#12 Coffee - A Fake It Till You Make It Story

Chapter 1: A Caffeinated Rube

When I was 12, I wanted nothing more than to be an adult. And more than wanting to be an adult, I wanted to be cool. Boring adults drank tea (or chai). But from what I could tell, the cool adults hung out at cafes and drank coffee.

You must be thinking, “But why did you want to be like them?”

Fair question, dude.

Two words. Central Perk. When you’re an impressionable preteen seeing Ross and Rachel, Monica and Phoebe hanging out at a coffee shop being cool and funny, you wanted to be a part of the Gang too.

So a plan was made. Three of us friends dressed like we were Ross, Joey and Chandler showed up at Cafe Coffee Day, the Indian Starbucks of the time. We took the only couch in the cafe, a la Friends, and flicked through the menu. I knew that espresso was “too strong” and “too bitter” and “why would anyone drink this disgusting thing?!” so I asked our server what he’d recommend. He immediately pointed to the most expensive drink on the menu. A Devil’s Own. "Scam!" was my first thought, but I went with it. Then the server asked if I’d like some ice cream and chocolate syrup in it. My skepticism immediately went to effusive praise thinking “this guy is so generous to make this first experience of ours so special with these complimentary additions.”

The drinks arrived a few moments later. The Devil’s Own was a gorgeous looking drink with chocolate syrup lining the glass walls like a stained-glass painting in a church. This would be brag-worthy at school tomorrow, I thought. The first sip was heavenly! I could taste zero coffee in the drink but the sugar rush made me feel like I was talking to God! When we ordered the check, I was struck with sticker shock. Maybe my scam-feelers were onto something. The Devil’s Own was somehow listed as 320 instead of the original 120 on the menu. I asked the server, “Excuse me sir, why is the Devil’s Own 200 rupees more than the menu price?” He explained that the ice cream and chocolate syrup were extra. I cried, “that was extra?!” He said, “of course it was; nothing is free.” Was he still talking about the drink or life?

I lost all 300 rupees I'd saved over months. But I guess we were the Friends-type, coffee drinking, maybe-cool semi-adults now.

Chapter 2: The Socially Acceptable Drug Habit

I was super straight-edged when I got to college. While most college students socialized over alcohol, I didn't relish the idea of losing control of my body and needing someone to carry me home. Instead I spent my time day drinking - with coffee. It helped that there was a preexisting social norm to meet over coffee and not caramels, and that the drink was available on literally every street corner.

But I didn’t like coffee as much as I liked the idea of coffee. Every iced latte from Espresso Royale had confirmed this belief. But because of the collegial need to pull all-nighters, coffee remained a reliable beverage to keep me awake. To make the drink palatable, my go-to Dunkin order for many years was a medium iced-coffee with caramel and mocha, plus cream and sugar. On more than one occasion the barista asked me “You want caramel and mocha, and cream and sugar?” And I’d think, did I stutter? I thought my order was genius.

By the time I got to my junior year, we friends made it a custom to go to an old local diner every other Sunday. The diner was stuck in time. They didn’t know lattes and frappuccinos. They served good old, eye-opening, jolt-producing, bitter American cup o’ Joe! Even at that diner with its 'real' coffee, I had to stay true to character. The coffee was served with a side of tiny creamers and every kind of sugar plus its guilt-free siblings - white, brown, sugar-free, aspartame, stevia, you name it. Once the server had poured me a cup I would then proceed to add 4 creamers and 4 sugars in my coffee, at which point my friend noted observantly, “Would you like some coffee with your sugar?”

While I developed this socially acceptable drug habit of caramels and mochas with creams and sugars, coffee was the mule who remained faithfully by my side.

Chapter 3: I Think I Tasted Coffee For The First Time

When I walked into Cafe Cesura for the first time, I could not have told you the difference between Starbucks and third-wave specialty coffee. I thought Starbucks was specialty coffee, just one step above the ladder of cheaper sugary drinks that I was already downing from Dunkin. Starbucks never felt any better than Espresso Royale despite its infinite double-pump caramel macchiato combinations. The coffee still tasted bitter and dark, sometimes metallic, like tasting lead. Any added sugar was simply taking its edge off.

Cafe Cesura, by comparison, was minimalist in its design. No frappuccinos or venti white mochas on the menu. Just five espresso-based drinks with three syrup options. The space was beautiful too - an industrial looking loft, a large live edge table, plants everywhere, art by local artists on the walls, and a large window overlooking a lush, quiet street in downtown Bellevue. Starbucks felt like a far cry from this.

