In the article "The Case for Bad Coffee", Keith Pandolfi, senior features editor at Serious Eats, talks about his sometimes intimate relationship with coffee throughout the years. It's beautiful and captivating writing, so be prepared to feel the urge for a cup of java when you're finished reading.

Ted was short and portly and vulgar and gruff. Unlike my father, a dapper Italian and gifted home-cook who had a fondness for Strauss waltzes and old Platters records, Ted prefered polyester shirts, chain restaurants, Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn. He was a coffee and cigarettes kind of guy who liked to sit in window seats and watch the world go by. He grew up in a rough neighborhood, had an eighth-grade education, was a Korean War vet, and owned the largest blueprint company in Ohio. He wore a big gold bracelet with the word "Ted" spelled out in diamonds.

The two of us had nothing in common, but my mother would often send us out to pick up food for dinner at the local Perkins or Frisch's Big Boy. "Let's get a cup of coffee while we wait," he would always say with a sparkle in his eye as we arrived at our chain of choice. "We'll sit back and relax. Sure, just relax a little bit." But it was never just "a cup" of coffee—it was always three, and sometimes four. The idea of being stuck with Ted at booth or a counter stool made my head spin. We would be there for at least an hour as he talked about things I couldn't even pretend to understand—the blueprint industry, the stock market, the wisdom of the Republican party.

Featured image: Early-morning coffee in a Harlem diner, New York, 1977, by photographer Chester Higgins Jr. Via Charles Guice Contemporary.