To Coffee
One of my first memories with my dad is the two of us at a coffee shop down the street from our apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I was maybe one or two, my mom had a class, and after a full day of work my dad was left to take care of me for the evening. Rather than sitting at home, he took me along with him to do exactly what he would have done without me: go to a coffee shop. The one he loved smelled like their signature cinnamon rolls; crunchy scrolls encrusted with sugar crystals that hugged cinnamon kissed gooey centers. Cinnamon wafted through the air with undertones of fresh espresso. He’d order a latté and a cinnamon roll for us to share. We’d sit at a table by the window munching on our cinnamon treat. He’d sip his coffee and offer me a spoonful of foam off the top, and, equipped with crayons and what felt like endless supplies of paper, we’d draw. For hours we’d sit there and go back and forth creating pages and pages of doodles that mixed his cartoon illustrations and my attempts to draw anything coherent. We’d stay until they started to close, and then we’d help. My dad jokes that this was my first job: helping the waitresses wipe down the tables which I thought was a blast while he stacked chairs.
I can trace the time I’ve spent with my dad through my life and more of often than not it was at a coffee shop. Sometimes we’d go and just talk, other times we’d go and sit in communal and comfortable silence while we both worked on our own creative project. He bought me my first cup of “coffee” – a decaf Frappuccino with extra whipped cream from Starbucks – and would take me after school for the caffeinated kind when I was older. In high school we’d go in the evenings to do my homework and on Friday mornings before school with my best friend we’d go just to talk. Coffee is a big part of how my dad and I connected. A cup of coffee served as a portal through which we could meet and realise we actually just liked each other as people.
When coffee signifies a connection, it’s hard not to love the taste. It also helps that I’ve essentially grown up drinking it so the flavour feels comforting, a familiar taste no matter where in the world I am. But for me, the goodness I feel from a cup of coffee comes from more than the taste or even the drink itself. I grew up in coffee shops and so they feel like home. The time spent within them is always marked with creative expression and conversation, they’re where I go to feel inspired. When I spent three months by myself in Australia, I would start every day by going to a coffee shop. I’d order the same drink that I’ve always loved (oat milk flat white) and sit in the atmosphere of it all and read or write or draw. It grounded me, made me feel at home. When I reflect back on it it’s one of the greatest gifts my dad ever gave me. Equipped with the emotional connection to a cup of coffee, I know that I can make any place in the world feel like home.
While all of this was true, I spent the last three years trying to avoid coffee. I would try to limit myself to only a few days a week or find alternatives that would do. But I couldn’t for the life of me make it stick. No matter what, I’d come back to it, cherishing each cup with a joy stained with guilt because I was trying not to drink it. Going to coffee shops suddenly didn’t hold the same excitement even though I’d still go.
When COVID-19 fell on the world, we, like everyone else, were forced to stay inside. Beyond the fear and the concern for those still having to work in the midst of it, the one thing I was sad about was the closing of all the coffee shops. I think a part of me was more worried that I wouldn’t feel as creative anymore without the ability to be in what has always felt like such a creative space to me. Another part of me thought it was great because I wouldn’t be tempted to drink coffee as much and maybe I could finally cut myself off from it.
But there is something about living amidst a pandemic that makes you tune in deeper to each joy you have in your life no matter the size. Each day became a mission to seek out the maximum amount of joy we could. So we’d start each morning by brewing coffee. It’s funny that it took a pandemic for me to find this mission for each day, but I hope that it’s one of the things I’ll hold onto for the rest of my days. The conclusion I came to was that my one cup of morning coffee brings maybe one of the biggest bursts of joy all day. There is a ceremony in brewing it and foaming the milk, clutching the outside of a warm mug and taking a warm sip while I sit down to work. I realized the space around me was only part of it, it’s the joy of each sip of coffee that encapsulates me in a creative bubble for as long as the cups lasts. So I’ve given up trying to force myself off of it and instead I’ve embraced the cheer that each cup brings.
Each morning after breakfast I fill the espresso maker and foam the milk while it brews. I pour both into my ceramic mug and bring it to my desk. I’ll usually light a candle and put on some music or some coffee shop atmosphere sounds. I then work for hours with no fracturing of creativity. I clutch my mug between my hands and each sip of coffee feels like it opens up my mind a little more fully.
I’ve been fortunate to spend the last few weeks at my family home with my Mom and Dad. My rituals are once again a part of a constellation with other people’s rituals, together making up our day. Brewing coffee always means making enough for two and my dad likes more milk in his cup than I do. We split the dining room table with our respective desk-like set-ups and work with our headphones in and preferred music blaring (I’ve always said I hate his taste and he tolerates mine). But there is a pause when we both take our first sip and re-remember together what a joy a simple cup of coffee can be. We’re once again brought back to the moments we’ve always shared together and I’m reminded of the fullness of feeling within even the simplest of experiences. I realised recently that a cup of coffee doesn’t just make me feel at home, but like my Dad is right beside me, sipping his coffee too.
Mia Krabbendam
Mia is a graphic designer and maker living between Boston and LA.