This is a weird time of year. Here in Berkeley it's a gorgeous day, sunny, though chilly. The magnolias are already blooming. It's not spring yet, not even winter. The looming New Year makes a guy think about transitions, the passage of time, new stuff—the usual. The numeral 2005 sounds new—shiny and pristine, just out of the box, wheareas 2004 sounds (already), old, scratched, a little battered, like my camera cellphone (which I bought in 2004). This blog is one of the transitions for the new year. I've started it This is a weird time of year. Here in Berkeley it's a gorgeous day, sunny, though chilly. The magnolias are already blooming. It's not spring yet, not even winter. The looming New Year makes a guy think about transitions, the passage of time, new stuff—the usual. The numeral 2005 sounds new—shiny and pristine, just out of the box, wheareas 2004 sounds (already), old, scratched, a little battered, like my camera cellphone (which I bought in 2004). This blog is one This is a weird time of year. Here in Berkeley it's a gorgeous day, sunny, though chilly. The magnolias are already blooming. It's not spring yet, not even winter. The looming New Year makes a guy think about transitions, the passage of time, new stuff—the usual. The numeral 2005 sounds new—shiny and pristine, just out of the box, wheareas 2004 sounds (already), old, scratched, a little battered, like my camera This is a weird time of year. Here in Berkeley it's a gorgeous day, sunny, though chilly. The magnolias are already blooming. It's not spring yet, not even winter. The looming New Year makes a guy think about transitions, the passage of time, new stuff—the usual. The numeral 2005 sounds new—shiny and pristine, just out of the box, wheareas 2004

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The I-Word

9:11 PM Sunday, October 9, 2005

[Must coffee be made slowly, artfully, with love and tender appreciation?]

While visiting family at a big event in the Midwest, I heard mention of a subject that any coffeeblogger would naturally tend to avoid in the interest of good taste. After much soul-searching, I decide not to sweep the topic under the rug. I know that there are many of you readers out here who would feel offended, outraged, shocked, disgusted, grossed out, or at least extremely uncomfortable at the mention of this topic. I am therefore giving you fair warning: stop reading right here if you feel you must. At this time I do not intend to reopen the subject in future posts to Jonathan's Coffeeblog, but today is the day I put it all out on the table.

The subject, of course, is instant coffee.

A case could be made for the argument that instant coffee is an oxymoron. Coffee is a beverage that must be made slowly, artfully, with love and tender appreciation. There are those who grind their own beans, and there are those who roast their own beans, then grind them. Even the rush hour lines are Starbucks are not for those who seek instant gratification: one must find the store, one must park or take the train or bus or plane, one must walk to the store, one must stand in line, one must painstaking specify to the barista the desired cup: for here or to go, etc. And even then the barista will deliver the cup all in good time, or longer if necessary. In spite of the metaphysical nature of coffee itself, as just described, there is a market for instant coffee, there is a huge group of people who consume instant coffee, and their is even a whole cabal of self-styled appreciators, aficionados, fanciers, yea, one might even say even mavens of instant coffee. There is of course, the Nescafé® crowd (they created the instant coffee industry), but then there is the Cafe Bustelo® crowd. And there may even be instant coffees that are considered better that those by instant coffee enthusiasts. But I have said enough. This is Jonathan's Coffeeblog. This is not Jonathan's Instantcoffeeblog. I fear that I have already said too much.

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