Masha Vinograd

Published in Standart Issue 40

Is a coffee without context a coffee really worth having? I say no. As we well know, coffee is much more than a liquid pick-me-up—those days are over. Coffee can and ought to encapsulate much more. It is a mood, a ritual, a setup, a stage. Don’t hand me a cup of ‘just coffee’ and expect that to be enough. It’s not! I need a setting. A terrace. A little chaos. Something to look at while I judge people and sip slowly. That—that is the whole point!

I’ve had people drag me to some windowless underground closet and act like it’s sacred because the beans were blessed by monks or something. Sorry: no. If I’m drinking good coffee in a depressing place, it tastes like despair. I want—I need—more. So do all of us.

That’s what kills me in Paris now. The recent mushrooming of ‘good coffee’ spots with zero vibe. You either queue forever à la Disneyland for an espresso, or you’re forced to sit on an overcrowded pavement by a bin and innumerable tourists while scooters squeal past. And God forbid you wind up in a bistro and ask for a decent cup; they serve you up some brownish battery acid along with a look that says ‘go back to wherever you came from if you don’t like our throat-lacerating allongé.’

Now, the Italians, they get it, perhaps overmuch. They may still not know how to make ‘good’ coffee, but they do it with precision, ease, a certain élan. The bar always eloquent of an atmosphere you don’t want to leave, the countertop an aesthetic treat; the place is teeming with life. No fuss, just fluency.

I work at a bookshop that serves coffee—and coffee only benefits from the accompaniment of a plot. Coffee is more than just a trend; it’s more than just coffee. It’s all that holds some of us together.

And if someone tries to over yet another mushroom-derived coffee alternative, that torture juice is going straight in the Siene!