What is that haunting aroma?
Coffee.
Just hearing the word is music to my ears.
Coffee kickstarts my mornings and punctuates my afternoons: It provides unwavering comfort and stability, following me around my day like a pair of sensible shoes. With coffee, anything is possible. Even the most daunting, seemingly insuperable tasks become more palatable when armed with a strong cup of joe. Sometimes I go to sleep at night just so I can wake up and drink coffee in the morning.
Okay, clearly I have a problem.
…But if this is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
I have taken my coffee black since the dawn of time[1]. This didn’t originate out of taste or personal preference as much as it did ignorance. My relationship with coffee began when I was a junior in high school studying for a barrage of AP exams. I quickly found myself well acquainted with long nights burning the midnight oil, and, following my parents’ lead, I decided to indulge in the mysterious brown liquid, attempting to conclude once and for all if coffee tastes as good as it smells[2].
Mom made me a post-dinner pot of coffee—ground zero, if you will—and, when the coffee maker beeped with completion Dad swiped a mug off the shelf, poured me a steaming cup, and handed it to me, encouraging me to drink up. What I tasted that evening wasn’t particularly good, but it wasn’t particularly bad either; in fact, it was just interesting enough to pique my curiosity and leave me wanting more, unknowingly marking the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
My deep appreciation for coffee has only grown with time. The more I try, the more I want to experiment with bold new roasts that intrigue my palate and take me to exotic locations around the globe. Curiously, despite my obsession to sample all things coffee, I have never been interested in experimenting with adding any additional supplements to my java. Milk? Meh. Sugar? Meant for chocolate. Caramel. Too sweet and too sticky. Whipped cream? Okay, now this is just getting ridiculous: Are you trying to insult coffee?
Despite the plethora of options, I like my coffee pure, simple, and uncomplicated: Black is where it’s at. For whatever reason this makes Starbucks baristas particularly uncomfortable. It’s as if by ordering I am evoking something uncensored, dangerous, and other enough to raise concern, yet they can’t quite put their fingers on just what is wrong with me. Baristas always look at me like I’m dazed and confused, desecrating their hallowed coffee stomping grounds with the sheer lunatic simplicity of an order that goes something like this:
“How can I help you today?”
“I’ll take a grande black coffee, please.”
“Anything else.”
“No thanks.”
“Room for cream?”
“No, just black, please[3].”
“How will you be paying today?”
“I have a reward for a free drink.”
“Congrats! You know you can use that on anything on the menu, right?”
“Yep.”
“So would you like me to upgrade you to a venti? Or add a couple pumps of vanilla or hazelnut?”
“No thank you, just a black coffee please.”
Let the blank stares commence.
Cricket. Cricket.
You would think that by asking for a black coffee I am committing a grave indecency and betraying some millennial code of conduct prescribing that I order the biggest, most expensive, fru fru-iest drink on the menu (and do so multiple times a day.) The craziest I ever get is ordering a nitro (still black) or a cold brew with (just a hint of[4]) coconut milk. Gasp! The horror! So sorry to disappoint.
The only thing more ridiculous is when I ask the barista for a “tall black blonde[5]” and she gives me a look as if she is trying to decide if I’m boring, racist, confused, or all of the above[6]. Oh COME ON, PEOPLE! For the love of God, I know you have heard drink orders more perplexing, indignant, and altogether outrageous than this[7]: The woman behind me just ordered one!
Admittedly, while I don’t partake in the numerous coffee trends that come and go, I do indulge in one particular coffee craze: The fascination of a good mug. Look just about anywhere on social media and you will find pictures of coffee aficionados lovingly cradling a steaming cup of joe in bed[8], delicately positioning a name brand mug with some pithy saying next to their laptop[9], or posing with a fall themed mug housing a pumpkin spice latte casually situated amidst a pile of perfectly raked leaves[10]. Indeed, it’s no secret: People love their coffee mugs. Now this is one movement I can definitely get behind.
While I certainly love mugs of all shapes and sizes, I have started to limit my mug intake out of sheer necessity and practicality. If only my kitchen real estate wasn’t at a premium: So many mugs, so little shelf space! In response to this intentional mug diet I have promised to buy only mugs that exist as part of my favorite collection.
The Starbucks You are Here collection, that is.
Years ago Starbucks founded the You Are Here collection to commend equal parts caffeine, community, and travel by creating a special mug dedicated to certain cities, states, or other notable locales. The mugs in the YAH collection are colorful, vibrant, and celebratory, and they whimsically depict notable icons associated with each location.
I first became involved with the YAH collection after purchasing an Arizona mug shortly before moving back to Chicago. I was doing work at Starbucks one day, and the mug caught my eye as a colorful way to celebrate my love for my desert home even after I had left it for the snowy traffic of the Midwest. I treasure this mug, and I continue to think fondly of my time in Tucson every time I sip my black coffee from the confines of its cactus-coated ceramic.
One YAH mug quickly gave way to two YAH mugs, which quickly gave way to three YAH mugs… and things began to snowball organically from there! Visiting Orange County for a friend’s wedding? Let’s get a mug! Work conference in D.C.? Better find a Starbucks so I can memorialize those cherry blossoms forever! Disney girls’ trip with Mom? Well I guess it would only be right if I purchased a mug from the Magic Kingdom, EPCOT, Hollywood Studios, and the Animal Kingdom to commemorate the glory of this vacation[11]!
