The Planet's Greatest Coffee-Lover

My love affair with dark-roasted coffee began in high school, and over the years developed into what could only be called a passion. Truly, there is no greater lover of coffee anywhere on the planet. I'm not talking about being jacked up on caffeine and drinking massive quantities of black acid, and I've never been one for chemical-laden flavoured beans, like "creme brulee" and "raspberry hazelnut".

No, it's the dark, masterfully roasted beans in their simplest form that inspired my pursuit of the perfect brew, and which lured me every morning to the sensual ritual of grinding and steeping a substance, dark as soil, that intoxicated both my palate and my brain. Again, it's not the caffeine--I use very dark roasts, with much of the caffeine content burned off, and I drink primarily cafe americanos made from fine espresso beans with a much lower caffeine content than the beans used in mainstream brews. It's something else, perhaps a combination of aroma and polyphenols, perhaps other components in coffee I can't name, but the bitter, unctuous cup has always been magical for me. Never too sweet, sometimes black with cardamom and bit of greek masticha (a resin blended into a soft taffy), or perhaps the perfect Roman cappuccino... quality coffee has been one of my favorite pleasures on the planet.

Or rather, "was" because I stopped drinking it. I didn't intend to, not in the least. In fact, when I made the decision to go raw, even though none of the raw foodists I read drank the stuff, I stated my intention quite emphatically to myself: "I am not giving up my coffee." Raw is fine, but this pleasure is mine, I asserted.

But then, on the first day of going raw, I didn't even think of coffee until 12:30, and even then only because a friend of mine came by to share a customary cup. I made the coffee, and it was good, but something was missing...

The 2nd day, I didn't think of coffee until 2:30 in the afternoon. Again, I made some. But it didn't taste so magical. Each subsequent day, more of the day passed before I remembered: 4:30, 5:30, 6:30. I'd make the coffee, even trying to enhance it with the new exotic raw ingredients gathered on my counter--maca powder, ground raw chocolate, agave nectar--but the drink was definitely losing its appeal.

Finally, when it wasn't until 7 pm that I remembered about my old friend, I realized that I simply didn't want it--the thought of coffee caught in my throat in a faint gag--and I gave it up. I haven't wanted it since, not for a moment. No headaches, no withdrawal...it just suddenly no longer intersected with my reality. I would make it in a heartbeat if I still wanted it, but the idea of coffee is now actually rather revolting.

How does the world's greatest coffee-lover spontaneously give up coffee, without wanting to? I have to attribute it to the power of going raw. I think that brewed coffee is probably a balance-point for cooked food for some people. All sorts of foods balance each other--sweet & salty, meats & desserts, alkaline & acid--and I think that suddenly removing the cooked element from my lifestyle also automatically removed my desire for the coffee.

My expensive espresso machine still sits on my kitchen counter--so I can make it for friends, the idea is--but I strongly suspect that before long it's going to get packed up to make way for a dehydrator. The raw lifestyle is more appliance-dependent than cooking, and space in my kitchen is at a premium, so why keep something around that I don't use? For the moment, it's a comfortable, familiar sight. But its value is already growing cobwebs in my memory.

All this validates something that has repeatedly proven true in my life: radical simplification quickly generates dramatic change. If simplifying the foods that I eat to their most natural state results in this ridiculously dramatic change, what else is going on that I haven't yet recognized, I wonder?

The adventure continues...