Always Fresh

People often ask me what I miss most about Canada. It’s one of those questions you ask in the midst of inane small talk – and one that is very difficult to answer. The obvious response would be the people – some of the friendliest, most caring, genuinely interesting people I know live above the 49th parallel. Another possible response might be the weather – it isn’t always raining and I, for one, love snow. I could say I miss the physical size of the place – the fact that it goes on and on beyond what the limits of my imagination would allow me to perceive. One thing I never thought I’d miss was the coffee. I used to hate that weak, cream laden tasteless muck they served in vast quantities.

I’ve just spent a few days travelling round the West Coast of Ireland with a good friend. We saw many sights, walked many walks, ate many meals and talked many talks. There are numerous tales to tell from such a short time but that can wait for another time. What occupies my mind right now is the fact that, as we were setting off to drive home, we passed a filling station – and in this filling station was something I haven’t seen since I left Canada some six years ago – A Tim Hortons Coffee Counter.

I used to work night shift in a Tim Hortons Coffee Shop on the corner of Northfield and Weber in a little place called Waterloo, Ontario. Not the most prestigious job I’ve ever had, nor the best paid – yet it was one of my favourites. The characters you meet in an all-night coffee shop are incredible. It is a unique experience. I loved it so much I still have the hideous uniform I had to wear. I’m not sure why I kept it – I’ll never fit in it again; I’m not sure I ever fitted in it back then. I also have an unopened tin of the coffee grains and a mug I never use. I am a hoarder – I admit that. Despite this I have an annual clearout where nothing is safe from my wrath – nothing except that coffee tin, that mug and that uniform.

It’s odd what forms your affectionate memories. I wish for me it were more earth shattering events. There are some major ones in there as well – I’m not that dull. But right up there are my memories of dipping donuts in chocolate, baking the bagels and serving large double doubles to the night shift crew from the nearby factories at 3am. The thing that I remember most, though, is the smell. The unique smell of Tim Hortons coffee that drove me sick at the time, but now I remember it as fondly as I remember the big yellow duck on wheels I used to run around with when I was a toddler. So when I walked into that filling station and my nose filled with that familiar odour… well, it’s a moment I’m not sure I can describe.