on coffee.
the most important ritual. (yes, even more than the opening credits of “Succession”)
I am obsessed with coffee.
Not with brewing it. Not with perfecting the bloom or weighing beans to the half gram.
That part? Boring.
Don’t get me wrong — I respect the zeal. The $7,000 setup. The burr grinders. The pressure gauges. The scale that looks like it belongs in a meth lab. I admire the discipline, and will give your elaborate setup a “like” on the ‘gram.
It’s just not for me.
I’ve optimized my process for efficiency of beans-to-espresso-to-mouth.
The TK-02 — a sleek, overengineered all-in-one — stores, grinds, brews.
It does everything short of whispering sweet, sweet morning affirmations.
The perfect machine for someone who wants ritual without dogma.
Because here’s the thing: coffee isn’t just a beverage.
It’s a crutch. A ceremony. A coping mechanism. A performance art piece.
It’s the thing we pretend is about taste and terroir — when really, it’s about survival.
We build entire routines around it. Pilgrimages, even.
We forge bonds with baristas.
We defend our bean subscriptions like they’re blood oaths.
We spend $19 on ethically sourced beans named after someone’s grandmother.
And for what?
For a moment. A sip. A breath.
For me, it’s three double-shot cortados, spaced with surgical precision: morning, afternoon, evening.
The first sip at 7:13am, as I journal in half-light — that’s sacred.
A mid-day walk with one in hand — therapy.
That last hit before closing the laptop — benediction.
I’m sure there are studies that say I should quit. That my nervous system is hanging by a thread. That my adrenal glands are begging for mercy.
They’re probably right.
Could I substitute matcha? Chai? Diet Coke?
Reader, I’ve tried. It’s not the same. It’s not even close.
Maybe it’s placebo.
Maybe it’s delusion.
But I credit my Pedro Pascal-level consumption with helping stave off migraines, burnout, and the quiet rage that brews when someone replies-all.
And if that’s not medicine, I don’t know what is.
coffee 101.
Ok. So if you’re getting more into coffee, I think there’s a balance to be had between the Mr Coffee + Folgers combo (no shade) and the $20,000 rigs I see on Instagram (no shade).
My personal balance:
Find a machine that does the things you need it to do.
I wanted something sleek, low-maintenance, and versatile — something that could brew café-quality cortados without turning my kitchen into a chemistry lab. We went with the Terra Kaffe’s TK-02, but Miele, Breville, and others have solid options too. If drip’s your thing, great. Just, please: no pod machines. You deserve better.Grind your own beans.
I avoided this for a long time. But grinding your own beans guarantees freshness and it ensures the coffee is better suited for the machine you’re putting it into. See above: get a machine that does what you need it to do.No added sugar.
A splash of steamed milk to make my cortado? Sure. But avoiding sugar will help curb any caffeine-related crashes (in my experience). For sweetness, check the bag for details. This is something I’m still figuring out. You want beans that are fresh, but not too fresh. With notes of citrus and fruit, but not chocolate (more bitter than sweet), and typically a more medium roast.And when in doubt — whether you’re getting beans from the grocery store or from your local coffee shop, ask for a recommendation.
my coffee picks.
For this list, I’ve stuck to roasters you can order from anywhere in the U.S. — no hyper-local shops that roast twelve bags a week and require a secret handshake. (Though if you’re in Hawaii, California, or Seattle, you’ve got access to some real gems — small-batch operations that are harder to track down but absolutely worth the detour.)
Maru.
It’s honestly not even close. I’ve tried a number of coffee shops around the world and there’s a reason Maru is held in such high regard. Their Sanmi blend (sourced from Kenya and Guatemala) is well-balanced and incredibly smooth, and their bags last longer than others.Intelligentsia.
Number two on my list was tough, but I think Intelligentsia is well-deserving on this spot, especially their Black Cat Espresso (sourced from Ethiopia and Mexico) blend. It’s consistently solid, and I enjoy some of their seasonal blends as well.You can find it in most supermarkets, and unlike most supermarket coffee, it doesn’t taste like regret. The Hair Bender blend is a safe bet — versatile, drinkable, and easy to recommend to someone who still thinks “dark roast” means “good.”
Verve.
Started in Santa Cruz, now kind of everywhere — but not in a bad way. Verve’s Sermon and Streetlevel blends are crowd-pleasers: bright, balanced, and a little fruit-forward without veering into juice territory. They’re the kind of beans that make you feel like you might be able to pick out “notes” — even if you’re mostly tasting “good coffee.”Canyon Coffee.
Canyon is what happens when aesthetics and ethics actually deliver a good cup. Their roasts are light, smooth, and unfussy — perfect for morning rituals or lazy weekends when you want your coffee to taste like calm. Try their Gedeb or Afternoon Blend if you’re looking for something fruit-forward without feeling like you’re drinking juice.
I’ll spare you my coffeeshop recs (for now).
We’re a geographically scattered bunch, and my go-to spot might be 2,000 miles from yours — but I’ve tried to make sure the beans above ship anywhere.
in sum.
I wish there was some study I could cite that coffee cures all ailments.
(And believe me, if it gets published, I’ll be back to add that footnote so fast.)
But alas, coffee won’t solve your back pain.
It won’t fold the laundry you’ve been putting off.
It won’t respond to that email from your boss.
And it won’t call your mom.
But.
Coffee will hold your hand through the morning.
It’ll make the bad days tolerable. The good days even brighter. And those seemingly endless stretches (1pm - 2pm on Tuesdays, February) pass just a bit faster.
Because coffee, like all good rituals, isn’t about the thing itself.
It’s a reset.
A recalibration.
A warm (or iced) reminder that you’ve still got another round in you.
It’s not dramatic. It’s not sacred.
It just works. No cold plunge, no mantras, no digital detox required.
And for me — that’s the whole point.