Gone is the day of the publishers’ martini lunch. These days the Penguin offices are fuelled by a heady mix of chamomile, peppermint and green teas. And plenty of coffee. Walking into the staff café in the morning is like being punched in the face with a caffeine-infused glove. To celebrate the daily grind (ho ho), and to celebrate the publication of his warming, enlivening debut novel, Javascotia, we asked coffee fanatic Benjamin Obler to talk us through the whys and wherefores, the highs and lows, of his 5 Favourite Cups of Coffee in a Day. Take it away, Benjamin.
1. The Morning Cup.
It's so obvious, I know, but the morning cup — the first — morning cup — is like the pioneer. The self-sacrificer. Without it, there would be no others. It's the Ray Charles of coffee cups. The Aretha Franklin. The original, and still the go-to when it's got to be done right. Imagine the pressure on all those first cups in the greater DC area the morning of January 20. Three a.m., the middle of the night, people travelling to the inauguration. It's time to deliver, morning cup. It's all on you. And it delivered. You know it did.
Even on a regular day, it's a workhorse. It doesn't get savored, rather greedily slurped. It has no accompaniment — not mine, anyway, though my wife takes peanut butter toast — nothing to offset its deficiencies if there are any. It's just out there doing its job: being strong, being hot, being dark but not too dry. That's no small feat at 6:30 or 7:00. Where I live, it can be ten or twenty below zero (F) outside in the a.m., and in the kitchen, it's not much better than 55. The coffee maker is cold, the carafe is cold, the burr mill is cold, the beans are cold. Optimum extraction needs water hitting 180 F. Okay, yes, some of the burden is on the equipment, yet who's getting up to do its thing? The morning cup. Props are in order. There's been a lot of mornings, and you've been there — I won't turn my back on you now, morning cup. You da man.
2. The Fiction Hour Cup
Aesthetically, this one is my favorite. An explanation is in order, I suppose. The Fiction Hour is precisely what you might imagine: the time when all other things are dropped and writing begins. Most nights this happens around 7:00 p.m. Often what will happen is, a short nap is taken between 6 and 7. This empties the brain of daytime, practical, rational thoughts: matters pertaining to the so-called real world. Mentally, gears are shifted. Then coffee is made, and a first cup is had while coming out of a "nap-over" and writing in a journal. The fingers and mental tongue loose, a second cup is poured. Things are usually quite lucid by now, and having divested myself of the burden of recording the day's trivial matters and perhaps brainstormed about the fiction at hand, plotted a little course, I set to it. The Fiction Hour Cup comes along on this mental journey. It is the final stage booster rocket. But it's only fuel, not the vehicle. It's still up to the captain to steer towards a planet or get the vessel into a meaningful orbit. Keep water nearby and a pack of gum, set up the office near a restroom, and you'll be fine; the Fiction Hour Cup will not get the best of you, but get the best out of you.
3. The After-Luncher (a.k.a. the Après-Déjeuner)
There's nothing very poetic about this one. It's more scientific. The fact is, the body becomes sluggish after lunch, for a number of reasons to do with circadian rhythms, blood sugar spikes, and something called a homeostatic cycle. (It's all documented by a team of certified internet scientists.) These phenomena contribute to a strong desire to fall on the floor, eyes closed, and not wake for several days. But this course of action isn't too practical for folks wanting to remain gainfully employed. Enter the After-Luncher! Da da da! Regal trumpet blasts! He's the unsung hero of the coffee day! In summer, he might come in iced, or cold-pressed, form. Mmm-mmm, nothing wrong with that. At the office, he might be — gasp! — that brew made from pouches of flaky Robusta shipped in on a food service van. Gulp. Far from ideal, as in blind tastes tests, soggy loafer insoles and rained-on cardboard have been preferred. But Robusta actually has more caffeine than its classier cousin, Arabica. Sometimes it's just a matter of whatever gets the job done and keeps the chin off the chest. That is what the After-Luncher is all about. Its raison d'etre is to raise one from death.
4. The Great Reliever
A good cup of coffee brings many pleasures: aroma, ambiance, companionship of a sort or an aid to human companionship, flavor, calm, warmth, uplift, ritual. But one thing it has not always been lauded for, until recently, is pain relief. And again we turn to the documented science: this has been proven by studies. Serious studies by men in white coats and rimless spectacles. Though I must add that I noticed the benefits, and have relied on the effects greatly, long before it hit the internet headlines in recent years.
A Jan. 2005 article by Melvyn R. Welbach states, firstly, that caffeine acts as an amplifier to household pain pills. "In a review of 30 clinical trials involving over 10,000 patients, the authors concluded that 40% higher dosages of aspirin, acetaminophen or salicylamide would be needed if they were not given in combination with a small dose of caffeine." The same holds true for ibuprofen, which is found in my medicine cabinet. And caffeine's solo effects were tested as well: "Caffeine appeared to have an independent analgesic effect … Sixty-five milligrams of caffeine was just as effective as 648 milligrams of acetaminophen..." That's ten times as effective! Is there no end to coffee's power? Furthermore, a ScienceDaily.com headline of Jan. 10, 2007 reads: "Caffeine Cuts Post-workout Pain By Nearly 50 Percent, Study Finds."
As a recreational tennis player, or "weekend warrior," I've known about this for a while. That is why my number four favorite cup, though not a "daily" cup, is The Great Reliever: that cup that one makes after a long session, whether match or practice, of chasing down forehands, scrambling for backhands, charging the net, lunging for volleys, and leaping for overheads on the unforgiving hardcourts of public parks, which are composed of little more than concrete and paint. You can take your fluids, you can eat your chicken sandwich (protein to rebuild muscle tissue), you can get a rub-down, you can shower and rest, but until you brew The Great Reliever, and with it wash down three Advil, the sound you make descending stairs will continue to be, creak Ow, creak Ow, creak Ow.
5. The I'm-On-a-Roll Cup
Let me be clear: you have to know your limits. The I'm-on-a-Roll Cup is not for everybody. Use only as directed. Consult your physician if you have a heart condition or take blood thinners. Side effects may include insomnia, blurred vision, delusions of literary grandeur, workshop paranoia, gastrointestinal distress, and loss of editorial restraint. You have to know where your line is. You have to draw the line, and stay clear of the line.
Furthermore the IOAR Cup is by no means daily. Make it daily and you will imperil your central nervous system. In fact, your nervous system may become decentralized altogether, and that's not good, trust me.
So what is it? It's that one-too-many cup, the after-midnight cup, the Memphis-by-Dawn cup, the exam cram cup, the hyper-intense discussion, at a romantic confluence or spiritual crossroads cup, the friend-in-town-from-out-of-town cup, the In-the-Creative-Zone cup.
Like the morning cup, it's not going be the most lingered-over delicacy. One doesn't make it for the flavor or fineness. At this hour, in these circumstance, you're not going for an elegant presentation with trays and sugar spoons laid out handsomely. If you could, you'd mainline this one. And it is like a drip: stabilizing. The IOAR is just what you need there to keep you on track, like a guardrail. Okay, you're going to hammer out those breakup blues or finish your shift in the driver's seat until mile marker 280, or mount your story's next plot-rise. You are rolling already and have no intention of stopping just yet, but you can't just coast—that may cause a sputter. They say that in a car, you have more control accelerating through a turn. Same concept here, though to mix the metaphor: the IOAR cup is like fresh motor oil, keeping things slick and cool as you red-line it.
Benjamin Obler, author
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