I’m publicly admitting my addiction to coffee. I’m pretty proud but I wouldn’t quite call myself a coffee snob. In addition, I think I moved to the cafe capital of the world. You can’t walk around Wellington without having a coffee, or going to a cafe, or smelling coffee for that matter. It’s everywhere and Wellingtonians seem to really embrace that life. As Isaac describes, “Wellington’s just a city of cafes with people in it”.
I was introduced to coffee at a very young age. I remember mom serving me the coffee she drank by the pot when I was small. It was sweet and different and gave me a rush of energy. I was that moment on that I was hooked. I loved sugar. I loved caffeine. And now, I love coffee. In fact, I remember once trying to warm up a pot of coffee for my friends around the age of 10 and almost burning the house down because I put the plastic handle too close to the gas burner and it caught fire. I was trying to be cool by serving coffee to my friends, just like my mom did when she entertained guests. Instead, I burnt the pot and the handle melted. I also recall using a percolater at a young age. Probably after I burned the pot beyond proper use.
I remember buying my favorite coffee maker called a Capresso. It was like having a new toy in the kitchen to play with. And my first frother, which I rarely used. It made my mornings so enjoyable in the suburbs of Atlanta and my morning brew helped me through a terrible commute to work everyday. Once in New York, I used a trusty french press. I bought grounds from a tin but rarely made my own coffee. I frequented the local cafes for variety and embraced my expensive habit of having coffee out.
I took my coffee with milk and sugar. I drank coffee to wake up. I drank coffee to stay up. I drank coffee to get inspired. I drank coffee to stay warm in the cold. I drank coffee because it was breakfast time. And I drank coffee because it was mid-day and I needed a break. I ate coffee flavored everything. I would find any excuse to have a coffee. My habit certainly slowed during summer months. I adopted iced coffee a bit later in life. In Portland, I drank plenty of Stumptown cold brew and again, frequented any coffee shop to read, sit, think, drink, and be merry.
As time went on, I realized how important coffee has been in my life and I’m now full on addicted. A day without coffee makes no sense to me. And my coffee is no longer drip. It’s in tiny espresso cups, from a cute espresso maker, with quality beans that I hand grind every morning. What have I become!?! The point is, I love it. I would marry it. And I can’t live without it.
Do you love coffee too? Do you want to join my support group?