Season of lattes

Just like that: its fall. Just the other day I was wearing a skirt, now its jeans and the captivity of socks. It is briskly chilly, and with the leaves changing color, as my grandma so poetically described it once upon an october, it is as if the sun is shining from the trees themselves. Which is a damn good thing, too, because the real sun is sure making itself sparse.
It has been awfully grey here the past few days, a sullen reminder of the gloom to come as the once too-hot-too-move Okanagan begins its (quick) descent into, oh I shudder to write it, winter. And I am not ready for that.
Perhaps I am jumping the gun a bit here. There is afterall, this wonderful transition season of autumn, one of my favorites actually. A season of warm crumbles and crisps from the last of summer tree fruit and the new apples and pears. Where winter squash replaces zuchinni in its overwhelming bounty. One of roasting and braising and tucking in, literally curling up with bowls of soups and hearty pasta. Cinnamon buns and pumpkin muffins, and best of all, lattes.
There is nothing like a deep mug of strong espresso topped with thick, foamy milk. It begs to be kissed, held close, hugging you from the inside. If this seems too romantic for a cuppa joe, I apologize, and sympathize, that you do not get the same pleasure from each soothing sip that I do. And it is romantic; as soon as the air turns chilly, I crave them, and envision how I will enjoy them: Walking under trees as their amber leaves drift down, both hands wrapped around my cup; curled up with my cup and book companions; people watching from the Bread Company, where the milk froth is impossibly thick and the walnut raisin buns were meant for dipping. I drink them in the morning with toast or biscotti, in the afternoon with more biscotti or the infamous pumpkin muffins of all my autumns, just by themselves because its nippy and a scarf just isnt cutting it. In fact, this time of year, I treat a latte like a cocktail (never mind the beers or bellinis of summer, give me warm milk, oh boy...well, at least until winter and spiced rum takes over). And there is no one-a-day rule either, the second is no less satisfying than the first. Fall, come to think of it, is very good for my calcium intake.
And with the weather, and subsequent greyness, the way it has been lately, I have found myself full swing into latte addiction. A cappucino gets me through the meal time rush at work, and, from a trick I learned from my ma, I am able to make frothy milk at home from a pot of warm milk and a (careful) buzz from my hand held zerbitzer (an appliance most commonly used for pureeing soups, but I highly recommend it for this task too). So it doesnt get as thick as the Bread Co, but itll do for now...until I get my own espresso machine equipped with steamer.
On second thought, that may not be such a good idea. Then I would never leave the house, living off frothed milk and devouring novels in comfortable splendor, until before I know it, I actually cannot leave for the pile up of snow in my driveway. Besides, what better excuse for a latte than a coffee date with a girlfriend.
Which is exactly what Torrence and I did yesterday. And if there is anything that tops my intimacy with a 16oz latte, its a two hour girl talk over a 16oz latte, and serious consideration of another.
So cheers to enjoying the enforced splendor of the cooling season.