I remember perfectly the first time I laughed out loud at the cinema. It was an afternoon in 1998 watching The Miracle of P.Tinto, a visual astracanada with shades of Sunrise, which is no small thing birthed by the brilliant mind of Javier Fesser, which today would most likely be impossible to see in commercial cinemas. She would die disintegrated due to acute cancellation before the script reached the table in the producer’s office.
That afternoon I would have been sixteen years old. Reclining in the armchair, entranced by this unprecedented succession of psychotropic postcards, I recognized myself as a member of the great P. Tinto family.
This is how Juan Manuel Chiapella, playing the original Father Tinto, describes what it is like to be part of that clan, his heir, in a mythical scene from the film: “My son, always remember this: for many generations, a Father Tinto It has always been distinguished by three qualities that make it unmistakable anywhere in the world: Father Tinto always looks up, with optimism. Father Tinto’s elegance is recognized wherever he wants to go; Casual, yes, but elegant. And, above all, a Father Tinto always carries his own energy. Without forgetting that a P. Tinto likes to put sugar in his coffee until he has it together.” At the crossroads of those three axes, I, a teenager on a journey of self-discovery, found my place in the world: a server has always put a couple of packets of sugar in her black coffee. My grandfather did the same thing, who was as famous in the town for his garden furniture as he was for adding two tablespoons of sugar to his fine glass of hot cane milk with Colacao.
Before, when we had no brains or any sense, when we drank water by holding onto the dirty hose in the yard, we watched movies filled with politically incorrect jokes, and all the packets contained eight grams of white sugar by default, life was easier. Now every day there is less sugar in the packets, and it is common to come across some where, for example, there are only five grams of poison. Likewise, and increasingly, these five grams are of brown sugar, which does not have too many nutritional differences compared to white, but has less sweetening power, and an ocher tone in line with the light wood of the walls of Nordic interior design. It seems like you saw more. This has forced me to take action.
Before, all of this was fields and two sachets were enough for me to enjoy my cup of coffee in peace. Now, to get the sixteen grams of highly refined and evil white sugar that I want, I need to spend four: three whole fives and a little more. The world considers me to be someone with character, a liberated and empowered woman, owner of her destiny, but I have not yet ascended to the level of consciousness that allows me to ask the waiter for a quadruple serving of sugar without losing the spontaneous natural smile that characterizes me. I am not able to request the dose I need without feeling on my shoulders the weight of the judgment of Western civilization in its entirety, raised as a single man staring at me with disapproval and shame. So what I do is always travel with a handful of sugar packets hidden in a special compartment in my backpack (a P. Tinto always carries its own energy).
When I’m at the bar I order a black coffee with two packets of sugar – I dare to do this. If what they serve me is brown sugar, I leave it on the counter and give the waiter the flutter of an interesting and mature person’s eyelashes, which implies “I, the coffee, drink it alone, like gourmets and professional coffee growers.” ”. Once at the table, I stealthily take out two packets of sugar from the secret trousseau and pour them into the cup. If the sugar they serve me is white, but it does not add up to the amount of sixteen grams, due to the fashion of packaging the grams five at a time, I correct the defect with my own merchandise.
Finally, I make origami with the sugar wrappers that I have used, fold them and put them all inside one, which I leave on the little plate. In the end everything in the scene is very polished (P. Tinto’s elegance is recognized wherever he goes; informal, yes, but elegant). Recently, I have become a faithful follower of the Instagram account of this distinguished gentleman called William Hanson that educates the masses in matters of protocol and etiquette. Each of his reels it makes me happy.
Thanks to him I have made peace with myself on a very deep level. Apparently, this ritual that I have followed with the sugar packet papers all these years is what this teacher prescribes to have a cup of coffee as elegantly as possible.
We, Father Tinto, have plenty of reasons to always go through the world with our heads held high.
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