Let me start from the beginning of my addiction. I never drank coffee until my junior year of college. Sure, I would shot gun those fancy International Delight single servings you find in bowls a Perkins next to rotating columns of jam packets, but that was for entertainment and they were delicious. My mom drank Folger's Instant coffee for as long as I could remember. The freeze-dried "crystals" smelled terrible and gave my mom horrible coffee breath.
Junior year of college I was working for WLAX-TV in La Crosse, WI. I worked weekends and had a rotating shift of 12:00 am to 8:00 am one weekend, 4:00 pm to 12:00 am the next, and once in a great while 8:00 am to 4:00 pm. My mind was young and lithe, so I actually made this work (I really doubt that I could do it now, no matter how much coffee you gave me). When I would get the sleepies, I would pound a baby can of V8 Spicy Hot, since I knew that spicy foods would spike my metabolism and thus wake me up. Heartburn ensued, so I needed to find something else.
Enter the Brown Horse: corporate coffee. The coffee cups at the station were small tea cup-like holders for plastic funnels. You needed both to support the watery, caffeiny drink. This coffee was only a half step up from the junk my mom always drank, but it kept me from falling asleep on the switcher. I started bringing in different fancy coffee creamers to jazz it up. My match made in heaven was a chocolate flavored creamer.
At first I only drank coffee at work. Then I started to crave it during the weekdays. One of my college friends mentioned a French Press and how awesome they were, so I went to Target and found a 2-cup Bodum french press for $9.99. Made the transition to coffee brewed at home from real beans. The Co-Op in La Crosse had an amazing Costa Rican coffee that tasted like smoke and chocolate.
In June of 2005, I studied abroad. I spent three weeks in Barga, Italy where I drank the most delicious coffee of my life. For €1, a sweet middle aged barista would provide me with a frothy cappucino that was smooth, delicate and hot. I don't even remember the name of the cafe I went to every morning, only the taste of the coffee and the view of the mountainside village from the patio.
Every day after lunch in the courtyard outside the studio, espresso would be served from a Bialetti-style device. A bit more gritty, this coffee woke me up from the sleepiness of pasta and wine. This coffee was the start of the second half of my day in the studio, the life force that powered me to pull prints from the etch press with a wheel as big as my car.
After Italy, I spent four days in Vienna, Austria. This city made my list of destinations mainly because it is the torte capital of Europe, but I later discovered that the coffee service was quite exquisite as well. On a silver tray with a napkin and glass of water was my frothy cappucino. Paired with Mozarttorte, I was in heaven. This was my lunch everyday; my midday break from walking around in art museums.
I was beginning to understand what all the fuss was about. It wasn't just about a steamy crutch that turned barely awake humans into productive members of society. There was as much of a subculture for coffee as there was wine or micro-brewed beer. I was noticing subtleties in blends and began to poo-poo not only the Folgers I had known as a child, but also the corporate chains like Starbucks. I had become a coffee elitist and a genuine addict by the time I graduated college.
My first job out of school I was working in TV at another station. Still drinking coffee from my french press, and still working ridiculous hours. I kept a budget and always made room for my coffee addiction. As my memories and nostalgia of my travels were pushed to the back of my mind by the stress and chaos of working in TV, coffee became more of a ritual. Without that step in my morning/afternoon/early evening, I felt at a loss; like something was out of place if I didn't drink coffee everyday.
Ritual is comforting, and as I drink my morning cup of coffee (sea salt caramel flavor, light roast) I think of how I might feel without this part of my morning routine. When I wait for my coffee to brew in the morning, I'm scrambling eggs or packing my lunch. I'm multitasking and moving forward in my day. I'm picking out my outfit for the day and throwing things into my purse. Coffee is that milestone in my morning between waking up and getting ready.
Have I done without my morning coffee before? Of course I have. Before my addiction, naturally, but also in the summer of 2009 when I was living with my mom and a broken well pump meant no running water for a week. For the sake of not using up all the bottled water, I stopped drinking coffee for that time. Too broke to buy my coffee from a gas station or coffee shop, I decided to do without. Maybe it's because I associate not having coffee with not having a hot shower that I am hesitant to give up drinking coffee.
The price of coffee is going up and I've read a few things about how coffee (and chocolate, my other vice) is becoming more scarce. There might be a point at which I have to give up coffee, for economic reasons or environmental reasons. I'm sure I could make it without coffee, though the caffeine withdrawal would be a week of headaches and crankiness. But would I want to let go of my rich and lovely history with coffee? I'll save that question for another morning. For now, I'm going to enjoy this cup of bliss.
