I’m not a big fan of Keurig coffee.
This is not because it tastes like flavored city water, not because “bold” is indistinguishable from “lightly roasted breakfast blend,” and not because coffee grounds will inevitably be found at the bottom of the mug. Rather, I dislike Keurig because it has largely negated a level of companionship and hospitality that used to come with a cup of coffee.
Take my mother, for example.
My mother is what I like to call “coffee crazy.” By this I mean the woman can blindfold taste test any light, dark, regular, bold, French, Colombian, or jalapeño coconut flavored coffee and not only guess the origin of the beans, but also pinpoint the market retail value of the grounds in 12-16 ounce quantities. Truly, she is the small-town sommelier of coffee — hence, “coffee crazy.”
I mean no disrespect toward her. Quite the opposite, actually, because there is a reason my mother is so well-versed in java.
Even as a small child, my mother’s hospitable nature was not lost upon me. You see, whenever somebody would show up at our front door — provided they were not the obvious “slit your throat and take your money” type — she would always invite them to sit down and have a cup of coffee with her.
That may seem insignificant to you. True, it wasn’t much. Yet at the same time, it was the perfect gift, because who can say no to a free cup of homemade brew?
She would then proceed to usher her guest inside, sit them down at the kitchen table and scoop 3-5 teaspoons of coffee into her stainless steel Mr. Coffee machine. I can still hear the “ping, ping, ping” as the first drops of java hit the bottom of the metal pot. I can still imagine the steam condensing around the plastic handle and rising from the lip of the lid. And when the brewing process was complete, my mother would evenly divide the contents between two mugs for herself and her companion.
It was an intimate gesture of hospitality. It meant something. This was not simply giving someone a hot beverage — rather, my mother was opening herself up and allowing a friend, family member, or even a stranger to feel safe and warm, if only for a few minutes.
For this reason, I dislike the trends established by the Keurig industry. To brew a pot of coffee has always been a benevolent, welcoming signal that brings people together from all corners of the room. And the smell — even to those who dislike the stuff — cannot be metaphorically compared to anything except a warm blanket in January.
Now, with individual K-Cups and hundreds of various roasts and flavors, we have lost something. Personal preference and taste is a wonderful thing. It’s hard to resist the trend of individuality in this modern society, where there is a job, niche and flavor for everyone. But, in this particular area, we end up losing the sense of companionship and camaraderie that accompanied splitting a pot of coffee with family and friends. Instead, this sacred form of fellowship has been reduced to the plop of a K-Cup, the push of a button and an unwavering 8-10 ounce ration.
I’m not here to say, “Don’t drink Keurig.” Truth be told, I drink a K-Cup of lightly roasted breakfast blend almost every day, and I don’t even mind the grounds at the bottom of the mug that much. It’s fast. It’s easy. I understand why the Keurig is considered a “must have” kitchen appliance.
However, I will say this: I cannot think of a nugget of wisdom that my mother has not shared with me over the rim of a mug of coffee — fresh coffee from Mr. Coffee himself. This is not to imply that my mother has a short supply of wisdom nuggets. She is overflowing with them, actually. And perhaps these bonding experiences would happen just as seamlessly over individual K-cups … but for some reason, I think not.
I daresay this subtle cultural shift from community sharing to individual indulgence may have a profound impact on our relationships over time. Am I being generationally paranoid? Am I inventing a Krisis where there is none? It’s possible. Regardless, there is nothing I can do except look at how I invest in my own relationships, and I plan to do just that.
Whenever I go home, the first thing I do is ask my mother to make a pot of coffee for us to share. I don’t even have to ask, because nobody enters my mother’s house without being offered a cup of coffee.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
