Tour stop four: Portland. Five: Seattle. The Pacific Northwest. Rain, coffee shops, and audiences who lean forward when I read.
Portland was intimate — sixty people in an independent bookstore with exposed brick and a cat sleeping on the counter. I read the Elena chapter (the enchilada napkin) and the room was silent. Not crying-silent — LISTENING-silent. The silence of people being told a story that matters.
A woman approached afterward. 'I'm a military wife. Fort Lewis. My husband deploys in three weeks. I'm terrified.'
'I know you are.'
'Does it get easier?'
I looked at her. Twenty-three, maybe. Young face. Old eyes. The eyes of a woman who has already started carrying the weight.
'It doesn't get easier. It gets different. And different feels like easier.'
Ryan's words. From Davis. From the counselor. From the chain of military wisdom that passes from wife to wife, from kitchen to kitchen.
She hugged me. A stranger in a Portland bookstore. She smelled like coffee and fear and the specific kind of hope that military wives carry when they're pretending everything is fine.
Seattle was bigger — 200 people. The podcast audience found me. People who had been LISTENING to me cook and talk came to SEE me cook and talk. The parasocial intimacy of a food podcast: they knew my voice. They knew my pot roast. They didn't know my face.
'You're shorter than I expected,' one woman said.
I am five foot four. I sound taller. The pot roast adds inches.
Made nothing on tour. Ate Seattle pho (not as good as Ba Linh's) and thought about home.
Norfolk is next week. Home is next week.
I drank more coffee in Seattle than I have any right to admit — bookstore coffee, green room coffee, the kind you nurse alone at a hotel desk at midnight writing emails you’re too tired to send. The pho was fine. It was not Ba Linh’s. Nothing on the road ever quite is. But back home, when I finally landed, I didn’t want broth — I wanted something that felt like an occasion, like a small celebration of surviving the week. Viennese coffee is what I made: thick, dark, crowned with whipped cream, the kind of drink that says you made it without requiring you to explain to anyone where you’ve been.
Viennese Coffee
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 5 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 2
Ingredients
- 2 cups strong brewed coffee or 2 shots espresso topped with hot water to make 2 cups
- 2 tablespoons sugar, or to taste
- 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/2 cup heavy whipping cream, cold
- 1 tablespoon powdered sugar
- Pinch of cinnamon or cocoa powder, for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Brew the coffee. Brew 2 cups of strong coffee or prepare espresso-style coffee. Stir in the granulated sugar and vanilla extract while the coffee is hot. Divide between two mugs.
- Whip the cream. In a chilled bowl, beat the cold heavy cream with the powdered sugar using a hand mixer or whisk until soft, billowy peaks form — thick enough to float on coffee but not stiff.
- Top and serve. Spoon or pour the whipped cream generously over each mug of coffee. Do not stir — the cream is meant to sit on top and meld slowly as you drink. Dust with cinnamon or cocoa if desired. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 230 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 16g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 20mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 495 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.
