A couple years after I landed my first real job, I got my first coffee maker and started drinking my morning cup just as God intended it; that is, just as my mom, the only coffee drinker in my house growing up, drinks hers—roughly two parts coffee to one part Coffee mate. A drink the color of a Werther’s Original and redolent of cotton candy. It took longer than it should have for me to realize this wasn’t healthy. One summer my mom famously took her bottle of amaretto non-dairy creamer on a road trip, left it in the car day and night in the kinds of temperatures that suffocate small children, and it never spoiled. That was my wake-up call. I transitioned from Coffee mate to real cream and real sugar. Then, on a friend’s tip, to maple syrup. In time, I started drinking my coffee black.