A Quarter Century of Coffee

When I was 20 years old and living in Paris for a semester, I was quite proud of the fact that I had never had coffee.  (Remember, this was 1984 and Starbucks hadn't swallowed the world whole yet.)  At that time, I boasted that I would die before I had a cup and be able to put on my tombstone: "Here lies Joan.  If only she'd had a cup of coffee." 

But after months of sitting in Parisian cafes and ordering water, wine and tea, I broke down.  I ordered a cafe au lait. I didn't actually drink the first few.  Instead, I took advantage of the rectangular sugar cubes served in French cafes. Individually wrapped and quite large, these cubes made for a great conduit of the bitter coffee.  I would dunk one cube after another into my cup and suck the cafe through the sugar.  Sickeningly sweet, I enjoyed every last drop.

Now, looking back over the last 25 years, I can't imagine my life without coffee.  The warmth of a hot cup on a cold winter's day to wake me up.  Or the cool freshness from iced coffee when the weather starts to turn warm.  My light and sweet in a bag on the way to work in New York.  Becky's one-shot coffee maker - perfect each time.  The secret naughtiness of a Dunkin' Donuts coffee.  Dad's awful percolator coffee, complete with grounds.  My first taste of Kona, and finding a cheap stash of Kona in Omaha of all places.

After many serious and not-so-serious conversations later over a cup of Joe with friends, I really just can't conceive how different my life would have been if I'd kept to that 20-year-old's ideal of the java-free life.