Soft jazz with cafegoers reading books replaced the cackle of keyboards and overcaffeinated students. I loved it!

My reading habit which had atrophied in college saw a spark again. The idea of a book with a hot beverage felt right in this first fall after college.

I walked up to the counter self-consciously, unaware of the difference between a latte and a cappuccino. I asked the barista what she’d recommend. I mentioned I’d prefer a milk drink and something that was slightly sweet. She recommended something simple - a vanilla latte. When I received my drink in a big ceramic cup, there was a large white heart on its soft brown surface. Clean layered lines flaring at the edges and converging at the tips. Beautiful, like a piece of art.

I took my first sip, the temperature of the milk was gentle, not scalding. I felt my eyes widen in pleasant surprise. The coffee tasted like chocolate. The sweetness from the vanilla complemented the coffee but did not mask it. It didn’t taste bitter or burned or “dark” but finished smoothly and lingered gently on my tongue. With each sip, all I could manage to say was 'Wow!’ - as if witnessing a communion of heavenly spirits descending into this particular cup.

I believe I tasted coffee for the first time.

Chapter 4: The Dealer and The Miracle

Reading with a latte at Cafe Cesura became my daily practice. I preferred the shared energy of the cafe to sitting alone in my small apartment. The cafe was unsurprisingly popular so on busy days when I couldn’t get a table, I’d sit at the bar. On one such day, I was joined by a gentleman who turned out to be the coffee supplier for Cesura. They used beans from a local roastery called Caffe Lusso and Sean Harwin was Lusso’s Chief Operations Officer.

I told Sean how much I loved their coffee ever since that first cup. Sean was elated but unsurprised, having been on a similar journey himself.

"So how did you get into this?" I asked, not wanting to miss my chance to learn about his line of work. "And what goes into making coffee taste this good?”

"Well, roasting is actually the near-final step," Sean said. "It all starts way earlier - where the coffee grows, how it's harvested.”

"What do you mean?”

“Everything we roast is high-altitude Arabica, which comes from a tropical coffee belt around the world. Think Colombia, Brazil, Ethiopia, Indonesia etc. The farmers have to pick coffee cherries at maximum ripeness, then pulp them, dry them and wash them before selling the seeds as green coffee.”

He gestured to his cup. “By the time the coffee reaches your cup, it has changed hands between farmers, green coffee buyers, importers, roasters and cafes. Everything has to go right for you to enjoy the drink you’re drinking, otherwise everyone suffers - especially the farmers.”

I’ll never forget what Sean said afterwards.

"Most people take coffee for granted. It’s a miracle that coffee makes it from a farm to a cafe. In my opinion, $5 for a coffee is a steal given the effort that goes into it reaching the final cup.”

Chapter 5: This Coffee Does Not Taste Like Oranges

In the coffee world, experiencing perfect coffee is sometimes called a God Shot. It is a rare occurrence but an unforgettable one if you do get to experience it. Is the name hyperbolic and divisive? Yes. But does the experience ring true? Also yes. It’s hard not to chase that feeling once you have experienced it.

What I encountered at Cesura was, in no small way, a God Shot. And if I wasn’t already a convert, my conversation with Sean made me one. It made me want to know more about coffee, learn more, really taste its essence. Coffee had to be tasted as-is. I’d come a long way from my Cafe Coffee Day impressions of “too strong,” “too bitter,” and “why would anyone drink this disgusting thing?!” The question was, what’s next?

The general consensus online was that the simplest gateway to making coffee at home would be using a French Press. I acquired one on an impromptu Ikea trip with Dr. Varshavskiy. I already had access to a good cafe selling beans. All that was left was to start brewing.

On the bean bags that I bought from Lusso, I noticed that each coffee had “tasting notes” to suggest what the coffee might taste like. Chocolate, orange, baking spices. Coffee that tastes like orange? Fascinating, I thought! No sugar needed? What magic is this?

When I picked up the beans from Cesura, I asked them to grind it for the consistency of a French Press. Coarse grind, the size of grains of sand. The next morning I eyeballed two tablespoons of coffee, added what looked like enough boiling water for a cup, and waited the recommended 4-5 minutes as this online recipe suggested. Then plunged the press, excited to taste my first home brew!