Despite the thrill of finding each mug, I have two favorite YAH mug acquisition stories[12]: Alaska and London.
A few summers ago my family and I traveled to Alaska for the adventure of a lifetime. We were enchanted by whales, dazzled by bald eagles, and awed by glaciers, but one of the most curiously memorable moments of our trip involved the four of us disembarking our cruise ship only to walk a mile and a half up the road to the Safeway in rainy, near-deserted Ketchikan in hot pursuit of the YAH mugs that awaited us at what might be one of the only Starbucks in Alaska. Upon reflection, the fact that we trekked across town determined to make this mug-dream our reality is certainly preposterous and perhaps slightly obsessive. And yet, as I sip coffee from my Alaska mug and dream of spotting whales, hiking glaciers, and exploring the land of the midnight sun, I realize it was so worth it.
Oddly, I didn’t purchase my London mug during my travels abroad in the spring of my junior year. Typically, I make it a “rule” that I must purchase a YAH mug during my travels in order to justify the marginal expense and notable sacrifice to cupboard space. However, I learned of the London mug’s existence well after my return to the States and have since made it my mission to add it to my collection[13]. My good friends Nick and Hilary share my appreciation for the YAH collection, and last summer they promised they would do their best to locate a London mug during their travels abroad. I was thrilled at the prospect but didn’t want to let myself get overly hopeful. Imagine my excitement when Hilary texted me while riding the “Chunnel” from England to France assuring me that she had the “goods” safely stashed away in her suitcase. Win. Now I can join Her Majesty the Queen for tea coffee each morning from across the pond: Cheers!
Nothing beats the simple pleasure of waking up, starting the coffee pot, and deciding— exhausted and bleary eyed—how I want to start my morning with the one, exhilarating question:
“Where should I go today?”
Chicago? Canada? Paris? Phoenix? The possibilities are endless. And, with each new day I can forge my own path, I can choose my own adventure, and I can revel in the colorful memories of the past while delighting in the bright possibility of the future.
Black coffee is pure, unadulterated, and uncomplicated; it is rich enough to stand on its own without the need for the smooth embellishment of milk or the sprinkled decadence of sugar. Black coffee is best exactly as it is, exactly as it is intended to be. By virtue of its blackness, the raw, bitter, sweet, complex notes emerge as a colorful compliment to the YAH collections’ commemoration and whimsy.
Life is a celebration, and what better way to celebrate than with coffee?
So brew a fresh pot, choose your favorite mug, and start your morning by asking yourself:
“Where should I go today?”
[1] Well, if not since the dawn of time then at least since the dawn of my coffee drinking life (which may as well be synonymous with the dawn of time, since this moment marked the beginning of my life as I know it).
[2] Alas, it does not. While coffee certainly tickles my taste buds, there is something about its smell that simply cannot be replicated when poured and consumed. Its smell is just too sinfully good. Notably, coffee does not stand alone in this respect of smelling even better than it tastes. Take chocolate chip cookies for example. And rain. Rain smells delightful, but I can’t say the same for its taste…
[3] The frequency with which I am asked this question astounds me. Room for cream? In a black coffee? Don’t you work at a coffee shop?
[4] I always say this, too—“just a hint”—because I really don’t want the barista to overdo it. He or she probably sticks the landing four times out of ten, and most frequently I am handed a gallon of liquid I might as well have extracted from the faux dairy isle. Sigh. I’ll just have my black coffee please.
[5] Please decode my Starbucks-ese to mean “a small serving of light roast coffee without any cream or sugar.”
[6] Correct answer: None of the above. I just want my coffee.
[7] See: Caramel Macchiato, Venti, Skim, Extra Shot, Extra-Hot, Extra-Whip, Sugar-Free (extra high maintenance, maybe?), Tall, Half-Caff, Soy Latte At 120 Degrees (do you have a thermometer in your purse you will assess that with?), or literally anything else.
[8] Tried it: Burned my legs and stained my sheets.
[9] How much work are you really getting done?
[10] So not worth the the hefty price tag and the threat of falling into a prolific cliche.
[11] Fun fact: As soon as Mom and I learned each Disney park had its own YAH mug, we made it our sole mission to enter each park and acquire the goods as quickly as possible. Remember the meticulous planning and cutthroat competitiveness I mentioned in my “The Wonderful, ‘Mauvelous’ World of Disney” post? Well envision that and multiply it by three as we beelined our way past security and straight towards the Starbucks in each of the four theme parks. We would wait in the infinite line that had already formed for the sheer satisfaction of procuring our mugs (yes, mugs, plural: Did I not mention Mom started her own collection? But of course!) and then fasten them securely into our drawstring backpacks to lug around the park all day. I wish someone would have told us we didn’t have to do it this way, that the Disney YAH mugs weren’t as popular and in-demand as we had built them up to be in our minds, that we could have waited until the end of the day so we didn’t have to carry five pounds of unnecessary weight in the scorching Floridian heat. I wish these things, and yet I acknowledge that they wouldn’t make the slightest difference. We would have executed our game plan anyway simply for the sheer thrill of the hunt.
[12] The fact that I have these stories at all tells you, once again, that I have a problem.
[13] My precioussss.
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