In 1912, my grandma started elementary school in the Prospect Park neighborhood of Minneapolis. As the sixth of seven children, her older siblings were charged with bringing her to school and were given one very specific instruction. When school asks what beverage she drinks at home, they were to answer — milk.
It seems school registration was a wee bit simpler back then. No dozens of forms and dozens of fees. Her siblings dropped her off, told the administration she drank milk, and permanently changed her name, signing her in as “Evelyn”. This was not her name, but the siblings liked the name Evelyn, and school never questioned it. Lucky for me, school records are vetted today, or my youngest child would likely be called Ducky Momo right now.
At the time, schools (and dairy associations) were campaigning to promote healthy eating habits at home. But for my grandma, milk was a luxury item, and at their breakfast table, everyone drank one and one thing only. Coffee.
I think about this family lore often. Because while the human body is on average 60% water, mine has always been part coffee. While I didn’t drink coffee at age five, it didn’t take long to develop a love affair with it. My parents were coffee enthusiasts who taught me right from wrong, and making French press coffee was right. My dad even had a French press for when we went camping because that is what love looks like.
In high school, while others chugged Mountain Dew, I had coffee. In college, I read about rationing during the Second World War. Families resorted to reusing grounds multiple times out of scarcity and thrift. Of all the horrors of war, this is certainly the least, but how do you face horrors without fresh coffee?
There is a lot of research about coffee and its potential health benefits. I’ll admit, I only like studies that support the notion that I have made myself immortal. I have zero interest in data showing increases in blood pressure or anxiety related to caffeine intake. I’m too busy having my fourth cup to bother with all that drivel.
Somewhere along the way, I became particular about what constitutes a good cup of coffee. The preparation matters. After college, working at an elementary school, I could not fathom drinking the burnt sludge that sat all day in the staff lounge. That never-clean fat little pot with the orange handle was repulsive. People drank it, though. Sad people. I brought my own dark roast pour-over from home so I could be a cheerful co-worker.
In 2005, on a family vacation in Florida, my mom took coffee orders from us poolside. My future sister-in-law insisted my mom didn’t need to be inconvenienced just to get us drinks. My mom patted her knee and said, “Oh, we will all have a nicer time after these two have their coffee.” She motioned to my brother and me. We just stared back at her blankly and placed our orders. My mother just gets us since she was instrumental in turning us into these monsters.
During the pandemic, a high school friend sent me coffee beans he roasted at home. A luxury item in a time of relative crisis. Those WWII families needed a Greg in their lives. I gratefully drank Greg’s amazing hand-crafted coffee while I frittered away hours watching Tiger King.
But beyond my daily habit, it’s the communal nature of coffee I love the most. Nobody is regularly inviting someone else out for something so alluring that could be better than coffee. It ranks up there as one of the all-time greatest activities and can cost pennies or $10 if you are fancy. Either way, there is something comforting about lingering over a mug with friends or family.
October brings sweater weather and more pumpkin spice memes than necessary. No better time to have our literal and metaphorical cup filled with coffee and conversation. My eccentric, fun-loving Grandma passed away in 2004. She was ninety-eight years old. I’m filing that as evidence that coffee is a health food.
Invite a friend in or out for coffee and a visit. Better yet, make it a double.
Jen Fortner is a freelance writer who enjoys asking friends and strangers far too many questions. She spends her spare time sitting in inclement weather watching youth sports, traveling, cooking, and searching for the very best baked goods. She lives in Shorewood with her husband, three children and the most spoiled dog.