Dear Readers, One of my longest lasting and most committed relationships has been with coffee. I believe it was 1998 when coffee and I started going steady. I was driving to Houston after a wedding late at night, and I found myself dozing off behind the wheel. So, in order to remedy my sleepiness, I pulled into a gas station and picked up a glass bottle of Starbucks frappuccino. While it certainly had more cream and sugar than coffee, that became my introduction to enjoying the taste of coffee. I began consuming this high-calorie caramel and vanilla beverage, helping with my marathon study sessions, assisting me in actually attending my 8 a.m. classes and even getting ready for dates.
When I lived in Philadelphia in my late 20s, it made me feel so “adult” when payday arrived and I could afford a fancy coffee at the Starbucks on Market Street. To this day, I’m still intimidated to order at one of these chains because I never did quite grasp the lingo, sizing, syrup and milk selections. Later, in my 30s, I veered away from corporate coffee and started to figure out my own preferences without the urgency of a long line shuffling behind me.
This week, I found myself manually grinding coffee beans in a ceramic bowl using a coffee mug as a pestle — clearly, I’ve come a long way from my frappuccino days. In that moment, I realized just how much coffee has integrated itself into my life, not just as a drink but as a daily ritual. This beverage has become a necessity, a non-negotiable part of my morning routine. I can’t even fathom functioning without at least one carafe of French press before I dare to face the day. Coffee before the mirror, coffee before emails, coffee before coherent thoughts.
