There is a security in sharing coffee with someone. It is a grounding feeling that with each sip, the hot brown liquid slowing each heartbeat, a melting occurs of each body into the overstuffed chairs supporting their frames. The drinkers are intertwined, connected tightly as the cream and sugar that opinions upon a good cup rest. Should an argument arise, coffee can also serve as the neutral ground between foes; heat to calm the intensity.
Yet, between coffee lovers, there is a competition as to who can make the better cup. Worthy brand names of bean farms across the country vie for the consumer’s attention, as well. While perusing the shelves of the many possible brands and brewing styles, a customer puzzling over the same dilemma broke my concentration; apparently she once knew someone, a visionary, who claimed the ability to see remnants of the farmers’ underpaid sweat upon each glossy bean. She expanded, saying that this was the source of the bitter aftertaste after each sip –a symbolic referral to the efforts of hard labor worldwide.
This consumer rivalry can also extend beyond the grocery store shelves and into the family dynamics. My uncle, for example, will often step into the constant hustle that is our house, the Grand Central Station coffeehouse of New England, wishing to chat with someone about a plaguing matter in his life, with his own brimming cuppa joe in hand; his habitual caffeine intake is determinedly unbroken and hesitant towards change like the Yankee he’s become.
I have a friend who said he could see his own reflection in his mug. He then would fabricate an altered version of the singsong Folger’s commercial, “The best part of waking up is me in my cup.” Marketing has done its job. The very smell and sound of fresh ground beans stirs up memories of a favorite café haunt or the buzz of a busy kitchen. Spiked with Irish Cream or straight, it is the perfect addition to a chilly night around a wilderness campfire. Forget meditation, yoga, breathing exercises, even artistic expression; coffee is relaxation in a cup. It is a beverage of sophistication, measuring maturity in the years since the first addicting sip. Pliable, coffee is drunk at all times of the day: a perk in the morning or afternoon, a digestive or stimulant at night. It is the creative inspiration for counter-cultures worldwide, as customers embrace the calm of life in café chairs while nursing grandé mocha frappucinos to the soundtrack of a jazz master. It is a commercial theme song, performed a cappella. It is a way of life.
Lost in thoughts inspired by my hometown kitchen, the minutes pass with each gurgling drip of the old, tinged coffee pot sitting central upon my apartment counter. Pouring that first cup, I curl upon my green quilted couch and watch the morning spread its wings. Lacing my fingers through the earthen handle, I take a deep breath and sip, becoming whole again. Where I come from, coffee is everything.
