Inside this neighborhood coffee shop, the wood of the tables gleams gold. Ivy grows on the windowsill. Outside, cars slip by on a street divided by a row of live oaks, their boughs fresh with spring green. I sip a flat white that is unsurpassed in its natural sweetness and creaminess, not a hint of bitterness. Tommy reads Gentle and Lowly and Jack sleeps in his car seat, both chins resting on his bib. 

Around us, most other patrons are like me – headphones in, laptops or books open. This is the American way of drinking coffee where caffeine is equated to productivity, and coffee shops are treated like an office away from the office. But there’s something else here. A certain camaraderie, a shared understanding, an appreciation. 

Coffee has become a source of joy for me in recent years. I’ve been wanting to write about it, but  it’s been challenging to define why it brings joy. We meet acquaintances for coffee. We offer guests coffee. When in-laws visit, we sit on the couch and talk over coffee. When work becomes exhausting, a coworker picks up coffee. It seems to pop up everywhere, like dandelions and Nicholas Cage movies. A ubiquitous offering in social situations. A familiar concept in numerous countries and cultures from Costa Rica to Italy. 

But why?

Is there something unique about coffee that creates social interaction? Or does the need for social interaction simply make coffee useful?

In the verdant hills of Ethiopia, aptly called the birthplace of coffee, visitors are welcomed into homes with a coffee ceremony. But a steaming cup is not obtained by punching a button on a Black and Decker machine. The process of roasting and grinding the beans then brewing the coffee can take hours in a ritual that demonstrates respect and hospitality. The time commitment brings people together in a world where time is not the commodity – human relationships are. 

Conversely, Americans invented the “coffee break.” Following World War II, coffee vendors marketed the benefits of rejuvenating factory workers with caffeine, and employers bought into it. Today, 64% of all Americans drink coffee daily and that percentage only goes up for adults over the age of 55. I can only assume factories closed but old habits didn’t. 

In true American spirit, I started drinking coffee in residency following pharmacy school. “Taking a break” for coffee became another excuse for a meeting and caffeine useful for combatting afternoon sleepiness. Now, I do much of my writing in coffee shops, engaged in a world of my own creation – the real world just a helpful background.

Plenty of us drink coffee just to avoid getting a caffeine headache. I guess we love to solve problems of our own creation.

When Tommy and I visited Vienna a few years ago, we observed a lifestyle far removed from caffeine utilitarianism. Starting in the 17^th century, European coffee houses were places to debate politics, ethics, and religion. They were the favored haunts of novelists, musicians, and intellectuals. 

In many ways, that culture has persevered. Viennese coffee houses are self-described public living rooms, designed to allow you to linger. To think, observe, talk. Servers wear tuxedo jackets and delivery coffee on a silver tray. Espresso isn’t meant to be guzzled down at your desk while editing a spreadsheet. It’s an excuse to create conversation, cultivate relationships, or to simply be quiet. 

After dinner one evening, Tommy and I meandered down narrow cobblestone streets in search of the Viennese sachertorte, a delicious chocolate cake. We stumbled upon a sidewalk cafe where I ordered a latte, and the server was gracious enough to ask if I truly wanted milk or if I preferred milk and espresso.  

We sat on the patio savoring a cafe latte and sachertorte as the sun set in a flame of gold along the rooftops of centuries-old buildings. We laughed and talked and let a moment of doing nothing become a moment we’ll never forget.

Back in the U.S., I started looking at coffee in a new light, and it wasn’t just me. My generation drinks coffee differently, one survey finding that Millennials drink more gourmet coffee than older generations. Forty-eight percent of us are down for a cappuccino while Tommy’s grandpa will never deviate from a cup of black Maxwell House. 

With the age of Starbucks, people found that they could access higher quality coffee for a few extra dollars, awakening an appetite once satisfied by the office coffee machine. Today, locally-owned, gourmet coffee shops flourish in nooks and crannies all over the country where quality and service have been elevated into an art form. 

And perhaps thereinlies an element of coffee that makes it such a great social tool. There are countless ways to grow and harvest and roast beans. The taste changes depending on altitude and soil and climate. Coffee gives us something to be savored, discussed, and debated. 

As my friend Israel puts it, “I love the science and technique, but it’s a whole experience for me – buying beans from a small business micro roaster, grinding beans, unique brew methods.” And finally – “hot coffee in a handmade mug.” 

There’s no debate over Sprite. Unless you leave a two liter in your garage over a long, hot summer, there’s no good Sprite versus bad Sprite. It’s just…Sprite.

Recently, my best friend came to Dallas for a visit. We stopped at a local coffee shop and ordered a latte and a white mocha. The drinks arrived in round mugs on saucers, white foam swirled into beautiful patterns. We sat in plush arm chairs and talked as the afternoon sun grew long. We compared this chai latte to the one at Terra Cafe in our old college town and breathed deeply of roasted espresso. We held close every tick of the clock until it was time to leave, conscious that this time was a gift.

When asking friends why they drink coffee, I was surprised by how many times grandparents were mentioned. My grandmother Helen died when I was ten. It’s been nearly twenty years since I was in her home, but with the smell of percolating coffee, I return. I’m still that child watching her wrinkled, soft hands pour coffee and cream. I see her flower-printed sweatshirt and white hair. I feel her love across the wide ocean of time.

Coffee connects us, creating a commonality not because we “like coffee” but because we all crave the quiet reflection that coffee brings. It gives us an excuse to pause. To be thankful for a new day.

So whether it’s the process, the taste, the social aspect, or the routine that enamors you – when we drink coffee, we’re part of something special shared across time and culture and families. As my cousin so wisely puts it – coffee is a habit we’re not trying to break.