Coffee Grinder

Relationship: Im/migrant

This coffee grinder has been in my family for over 45 years. I remember playing with it when I was just a toddler. I was holding it in my hands, opening its basket and taking it apart. I never forgot the feel of its cold metal and the smell of the freshly ground coffee. As I was getting older I was expected to grind the coffee myself, but also to brew it for my dad.  My dad loved his coffee. Every afternoon, after lunch he would say: “ Daughter, how about a cup of coffee?” I was so proud of myself to be able to brew an excellent cup of coffee at the age of five. While he slowly drank his coffee I sat next to him, waiting for the praise. And surely the praise came every time. Towards the end of his life my dad stopped drinking coffee. But, every time I went to visit my parents in Serbia he would brew coffee for me. I would only drink coffee in Serbia and only when my dad made it for me. Nobody knew my coffee taste better than my father. When he died I brought the coffee grinder with me to New York City. I often look at it. My son asked me why do we not use it. I said that we do not drink coffee. “But, can we grind something else in it?” he asked. That is how we started using our old coffee grinder to grind black pepper. Noam loves to turn its rusty squeaky handle, to smell the freshly ground black pepper and to sneeze after inhaling it. 

Year: 1985

– Zaklina Milovanovic

Relationship:  Im/migrant Im/migrant