Things I'm Meant to Love But Don't: Coffee

I can't count how many times a day I refuse coffee. Go to a meeting, get offered coffee. Go see a colleague, get offered coffee. Go for a meal, get offered coffee. Starbucks this, Costa Coffee that. From toothless hobos, to penny-farthing riding hipsters, to middle-aged soccer moms and blue-haired, absent-minded grannies...everyone loves coffee, right? Not me. I hate the stuff - and it's not for lack of trying. I’ve wanted for YEARS to like coffee more than I do, and to some extent The Bean and I have had a love/hate relationship since I was old enough to smell. 

Lies, all lies.

My mom was an avid coffee drinker, and even though I was religiously opposed to drinking the stuff, I took a lot of pride in being able to make her cup exactly how she wanted it. Well, exactly how I thought she wanted it, anyway. It may have been lovely; then again it may have been like the time I made her a ham sandwich that was more mustard than bread and not much ham at all. I didn’t always get it right, I’m sure – but as a child I loved the precarious two-handed presentation of the overflowing mug that (regardless of the quality of the brew) resulted in a smile and the thanks of someone who really believed that it was the thought that counted. 

Even today, I love the dark, seductive scent that surges out and slides smoothly up your nose when you open a new vacuum-sealed bag. I love the drip, drip, drip of the old-fashioned percolator machine as it passes the hot water through the filter. And I love the deep-chocolate colour of the perfect cup of coffee, with just the right amount of milk and sugar to bring the drink back from the bitter edge. That’s the love bit. 

What's Sanskrit for 'Alpaca Poo'?

Unfortunately, the hate bit starts just as the taste of that foul stuff hits my lips. It’s truly horrible, and no matter how much my nose and nostalgia try to convince my taste buds that it’s worth drinking, I can’t help but think that the rest of world has been conned into drinking hot muddy goat’s pee and paying £3 a grandé for the privilege. Some ancient food and drink gambles have paid off. Like the guy who first saw a mushroom and thought, “It may look dirty, smell of wee and feel a little like a rotting sponge, but I’ll eat it. What could possible go wrong?” Brave man (or woman); genius. All of my pizzas (and a few good nights out) thank you.

But to the Ethiopian farmer who first thought that it would be a good idea to push hot water through ground-up coffee beans: you, sir, were a fool. Not only have you inadvertently created a coffee subculture of pseudo-snobbery, ruined the breath and teeth of millions of people AND taken professional basketball out of Seattle – but you’ve made liars out of my eyes and nose. I blame you personally for every mocha-based chocolate I’ve spat out in surprise, every tiramisu I’ve left unfinished on my plate and every coffee-flavoured jelly bean that snuck its way into my mouth. Your only saving grace is the coincidental invention of the Chocolate Cream Frappuccino® Blended Crème’ which has no coffee in it at all and (let’s face it) is really just an overpriced watered-down milkshake riding on the coattails of delicious-sounding drinks like the caramel macchiato and espresso con panna. Man those sound good. They sound sexy. They sound important. Then I remember that they’re all jut fancy ways to say coffee, and coffee is horrible. Give me a nice cup of tea any time. No, wait. I hate tea, too. But somehow ‘I like my women like I like my drinks: cold and fizzy’ just doesn’t sound right.