I have drunk enough black coffee to push myself out of depression, and enough to spiral back into one. I’ve fallen in love over pour overs and out of it over decaf in a diner. I’ve grown up with Folgers and grown into French presses. I’ve had black coffee to help me focus and black coffee to help distract. I’ve had black coffee to ground me and black coffee to transport me and black coffee to ping-pong me between the two.
I’ve drunk a lot of black coffee in my life, but I didn’t really know anything about drinking black coffee until I dated someone who bought the beans whole and ground them every morning to make a single cup at a time. He used a pour over, calculating the exact ounces, getting the temperature of the water just right, pouring and blooming and watching it drain. I thought he was being pretentious and that it was a waste of time, but damn, that coffee was good.