The Sacrament ☕️

The Sacrament ☕️

By Tina Marie Chabot

Glancing through old photo habits, I come upon an old black-and-white photo of my precious grandmother holding me. My curly golden locks on my head, and puckering mouth slurping coffee from a spoon, as I look at a moment in time of my Mamaw laughing at my excitement of getting a taste of creamy, sugary coffee. A sacrament — our sacrament — that still reminds me of her, of all of our moments. One thing we both shared and loved throughout our relationship.

It was never about the coffee, not really.

It was about the ritual.

The smell of it drifting through a quiet house, beckoning like a familiar voice.

The first waft of roasted warmth meeting your face like a morning blessing.

The feel of your favorite mug cradled in your palms — not just any mug, but the *right* one.

The sound of the pour — that gentle, hollow splash — like a stream filling a sacred cup.

The first sip, still too hot, waking every cell like the world is being born again.

These were the tiny ceremonies that made up something precious — the ordinary made holy.

In Ayurveda, the sacred ritual of preparing coffee can be seen as a form of **dinacharya** — daily rhythm and self-care. The act of making coffee becomes grounding when done with presence: smelling the beans, feeling the weight of the grinder, hearing the brew gurgle and hiss, tasting the warmth as it meets your tongue, seeing the steam rise like a morning offering.

When you slow down, coffee becomes an anchor. A sacred pause in the rush. A way to meet yourself each morning through the senses — smell, touch, taste, sound, and sight. It becomes not a stimulant, but a prayer. Not just fuel, but a form of **mindful embodiment**.

The memory of smell is one of the strongest threads we have to the past. One whiff of roasted beans or a freshly poured cup, and I’m transported — back to Mamaw’s kitchen, back to warmth, back to the sound of her laughter. It’s fascinating how scent can pull us straight into the heart of a moment — a kind of time travel through the senses. For me, the smell of coffee is love made tangible.

I often wonder why this ritual became such a deep tie between us. Maybe it’s because coffee was one of the few steady traditions I carried through my life. Throughout my childhood, I never truly felt that I had a home. I used to envy my friends whose parents checked in on homework, reminded them about dinner, or kissed their foreheads at the same time every night.

I love my parents deeply, but I was born into a lineage heavy with trauma and dysfunction. When they divorced as I was just stepping into middle school, any sense of stability I had was tossed to the wind. Even before that, life was a cycle of breakups, moves, and uncertainty — sometimes switching schools midyear. Parts of my heart still light up and ache when I remember how much I hated those constant uprootings.

My young adult life became a search for *home* — a place, a feeling, something to tether to. When I finally found that with my ex-husband, I didn’t have the skills to hold it. I was too fractured to build; the programs of instability were still running too deep. It’s taken years of self-study, healing, and grace to see the firestarter in me — the one who burned the very safety she longed for — and to understand her.

You can’t take a wild horse from the open field and expect her to live fenced in without resistance. It takes time, gentleness, and trust to teach her that the pasture is still freedom, that safety doesn’t mean captivity.

In this way, the ritual itself *is* the medicine.

During Yoga Teacher Training, my coffee machine always sits out in plain view — not hidden, not hurried, but offered. My students come and go from the pot all day long, warming their hands and hearts with every pour. As soon as autumn rolls in, I switch it out for my espresso machine. Something about the crisp air calls for something deeper, richer, bolder.

I love using plant-based creamers — almond, oat, coconut — and especially love to make my own infused simple syrups with cinnamon or cardamom. The ritual of crafting the cup becomes part of the medicine.

There’s a little brotherhood of tools I keep: my creamer brother, my cherished coffee bean grinder, always humming its morning song. And the coffees — oh, the coffees — I buy as luxuries and little gifts to myself. Some earthy, some exotic, but my favorite always remains the same: a deep, rich, unapologetic dark roast.

I’ve always loved the bold flavor of roasted beans — that smoky, caramelized depth that lingers in the mouth and heart. But what many people don’t realize is that dark roasting actually reduces the caffeine content. So while a dark roast might taste stronger and more intense, it actually carries a more subtle caffeine effect compared to lighter roasts.

This makes it a perfect choice for those of us who want the grounding ritual and sensory richness of coffee, without the overly sharp buzz. It offers presence, not push — a subtle, steady awakening rather than a jolt. For me, it’s the perfect embodiment of coffee as medicine: warm, wise, and deep without demand.

Coffee at the Lofts was a beloved local coffee house that closed recently — not because it wasn’t successful, but because it was such a gem, so deeply loved and cared for by its owners, that they needed to step away and reclaim their family life and other creative work. I respected it, but my heart broke a little. That space had been a kind of home to me.

But that’s the beauty of coffee — it teaches us how to make home wherever we are. You can build a little altar of warmth in your own kitchen. A coffee area stocked with your beans, your flavorings, your tools, and your favorite mugs becomes more than a station — it becomes a sanctuary.

There’s a comfort in creating your own ritual space, in curating your syrups and creamers, in grinding your beans just how you like them. The grinder, in particular, is an extra step — one that slows you down and invites intention. There's something about the hum of the machine, the release of scent as the beans break open, the subtle choice of coarseness — it all adds depth and texture to the moment. It's a tactile prayer, a small act of reverence that turns a routine into ritual.

One of my favorite things to make is homemade simple syrup — a little alchemy for your coffee bar. It’s easy: just combine **1 cup of sugar with 1 cup of water**, and add a generous spoonful of your favorite herb or spice. Simmer gently for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, then let it cool and strain into a mason jar.

My go-to is **cardamom**. I use a full tablespoon of ground cardamom with the sugar and water, and the result is this deeply fragrant, warming syrup that turns any cup into a luxury. I keep mine in a little mason jar beside my coffee goodies — it feels like a treat waiting for me each morning.

You can play with your own flavors — **cinnamon**, **hazelnut**, even a DIY **Indian chai syrup** with cloves, ginger, and black pepper. It’s fun. It’s easy. And it’s another layer in the ritual — one more way to say: *This is sacred. This is mine.*

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🍂 Indian Chai Latte (Tina’s Blend)

A warming, depthful tonic for morning centering or afternoon clarity.

**Ingredients:**

* 1 tablespoon of my branded India Chai Latte loose-leaf tea

* 1 shot of espresso *or* 1 cup of freshly brewed dark roast coffee

* Your favorite plant-based creamer

* Optional: cinnamon or cardamom simple syrup

* Unrefined sugar or maple syrup to taste

Instructions:

1. Steep 1 tbsp of chai tea in hot water (6 oz) for 5–7 minutes.

2. Brew a fresh shot of espresso or a small cup of coffee.

3. Strain the chai and combine with espresso/coffee.

4. Add creamer and sweetener to taste.

5. Sip slowly. Feel held.

☕ *Ode to the Brew*

Drip it slow or press it bold,

Grind it fresh like stories told.

Steam it loud in stovetop grace,

Or pull a shot with crema’s face.

Add some cream or maple sweet,

Stir with spice — a warming treat.

Cardamom dreams or cinnamon lace,

Hazelnut dancing in morning’s embrace.

In mason jars or chipped old cups,

With foam that spills or syruped ups —

Each cup a prayer, each pour a song,

A ritual where we all belong.

Whether alone or shared with kin,

Coffee brings the soul back in.

From root to crown, from nose to heart,

This humble brew is sacred art.