I Felt Pressure to Become a Coffee Connoisseur
It was driven by a mix of pride, shame, and caffeine
Despite living most of my life in Melbourne, where coffee is essential, I never considered myself a coffee connoisseur. I partake in many other Melbourne-based activities such as joining any queue I see or checking the BOM website with religious fervor, but although I down a cup of joe on the daily I never seemed to develop the passion for it that others have.
I first started drinking coffee in high school. We thought it was trés sophisticated to go to the local café after school and order coffees. I would attempt to make the bitter brew more palatable by dumping in diabetes -inducing amounts of sugar, and secretly wishing hot chocolate wasn’t so uncool. Many years later I’ll happily scarf down a cheap petrol station coffee when I’m feeling poor, so I don’t think my taste for coffee has really developed although my need for caffeine has certainly taken off.
I’ve tried many different variations over the years. I evolved from adding heaps of sugar to using sweeteners then finally I was shamed by my coffee loving friend (who is so extra he brought his own cold drip machine) into going sweetener free. I’ve tried every different iteration of milk — cow, soy, almond, coconut, malk. My favourite is coconut milk but I get real anxiety that I’ll be judged for asking for something so pretentious. In order to avoid having to make an earth-shattering decision about milk I tried for a while to drink black coffee but that just tastes like sad. An iced coffee with all the trimmings is amazing, but I feel that falls more under the banner of dessert instead of breakfast beverage.
In a misguided attempt to earn money in my early twenties I tried my hand at waitressing. This was a terrible idea because I could barely carry two plates at once, frequently spilled drinks (occasionally on customers) and was left in charge of making the coffees. I spent shifts dreading a customer asking me questions about the roast of the coffee bean. I still don’t know the difference between a flat white and a latte, but I kind of feel like a lot of other people don’t either since nobody actually complained about the coffees I made. Perhaps I’m not the only one feigning knowledge about coffee?
Of course there is that strange subsection of society that shuns coffee altogether. I have friends who don’t drink it for health reasons and one who is already hyper enough without the added caffeine. My Irish husband considers it his patriotic duty to drink as much tea as humanely possible — his commitment is such that even in the height of summer he will still drink several hot cups of tea a day — and as such has never had a coffee in his life. While I admire these people’s ability to stay strong and abstain in such a coffee-obsessed nation, I have decided to commit to my coffee journey. I do enjoy the actual act of having a coffee with friends. I enjoy the ritual of ordering a coffee; musing with my mate if it is a decent coffee (not that I have any idea), if the barista has an authentic number of tattoos and if the latte art is up to scratch. Perhaps I’ll make a coffee snob out of myself yet.
Emma Betty is a Melbourne based writer who has written for Fairfax, Ten Daily, Women’s Health and Mamamia. She hates describing herself in third person.
