’s hard to find a spot at the bar, or at a table.  They serve food.  It’s not half bad.  Diner type food.   They have a back room with additional tables.  There is a sign over the door to the back room announcing this fact.  It says “Add’l tables”, on account of the fact that the sign is small, and they didn’t have room to spell it out.  Once, many years ago, there with a bunch of friends, we convinced a particularly gullible member of our party that “Add’l” was an Irish game of dice.  For at least an hour, we spun tales of prior glorious games of Add’l, played over beers or other libations, the history of Add’l, dissertations on the greats now ensconced in the Add’l hall of fame.  Finally, fascinated to see, she went to the back room to observe this ancient and revered game, only to find, not Add’l tables, but additional tables populated by diners.  We mollified her by buying her one.

I had tried to describe it to my companion; the hot coming up through the cold, the smoothness, sweetness and bite.  But like the time I took her to the Grand Canyon, she did not get it until she experienced it.  She told me: I heard what you were saying, but I did not know what you meant until I tried it.

It is so simple.  A glass, heated up with hot water.  The water spilled out, coffee added.  Given the Grand Canyon nature, you’d think the coffee had to be the secret blend that Peet’s doesn’t sell to anyone else.  But no.  Joseph says it’s just Folgers.  Two cubes of sugar, vigorously stirred into the coffee.  A slosh of Tullamore Dew, and then, then the cream.  The secret, the brochure says, is that the cream is aged.  This seems like a bad thing for dairy.  But whatever.  The cream makes it.  Whipped only to a sprite of thickness more than nature, chilled and poured over the coffee, whiskey and sugar; it floats on top.  If you want the Grand Canyon you grasp the glass quickly before the cream warms.  You feel the cool cream on your lips, and as you tip the glass, the hot coffee and whiskey slides underneath the cream, onto your tongue.  You know that this is one of the best moments of your life.  A small “best”, for sure.  It’s not like the birth of your child or winning the lottery.  But it’s one brief, fleeting second of pure perfection.  Even the second sip does not the same peak reach.  The cream has warmed just a little.  It’s still good, but that first sip is heaven on Earth.  The fortunate thing is that you can order another.  That’s why the first sentence is a lie.  I had four.