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For years, I had always been somewhat smug that I was an adult without a daily addiction to coffee or tea, preferring a glass of cold water in the morning to anything else for most of my life.
But then I went to India a couple years ago, and it ruined me… or I’ll reframe: It enlightened me.
For years, my bad impression of coffee had always been smeared by the innocent teenage experience of ordering a plain cup of joe at a now-defunct local coffee shop in my Colorado hometown one fine high school day — me disgusted and in shock, realizing many Americans drink their coffee without milk. It was so bitter and overrated, I thought. The smell was great, but the taste rather terrible.
In recent years, I teetered on the edge, experimenting with sugar-laden Frappacinos here and there in spite of Starbucks’ burnt coffee profile. I occasionally indulged in McDonald’s iced lattes, despite them being basically dessert milkshakes. When at overpriced hipster coffee shops, I’d always order fake-syrup chai or bland green tea.
But then, everything changed.
Call it a combo of jet lag and “when in Rome,” but while traveling across South India with my parents a couple years ago, we were regularly surrounded by gargantuan breakfast buffets at hotels. Besides the mountains of donuts, steaming piles of upma, and fermented scent of fresh dosa batter, was always filter coffee.
For those who haven’t experienced it, South Indian filter coffee is usually brewed in a stainless steel drip device and then served as a frothy, milky latte that’s piping hot. Each batch might have a healthy dose of sugar, though you can of course customize your own cup.
Each day, I began looking forward to the steaming cups of filter coffee, often served in stainless steel tumblers and davaras (the bottom vessel), bubbles bouncing after a few roller coaster motions of aeration.
Since then, I haven’t looked back. In my book, South Indian filter lattes are the best form of coffee. Nothing comes close, possibly except for Vietnamese-style drip coffee with condensed milk.
These days, filter coffee — or “kaapi” in Tamil — is gaining steam beyond Brown households across the United States. From San Francisco to Chicago to Boston to Brooklyn to Atlanta, South Indian-style filter coffee is expanding beyond Indian restaurants into specialty coffee shops and more mainstream vernacular.
So while masala chai has more prominently become my grown-up beverage of choice these days (more on that in a future issue), I am now admittedly a few-times-a-week coffee aficionado, becoming accustomed to the nuances of $6 cups outside or an extra-hot latte at home. I now never say no to a fresh cup of coffee at my parents’ house.
Some days, I practice the authentic filter ritual, patiently waiting for each drip to drop into the stainless steel canister, thinking about the ancestors who did the same each day.
Other mornings, as the damp Pacific air wafts into my home, I make a hot pseudo version with an Indian staple: milk and sugar mixed with beloved scoops of Bru instant coffee with roasted chicory.
Happy brewing!
This article first appeared in redwhiteandbrown.