PLEASURES OF LIFE

“Oh look, another Keurig,” I said as I unwrapped the gift, unsure if I was being punked. Four coffee makers — in four different colors — sat on the floor in front of me in the jumble of Christmas debris. The situation was so ridiculous, it only took half a beat for me to burst into laughter. Apparently no one in the family communicated that year when shopping for my present. But I was grateful that everyone wanted to make sure I had my caffeine fix. That was the year I’d gone off to college and you could say I was a tad — OK, a lot — coffee obsessed.

Having previously worked at a coffee shop, you couldn’t blame me. I had one leg up on addiction. But higher education made it worse. I relied on it so much to get me through the long days — between morning workouts, the A/C always blasting a smidgen too much and Mr. Dean’s sleep-inducing class —  it hardly gave me the jitters anymore. My roommate and I used our Keurig so much that it didn’t survive first semester.

Friends and family might describe me now as a coffee snob, which I would argue is not entirely true. I can recognize a good cuppa from an over-roasted, bitter or stale one, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t drink it to endure the “brilliant” podcast my sister insists is life-changing.

If coffee is an acquired taste, I’ve acquired it. Much like being a wine sommelier, the more you drink the more you understand what the terms that could describe fabrics — “velvety,” “light,” and “floral” — mean in the coffee context.

Admittedly, since my college days I have upgraded my brew methods. I grind the beans fresh for each pot. It has become a morning ritual of sorts, one that humors me. I’m as guilty as the next guy of not being able — or, rather, refusing — to function without their morning cup of joe. Hey, we’re creatures of habit.

There are people who enjoy the sentiment of coffee more than the concoction itself. There’s something exciting about wrapping your hands around a steaming cup as if you’re lounging in a ski chalet in Aspen or, for those who prefer iced drinks, making your way through a castle of whipped cream to get a sugar fix before diving into the caffeine pool at the bottom.

These days the real appeal to me, other than getting a much needed jolt in the morning, is that “going for coffee” can be an outing in itself. The coffee shop can serve as a “third place” — a pleasing space between home and work where the aroma of a fresh brew and the hum of conversation bring people together. Whether it’s catching up with an old friend, powering through online tasks or enjoying a good book, there’s something motivating about stepping out of the house and into a welcoming atmosphere.

Some of my best ideas happen in coffee shops. I enjoy hearing the sounds of the grinder, the steam of the espresso machine and the soft mingling around me. After a while you begin to notice things like “plaid shirt guy isn’t here today,” or “the lady who always asks for her drink to be kid’s temperature got a tea today,” or “chai latte girl must have finally finished that paper.”

In college, that little coffeemaker became my personal barista, churning out cups during all-nighters and early morning cram sessions. I’d sit at my desk with my laptop, a mug in hand and pretend I was anywhere but a cramped, cluttered dorm room.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, I kept the black Keurig for my college dorm. The other three went back for spending money.