I remember my first cup of proper coffee like it was yesterday. It was a simple Americano but I embraced that mahogany sultan as if it were a new-born child, thankful for every decision that had led me to that moment. It was a mind-blowing experience, like an LSD hallucination of Beatles’ proportions. I got such a woeful case of the jitters, I didn’t know if I was going to puke or build a house from scratch. How people do cocaine, I’ll never know. I could make my own Wolf of Wall Street happen from caffeine alone.
Did I celebrate International Coffee Day on October 1st? No. Because, as Papa Bear once said about the proposed idea of Children’s Day, EVERY DAY is Coffee Day. I begin each morning with a mug of strong java. I care about the perfect crema on top and the milk that must be steamed between 60 and 65 degrees Celsius. I adore coffee art, mourning my half-arsed barista attempts at a leaf or a heart while the internet produces bloody castles complete with turrets and a moat.
I have a confession to make. If you haven’t already copped it, I’m a bit of a hipster when it comes to the caffeinated beverage. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that I’m a certified coffee snob. I despise weak or imitation coffee. I opt for flat whites over the humble regular white. I’m that ponce that asks for a double shot macchiato in a take-away cup.
I read a Daily Edge article last week that slated instant coffee, branding it ‘liquid disappointment’, and I wholeheartedly agreed. Even my dinky French press falls short of my pretentiously high standards and I yearn for a proper machine to complete my kitchen, and life. Not a Nespresso one, I’m talking about an industrial tank of a yoke that will cost thousands and take up the majority of my counter top. This will probably remain a pipe dream however, as I fear the inevitable outcome of becoming a hermit and hooking the machine up to my veins like life support.
Starbucks. Just where do you get off? If you’re going to infest every street corner like something out of Contagion, you could at least offer a decent brew. Starbucks do not serve coffee, they serve syrup in a cup. Pumpkin spice lattés are a crock and you know it. The new one that opened up near work is tauntingly cosy looking but I will refrain from the allure of the quirky couches because Starbucks is an EVIL corporation built on lies and deceit. Not that I feel that strongly about it or anything.
So, to sum up, coffee is the greatest invention ever and I would gladly be referred to as Mrs. Bean for the rest of my days. Tea, don’t feel too disheartened. You have a very special place in my heart but you’re more of an evening treat. Coffee for morning, tea for night. And maybe also red wine. But that’s another article.