Coffee drinking changes in the summer. It changes from a solitary drink to a social one. The hot black syrup that fuels idle cafe sitting and essay writing in the winter suddenly seems desperate and spartan. Summer brings free time, coffee dates, and light milk foam. But even as coffee becomes more of a social drink in the summer, it often sits in the periphery of the table—it sits unseen, unremarked, and rarely a topic of discussion. Even though going out for coffee is a great way to connect with someone, coffee does not do much connecting itself. Nobody goes for coffee to dwell on the coffee. Why, then, is coffee such a palatable conversation companion?
What would it look like to have a conversation about coffee rather than alongside coffee? I might take a sip and savour a moment of enjoyment with someone. I might just say “I’m really enjoying this coffee”. But when I hear these kinds of remarks about coffee they don’t really seem like comments which are really about coffee as a subject. They are usually used as a segue, an unimposing filler, or an expression of conversational tedium. Thus, a well-timed remark about coffee is a lot like a remark on the weather—not an empty remark, but one which gives form to the movement of conversation. Coffee demarcates the ebb and flow of topics and moods, yet it is not a topic or mood itself. It gives form to conversation by being innocuous and neutral rather than by being intriguing or emotional. Coffee is therefore only interesting as an uninteresting topic without content. Coffee is symbolically void—it would be hard to interpret coffee beyond “coffee as tasted”.
Coffee is rarely a serious conversation topic because food is experienced so directly. If someone told me about art they enjoy or about an argument they are interested in, I could interpret and disagree with them. Coffee, on the other hand, comes prepackaged. There is no room for radical interpretations of coffee. Conversation about coffee seem so self-evident and unproblematic because of this. To grasp at something within coffee to talk about seems to require a problem that can be interpreted, exchanged, or disagreed upon. What is the beginning, the end, or the trajectory of a coffee experience? What is the project of simple coffee appreciation?
We might try to conceive of coffee as a project—to constructs steps and rituals of coffee consumption that can be debated. We could refer to technical coffee words that describe bean roasting, stone fruit flavours, and heirloom plants. We might even argue about whether or not it is hints of apricot or plum that we are tasting in our coffee. But to describe coffee flavour in terms of roasting methods is to be dissatisfied with coffee as it is given to us. It is to be restless with coffee left alone as coffee.
The lack of a project of coffee is the essence of why coffee is such a great conversation companion. Coffee is reassuringly banal and can only be appreciated for its own sake. Coffee can only be appreciated for its own sake because we can not use coffee to reveal something new and unseen (we can never say: “Can’t you see that X is actually about Y?” using coffee). Coffee talk is descriptive, not interpretive. And by precluding our own diagnoses of meanings, morals, or a social prescriptions from coffee, we are unable to move away from what is plainly experienced or to shift the focus on to ourselves as creators. Coffee, as a topic, is therefore refreshingly modest and independent of world views or subjective presence. And it's certainly a meaningful thing to talk about.