I’m not foreign to being called a snob, and I don’t often disagree with the label. But a coffee snob? Who could have imagined that?
Yet through the rise of friendships at work (and I wouldn’t use the F word without proper justification), that is what I have become. Friends tend to socialise over cups of coffee, and with one thing leading to another I have become a regular. With regularity come preferences: we no longer settle for your average coffee; upon discovering specialised venues we got to develop a taste. These venues' superiority implies that by now we twist our nose at your average vacuum sealed bag of beans. No, for us it’s single malt - Brazil and Columbia sourced beans seem to be my favourite.
It’s funny, being a regular customer. The waitresses know us and our preferences by now, and we get all sorts of regulars’ perks. (Yes, our preferred coffee joint has waitresses and table serving. I should probably add there was either through some major improbability or some very selective recruitment, these waitresses happen to be quite easy on the eye. Female members of our crew do complain about the absence of similar quality male servers.)
With the negative impact of caffeine on the brain, and with caffeine being a class C carcinogenic (if I remember correctly; Wikipedia has the classifications if you care to check), I forcefully limit myself to one cup a day. A single exception is allowed, but it has to be decaf and it has to be a rare occurrence – once in a month or so. Still, when I deprive myself of coffee I can feel the incoming head pounding, which is not a good sign. But hey, I tell myself, it’s nice to have friends.