i love coffee. even before i was old enough to drink coffee — because in my house, there was an unspoken prohibition against pre-teen consumption — i loved the smell of the percolating pot. it would sit on the corner of the kitchen counter, stainless steel with a glass knob on the lid, and once plugged into the wall it would audibly blip-blop hot water through the grounds. this was retired eventually and replaced with one of the early model mr coffee’s. this introduced the concept of the paper filter and the glass pot, parts of the at-home coffee experience that are just a given now.
so i love coffee. a morning at home is not quite the same without it, and if there is no time before i leave, i will still suffer through the bitterness of office coffee. with enough creamer and between 2 and 3 sugars, you can almost consider it drinkable. the tastier option would be to make a detour on the way. occasionally, i’ve stopped at a starbucks or similar for a coffee of the day, or possibly something fancy like a hazelnut latte. grande, please. but do the math and it becomes very clear that a twice-weekly latte can turn into a yearly habit worth over $500.
so yeah, i love coffee. but i know when i’ve had too much. i can feel it set into my bones and under my skin, like fires that have died to a deceiving smolder. sounds like an addiction, doesn’t it? about three or four times a year, i throw myself into a self-induced plan of caffeine avoidance. replace the morning cup of java with a bottle of water. try to avoid the coca-cola or tea with dinner. replace it with even a beer or wine. but is this really the best way? for a perfectly legal drug, caffeine withdrawal is a particularly dreadful experience.
so yes, i do love coffee. even with all of its faults, i can’t help it. and at least i know i’m not alone in my love for the jittery beverage.
