Friday Pragmatism | When to drink bad coffee

In the past I’ve been called a coffee-nazi, likened of-course to Seinfeld’s soup-nazi of similar infamy. Mind-you, it’s been years since I was labelled thus.

By the way, it’s actually Saturday, but for consistency’s sake, I’ll leave the title in its regular format.

These days I’m much more relaxed with my coffee, coinciding with the fact that I drink far less coffee than I once did, or rather I drink less frequently. At times even now, my consumption of coffee goes through irregular phases of heavy consumption, but I’m much wiser about how I drink. If I have a period where I drink heavily, I make a conscious decision to stay off caffeine of any form (including cola drinks etc.) for a proportionate time to how much I’ve just consumed and over however long a relative period of time I’ve been drinking. It’s a part of keeping a healthy liver and kidneys, and letting your body rest from processing such chemicals. I’m wholly aware of the research into caffeine and some of its detrimental effects in any measure however small or controlled; I accept these things as part of the experience.

Today I had my hair cut.
Aside from the very bizarre experience for me of firstly making an appointment (weeks in advance), being asked if I favoured one stylist above another (which I don’t), and then being called and reminded the day before (which is quite nice actually), part of the whole experience is the offer of tea or coffee. Every place I’ve gotten my hair cut in the last three years including the one place I’ve settled on now offer freshly ground coffee on demand, and all have domestic machines which produce serviceable fresh coffee that is a fair bit better than any premium instant brand which I will religiously avoid at any cost. Nevertheless, the coffee while not bad, isn’t perhaps up to my own personal standards, but I always accept the offer, always drink it and as part of the hair-dressing experience which some of you may remember I thoroughly enjoy, I also enjoy the coffee.

I have several coffee-holes that I visit on and off around the city and throughout the year, and for the most part, most of them offer middling and average coffee. Once upon a time I wouldn’t order coffee unless I knew it would be good, and in some cases, if I knew who was making it. There are still brands that today I avoid if possible, but I’ll even drink them if that’s what my regular haunts offer. Now remember that I strictly drink espresso/black only, and these days always order (or make for myself) double-espressos which roughly consist of 60-80 mils of coffee, water, and nothing else. This is perhaps the most stringent of tests for defining fine coffee… but why do I continue to order it even when sometimes I know it will be bordering on bad?

Over the years I’ve learnt a few things about coffee; first and foremost, I am likely never to get a coffee as good as that which I make for myself at home or at Jack’s. If I really want a fine coffee, I’ll have one at home when the opportunity arises. When I’m out though, I come to understand that sharing coffee isn’t just a social activity between myself and my company, but it’s also a thing shared between myself and the people making and selling it. If I love a place, often also because I love the people and not just the food on offer, then it’s something they are doing for me regardless of any perceived quality on my part. In that regard, I honour their efforts and consistent goodwill towards me and hence always order coffee. Combined with the knowledge that there will always be good coffee on offer at home and at my best friend’s place, I’m happy to forgo high-quality in favour of a wonderful experience.

I absolutely adore having people cut my hair, their fingers over my scalp when washing beforehand and while cutting, the grace of their movements, the almost ritualistic idle-chatter, and allowing them to offer me a coffee is part of that. The coffee at my hair-dressers is hardly poor, it’s actually quite good. Years ago after my first taste, I probably would never have ordered another one on the next visit, but I’m glad I’ve out-grown such snobby and elitist behaviour. There’s also something to ordering a double-espresso and receiving a glass of water to chase it; these people respect coffee and coffee drinkers and know exactly how to serve it, and I always feel there’s this glow between us when I order something so stoic and traditional, and when they are delighted not to be asked for a skinny-soy-chai-mocha-latte with caramel syrup and three sugars. As you may have guessed, I have nothing but contempt for such perversions of the drink, though it’s all play and I don’t actually take any issue with the people who drink them.

I’ve noticed I adapt this attitude to the place I regularly buy lunch while at work. The food isn’t bad at all, most of it is great and while they do cater a little more towards the fast/convenience-food options, they still offer wonderful salads and healthy wraps etc. which I usually purchase. Some of the staff don’t speak with the best English but they have no trouble understanding me, something which many people fail to take note of, and when I beam my smile at them, they glow right back at me. I’m honestly happy to see them almost every day and they’re genuinely glad to see me too.

I come to understand that it is these things which are most valuable in life. Honestly, should I never drink a decent coffee again for the rest of my life when I’m out, I couldn’t care; it’s no longer so important to me. That I have a great experience with people, that I’m not an arsehole to them and that we enjoy our brief time together is far more important that re-enforcing my grand standards unfairly on people wherever I go.

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P.S. – This is a dream come true. It makes me all warm inside.
Be warned; The clip contains violence, blood and gore.