The kettle whistled. I got up from my desk and turned off the stove. Reaching up, I grabbed my red pour-over brewer and placed it on top of my mug. Next, I folded a brown paper filter into the brewer and poured in powdery grounds and hot, steaming water. A steady drip-drip fell from the brewer into my mug.
I was brewing coffee. I was brewing a tradition.
Passed along through secrets, gossip, and rebellion, coffee traveled all the way from the Arabian Peninsula to Italy, Europe, and eventually America.
I was drinking a history.
At that moment was I drinking like the Sultans of Istanbul? From the hands of my Chief Coffee maker, the brewing process a well guarded secret?
Was I drinking it like Immanuel Kant? He and I both struggle with the universal human experience, I more than him.
Or was I drinking it for John Adams? For my country, and as an act of support for the Bostonians who threw tea into the harbor?
Mostly I was drinking it for me, and the passed down tradition of my family. The same brand my dad drank, the same brand my brother works for. Kaladi Brothers is a local Alaskan brand that purchases their coffee from organic, family owned farms all across the world, and roasts it right in my hometown. After doing my research, I was only happier to drink coffee in general, and coffee from Kaladi Brothers.