To be clear, there’s not really a surf spot in Belmar called Flats. Belmar beach is real, though. I’m looking at it right now. I’m writing this in real-time from a high-top at Coffee Surf Co in Belmar, right on Ocean Ave. (I think of the Clapton album every time I say Ocean Avenue) The ocean is flat. It looks like a quilt’s been draped across the sand and pulled past the horizon. And right now, the sand is blanketed by a fresh coat of snow. It’s beautiful. It’s freezing. Currently feels like 7°F.

So why am I here and not in the water? I just said it feels like 7°F. I’m not crazy. That and my younger daughter Irish Step dances. So, some Saturday mornings, I drive her from Point Pleasant to Belmar. During the hour she’s kicking and clacking her legs and feet, I sneak away and write and drink coffee and sometimes eat breakfast. There are quite a few places to choose from around here, but I decided on Coffee Surf Co for a specific reason – you can see the beach. I like it here. The floor is a rustic, gray wood in a fishbone pattern. The main wall is painted a deep blue, and overtop that are painted fun oceanscapes, really harnessing a Hawaiian atmosphere. The front wall is the real treat, though. It’s a large window/garage door, so you can sit, sip your coffee, and watch the waves. The entire vibe is me – East Coast Aloha.

Since I’ve been writing this series, I’ve realized something about coffee shops and their brews – some have their own, some white label them to look like their own, and some just source them. It’s fun walking up to the counter and asking the server what coffee they serve. It’s equally impressive that every place I’ve gone, the servers immediately know the answer.

This morning, I go up to the counter at Coffee Surf Co. and let out my typical mumble-jumble – “I’ll have uh, the uh,” – as if I’ve not been standing there for five minutes staring at the menu. Many coffee menus intimidate me with all their varieties. Latte. Frappuccino. Cappuccino. Pour over. Cold brew. Freezing brew. Hot White. White hot. White Light/White Heat. (another song reference) I like plain, black coffee. I enjoy tasting the differences between coffees when nothing else is polluting them. If I see someone dump five sugar packets in their mug, I’d rather them just do shots of sugar and give me their coffee, save it from mutilation.

Still standing at the counter, the barista staring at me, I say, “I’ll have a large coffee.”

“What kind? Dark roast?”

“Sure,” I say.

She pours my cup and hands it to me and I sit at the high-top and set up my writing station – laptop, two pens, and two notebooks. After I minute or two, I taste the brew and immediately think, “Damn this is delicious.” It’s true I wrote it in my notebook.

It’s dark, but it’s smooth and not harsh. I immediately walk back to the counter and ask the barista what kind of coffee she poured. “That’s our Bold Mountain. Fresh batch.”

“It’s amazing,” I say.

“I’ll tell the owner,” she says, “she just dropped it off.”

I sit back down at my workstation and savor a few more sips. It’s the perfect companion on this frigid day. Turns out, the coffee’s description pretty much says that on their site. You can check it out here – Bold Mountain.

My wife jokes that I volunteer carting our daughter to Irish Step Dance so that I can grab breakfast and coffee and enjoy it by myself in peace. Don’t get me wrong, there’s something refreshing about sitting at a diner counter holding a hot mug and drinking down steaming, black coffee with no one else around. But that’s not why I do this. I work a lot. Too much. And over the years, I’ve missed more time with my daughters than I’ve made. So yes, driving her to class gives me time to have my coffee and write. But it also lets me spend time with her while we’re driving.  I’m making up for lost memories. We talk about what goes on in her 8-year-old mind. Like this morning, she wondered, “Dad, what if someone’s last name has a bad word in it? Can I say it?”

I pack up my writing gear, say goodbye to the barista, and walk out into the snow, looking forward to the drive home.