I cannot claim to be a coffee expert (I’ll leave that to Chris Morocco). I was the person in college who never complained about our dining hall coffee, which I would drink at breakfast, lunch, and after dinner. If it was hot (or even hottish), strong, and caffeinated, I was in.
These days my standards are a little higher—as in I’m the proud owner of a Chemex (for sake of simplicity and ease of cleaning) and I grind my beans at home. But still, there’s really only one thing that can make me inconsolably distressed when it comes to coffee, and that’s when the coffee doesn’t exist. How will my brain, body, or soul function properly? For me the limiting factor isn’t the beans themselves (I would never let that happen), but the paper filters that fit into my Chemex.