my current routine, when i manage to adhere to it, involves getting up around dawn, cleaning the kitchen, and preparing coffee for my folks. it's one of my little ways of earning my keep while imposing on them for the time being.
making coffee for others is a habit that infuses the very art with a different quality. there's a certain way my folks like their coffee made, certain equipment they prefer me to use, and then they tend to savor a small quantity of it over a long period of time, well past the gone-cold expiration point beyond which i would have thrown it in the sink. they live by a different rhythm than i do, with expectations of life different from mine. i'm the kind of foodie snob that complains about there being "no real bagels" in our area; they are the kind of people who prefer eating dinner on their laps in front of the TV. i like to buy coffee from VERY small batch artisan roasters by the half pound; they like to stock up with five pound bags from the mega-store. at many points it's an exercise in stepping out of my miserable berkeley CA-bred whingery.
i think i need to make coffee for other people. it's why i worked behind the bar all those years, from seattle to boulder to wherever. it's a social ritual much more salutary than mixing cocktails in that it doesn't lead to impairment or loss of dignity or empathy. now i don't want to go denigrating alcohol here, as inebriation is pretty much the religion of many people i know, but having my own sad history with it i've acquired rather a jaundiced eye for the so-called "social lubricant". sometimes you don't need lubriciousness in your relationships -- you need friction so you can get a goddamned grip. you need a social stimulant.
drinking coffee with people is pleasant any time of day, but it's particularly pleasant preparing it and sharing it. it has an element of taking care of others, of providing space for an interaction. serving depressant beverages seems medical somehow, as if one were a sort of social anesthetist; serving coffee is kind of like sounding reveille. people get drunk and riot; people drink coffee and foment revolution. i think there's a difference.
my favorite coffee fanatic quote comes from the late, venerable alfred peet: "you wouldn't take a LaFite Rothschild and turn it into a soft drink!" when asked about flavored coffees. i think about that when i think about the drink-to-get-drunk, coffee-to-get-wired, fast-food, GPC-smoking culture of convenience without taste [bourdieu's deconstruction of taste as a structural aftereffect of class distinction notwithstanding]. a very close friend who finds my interest in coffee amusing when not annoying drinks coffee daily yet claims to dislike it, saying "i need it to work." this is, in my opinion, a good encapsulation of the calvinism-run-amok of american culture: there is no value other than utility, and all else is a distraction, an affectation, even an abomination. because nobody in america is supposed to actually enjoy anything any more, much less relax over a long lunch, read a good book or watch a thoughtful film, we're all fat and miserable.
there's a false stereotype of the non-urban american as being chronically obese and unwilling to go outdoors. in the impoverished rural area i currently live, on a trip to the county fair where one expects to see hordes of fat white people, i saw instead a lot of wiry, lean, muscular (though poor) people, because they are farm people who get up early, work their asses off all day long, and do stuff outside for fun. the other thing i saw at the county fair was espresso stands and ethnic food. not very long ago this would have been UNTHINKABLE here. it was all corn dogs and root beer, or real beer, and that's it. where once it was only camels or marlboros, this low-income rural area offers romeo y julietas. what once would have been called a "tavern" now says "PUB" in eight foot letters on the roof so you can spot it from the highway.
so when people tell you that only petit bourgeoisie get into things like coffee, wine, scotch and cigars, or obscure niche genres of music, or films that aren't all about explosions, you should send them out to my neighborhood. i've got some good ol' boys and gals out here who would beg to differ. and who would send back their espresso shots for not having a copper-red cap of crema just as quickly as they'd send back a porterhouse for being overdone.
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