The smell of this fresh coffee was intoxicating. Its aroma made the apartment feel warmer and cozier. I poured the coffee into my favorite brown Ikea mug and brought the cup closer to my mouth to take my first sip.

On first contact, my face contorted, I almost gagged. My reaction - “This coffee is bitter. And where are the oranges?!”

Chapter 6: Coffee Is Science

My friend, Dr. Varshavskiy, happens to be a fan of magic. He’s a devout Penn and Teller fan and regularly attends Penn’s Sunday School. Penn at one point wrote a book called Presto where he outlines his journey to losing 100 pounds in 3 months without which he could’ve gone to an early grave.

Given the extreme magician that he is, Penn tells a story in the book about “resetting his palate.” He had to remember what food actually tastes like when not masked by excessive salt and fat. To do this, he eats only potatoes for 2 weeks straight. Potatoes and nothing else. On the 15th day, his wife gives him a carrot. Penn is baffled. He accuses his wife of giving him a carrot dipped in honey when he’s trying his hardest to lose this weight! His wife tells him that he’s delusional, the carrot is just a regular carrot! And that’s the confirmation of Penn’s palate reset. He realized he’d never really tasted a carrot because the inherent sweetness of the carrot was masked by the basted steaks and confit garlic he’d been downing after his Vegas shows. A carrot as sweet as honey. But the tongue had to be trained.

I read this story right when I was frustrated with my own coffee brewing. Every coffee from every specialty roaster had tasting notes on them - peaches, stone fruit, juicy, black tea, floral, berries, chocolate, marzipan. Either this was all one big coordinated conspiracy to increase the marketability of coffee, or I had a tongue made of stone. I had 2 suspicions:

1. •

   Because I could taste the notes at the cafe, I clearly wasn’t brewing coffee at home to maximally enhance its flavor.

2. •

   My palate needed resetting (for both enjoyment of good coffee and diagnosing the bad).

Now we enter the training montage of coffee appreciation. Cue Eye of the Tiger and read on.

Caramel and mocha and cream and sugar had to go. I fell into a rabbit hole of coffee understanding. How do you buy good coffee? Why does grind size matter? Tablespoons vs grams is not the same? Weigh the water too?! “Wow was I wrong! I thought dark roasts were better because dark = stronger.” James Hoffmann’s soothing voice would cradle me to sleep promising answers to these questions in hopes of an improved cup the next day. Grind fresh, weigh by weight, control the temperature, try percolation instead of immersion. Drink. Different. Coffees!

After a couple years of brewing every day, the palate was able to say “today tastes not as good” or “hmm, better than yesterday.” Then one day, the coffee tasted like oranges.

Chapter 7: The Home Barista

I had accidentally turned this teenage pretense of hanging out at cafes into somehow truly appreciating the craft of each cup. But the journey wasn’t complete yet. My wife and I went from first conversation to engaged in 12 days. That’s a story for another time but 12 days meant building trust and endearment extremely quickly!

In that fortnight of chatting, I learned that she was someone who liked coffee too. We talked about our love for this lovely beverage. She had had the equivalent of my Cesura experience at Roastery Coffee House in Hyderabad. I didn’t have an espresso machine at the time but felt like that was where we were headed next. I told her what theoretically should produce good tasting espresso - good beans, temperature consistency, grind size and 9 bars of pressure. One time I asked her what made her say yes to me after only 12 days? She said that I had her at 9 bars.

Incidentally, when we got married, our friends gifted us an espresso machine. Another friend gave me one of my favorite books - both an entrepreneurial story and an ode to coffee's modern history. The love for the craft has since only continued to grow. The drink continues to be a part of our daily routine. Me with my Flat White and book with Oreo (our dog) on the couch. Her with her pour over with eggs and ricotta toast. The beverage not only rooting our individual mornings but also serving as our shared expression of mutual love.

Turns out I did become an adult who hangs out at cafes and drinks coffee. Just not the kind I thought I wanted to be at 12. What once started as virtue signaling for external validation, over the years turned into a deep appreciation for the seed of a fruit that has brought me joy on countless days.

Coffee is an ode to the art of paying attention - to its weight, the water, the aroma, the taste, the activation of all the senses. Coffee is the pursuit of perfection - elusive, frustrating, but rewarding. Coffee still brings people together, not in the same performative ways of my teenage, but more intentionally and thoughtfully - from my walking 1:1s to hosting friends at our Home Cafe to catching up with old friends, coffee still remains the faithful mule by my side, now carrying very different cargo.