How My Lifelong Coffee Journey Unfolded on Napkins

I never gave coffee much thought until I realized I was avoiding my first cup of the day simply because I wasn’t awake enough to enjoy it. That’s when I started waiting two hours, once fully alert, to truly savour it. My relationship with coffee has always been complicated, emotional, and strangely ritualistic.

Over the decades, I’ve gone from hating coffee to loving it—but my preferences, habits, and tools evolved constantly: from childhood trauma with coffee ice cream, to auto-hazing with a Parisian café au lait, to New York deli pots and eventually a problematic home espresso machine. Along the way, I developed strong feelings about milk foam, drip coffee, and that one barista who knew my order without asking.

My First Encounter with Coffee Wasn’t Love at First Sip

My earliest memory of coffee wasn’t in a cup—it was in an ice cream. I was five years old and accidentally given a scoop of coffee-flavoured ice cream. I was devastated. How could anyone ruin ice cream, my favourite thing, with something as bitter as coffee? That moment set the tone: I associated coffee with disappointment.

A few years later, I was crushed again when my parents announced a summer hiking trip instead of something fun. By age ten, I still disliked the taste of coffee but started appreciating the ritual of making it. I’d fix coffee for my parents every morning despite struggling with the brewing process—and they were forgiving.

Turning Point: Forcing Myself to Like Coffee in Paris

At seventeen, I still had what I call ‘coffee schizophrenia’—I loved the idea of coffee, but not the taste. Determined to cure myself, I undertook what I now call auto-hazing. My parents took me to Paris, and early one morning, we went to a small café. I ordered a large café au lait and forced myself to drink the entire bowl. It worked. From that day on, I’ve enjoyed coffee almost every day.

The Evolution of My Coffee Habits and Tools

By 21, I was working as a magazine intern. The art director and I brewed a massive pot of coffee around 9 a.m. By lunch, evaporation had made it so strong it bordered on undrinkable. By evening, it resembled black tar with a stingy smell. We drank it anyway.

In 1995, I moved to New York and discovered deli coffee. At the time, I cared more about quantity and price than taste. It was caffeinated paradise. Then, in January 1999, a friend got me into lattes. Within weeks, I was spending much of my budget at the L Cafe in Williamsburg.

I bought a small espresso machine for roughly the price of ten tall lattes. It had a steam nozzle for milk, but I couldn’t be bothered to clean it properly. A dark, unidentifiable lump formed around the nozzle and became impossible to remove. I gave up and returned to buying coffee outside.

What I Actually Drink Now—and Why

I typically order large coffees but stop drinking once they get too cold. That leaves a couple of ounces I’m too lazy to throw in the trash. Instead, I let them pile up in paper cups on my desk. I prefer hot milk in coffee but find milk foam useless and annoying. My mother makes incredible coffee, though her mechanical foam maker creates an impenetrable layer of lacto-stucco I have to chew through.

I once attended a gruelling all-day design conference and was served coffee with dinner. When you’re craving beer, coffee might be the most disgusting drink imaginable.

In New York, I envied people who walked into coffee shops where the baristas knew their orders without speaking. After ten years, I achieved that with a spot on Eighth Avenue. Eventually, the barista started making my coffee wrong—half and half with two sugars. I didn’t correct him. Our unspoken bond mattered more than my pride.

Coffee Bias Over the Years (And Bagel Preferences)

I tracked my coffee bias over time, including a ranking of my preferences. Here’s the list: (1) Drip coffee, (2) Starbucks, (3) blueberry bagels, (4) sesame bagels, (5) poppy-seed bagels, (6) everything bagels. Don’t judge me for the blueberry bagel phase. I got over it.

I also drink coffee until it’s too cold, avoid tossing the dregs in the trash, and hate the walk to the bathroom to dispose of them. That’s why there’s always a tower of paper cups on my desk.

Frequently Asked Questions

What age did the author first try coffee?

The author first tried coffee at age five, accidentally, in the form of coffee ice cream, which they disliked intensely.

When did the author first start to enjoy coffee?

The author began to enjoy coffee at age seventeen after forcing themselves to drink a large café au lait in a Paris café.

What coffee drinking habit did the author develop in New York?

In New York, the author often ordered large coffees but stopped drinking them once they got cold, leaving remnants in paper cups that piled up on the desk.

Why did the author stop using their home espresso machine?

The author stopped using their home espresso machine because they couldn’t be bothered to properly clean the steam nozzle, leading to a buildup of an unremovable organic lump.

Did the author ever have a bad experience with coffee foam?

Yes, the author disliked milk foam, finding it useless and annoying, and especially disliked their mother’s impenetrable foam made with a mechanical frother.

How did the author’s coffee preferences change over the decades?

The author tracked their coffee preferences over time, starting with drip coffee, moving through Starbucks and lattes, and noting shifts alongside bagel preferences like blueberry, sesame, and everything bagels.

Recommended FrontStreet Beans for Coffee Rituals

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