November 18, 2008
I remember my first cup of coffee very clearly. I was about eight and my mother made it for me with instant granules dissolved in hot water and a lot of sugar and milk. I drank a mug of that watered down stuff every morning before school. Be it the bitter dregs of a late-night pot at the diners I frequented in high school or the free trade, shade-grown beans ground and brewed in a French Press on my college countertop, since that first taste, coffee has become my constant companion.
There are few things that so consistently bring me happiness. Black as ink, coffee has comforted me through despair,...