I love coffee, man. No, I mean I love coffee, man.
But for seriousness, I really do love coffee. I love making it, I love drinking it. The only thing I like more than making and drinking coffee is sharing coffee with other people who feel similarly about it. It’s shockingly complicated in both its preparation, cultivation, and its global influence. There’s a sort of mad scientist aspect of espresso making that fills my dreams full of strange contraptions that hum and gush steam like some sort of Wellsian follie. The simplicity of a really amazing cup of brewed coffee, regardless of how elaborate the brewing process may have been, grants me a brief but delicious moment of transcendence, a luscious respite from my worldly cares.
I love coffee, so what? I’ve been thinking about why I’m not satisfied just hanging out in my kitchen making lots of coffee and being really over caffeinated. For a time, coffee was a refuge from a world whose complexity I could see but in which I hadn’t found a place. That was nice, and the online coffee communities helped make that time seem less solitary. But without another person, coffee is an all to fleeting pleasure. I could have spent more time hanging out at my favorite coffee place, it’s 1.9 miles away – a stones throw in LA terms, but I don’t think that my body would have been able to withstand the amount of coffee I would have consumed, and then I would have been weird guy trying to strike up conversations with strangers just looking to enjoy their cup of Rwandan syphon brew.