One of my addictions in life is coffee. I don’t know what it is about it. I don’t even get an effect off of it anymore. I could drink seven or eight cups of coffee in less than 20 minutes, have an IV of espresso poured directly into my veins, and I would not feel any more alert.
I don’t even like the taste of coffee, but I drink it black, day in, day out, all day. Maybe I like torturing my tastebuds.
In the Hamptons, we have a plethora of coffee options that are just fantastic. There is Hamptons Coffee, there is Tate’s, there is Starbucks, there is Espresso and even the Hess gas stations have good coffee. There is so much good coffee around in the Hamptons that sometimes I find myself spending nearly 10 dollars on any given day, just having different cups of coffee from different places. “Ohh what’s this? Coconut coffee at Sylvester’s in Sag Harbor? I’ll have some of that!”
“Ohhhhhh, lookie what we have here? Hazelnut chocolate coffee at Golden Pear? I’m in.”
I don’t have a coffee maker in my house. At least, not until last week, when somebody pointed out to me that I could save a lot of money if I just bought a coffee maker. When this happened, I suddenly became the type of guy that cared about where his coffee money was going…I SHALL BUY A COFFEE MAKER!
Screw the Keurig machine, I thought, I’m going old school. So I bought a classic “Mr. Coffee” coffee maker from CVS in Southampton (then laughed at myself after thinking about that scene in Space Balls), then bought a large container of Folgers Coffee and went home and started brewing coffee.
Now one thing I will say about making coffee at home using an old school coffee maker is that you have the opportunity to make coffee that is black sludge. I mean, in all seriousness, my first pot of coffee contained 12 scoops of Folgers and about four cups of water. It was some strong stuff. I was drinking something that almost seemed angry at me.
The house smelled like coffee, I felt very domesticated and old man-ish, and I poured myself a cup of coffee and turned on my Internet Pandora radio to the jazz station and drank and then thought about growing a moustache.
This is living.
My coffee drinking at home went on for about five days. I was into it. Every morning when I woke up I was like, “THE BEST PART OF WAKING UP, IS FOLGERS IN YOUR CUP!”
And I went into my kitchen and made a pot of coffee and felt like a scientist while brewing it, and then would drink it and feel manly.
Sadly, this story does not end with a happy, Hamptons twist, because you know what? I freaking missed going out in search of coffee. I missed the hunt. I missed the wonder, “Do I do Dunkin’ Donuts today? Should I go old school and do 7-Eleven? Should I try the espresso today at Paul’s Pizza by the movie theater?” (I know that I just blew your mind right there. Yes, Paul’s Pizza in Southampton serves espresso in the morning. Locals know).
It was like hunting for the great treasure, the Crystal Skull, the lost ark if you will. It was a great coffee adventure in the morning. And then I would get into my car, drink a sip, feel glorious and head into work.
That adventure is gone now that the coffee maker is in my house.
So this morning, I did something very unnatural, but I don’t care, because damn it, coffee is a part of who I am.
I made a pot of coffee this morning, drank it, enjoyed feeling like a 1950s character in my home drinking coffee and reading the paper. And then I went out and bought myself a cup of coffee, Colombian bold, from 7-Eleven. I went overkill, I turned the volume level up to 11. And it was freaking fabulous, I don’t even slightly regret it.
This is America God damn it, it’s how we do things.