Hungarians
It was always a treat to be taken to the office with my father when I was a child. It was a treat to be selected as the one to go to the office. It was a treat to rummage around in the loft that held the samples of goods that my father imported. It was a treat to date correspondence with a stamp that recorded the date and number of letter copies. Best of all treats was getting café glacé. Whenever my father took any of us to the office, it was a given that we also got this delicious concoction. My father would send the office boy to Osman’s, a bakery nearby that specialized in coffee; everything in the shop smelled and was flavored by coffee. The delectable café glacé consisted of a little iced coffee, a lot of heavy cream, and a large scoop of ice cream, and one had to sip it through a straw to get the right combination of all the ingredients. I have tried to recreate this treat, but the one in my memory always wins. Fortified with my café glacé, I would proceed to the