I was originally planning to write about delicious oshinko, or tsukemono, Japanese pickles.
But just now, I started thinking that maybe this piece would work better as a prologue. So I am writing this in a small pocket of time at the office.
There are some mornings when I do not have time to make coffee before heading to work. Maybe I did not wake up early enough because I was not feeling great. But even then, I do not quite want to buy just any coffee and treat it as a simple "caffeine refill." It is a strange little belief I have. Of course, I am not trying to criticize or judge that way of drinking coffee. But for me, coffee is part of a ritual. And giving meaning to that kind of ritual feels important in a time when everything seems to pass by so quickly.
That was a long introduction.
Coffee has become so common, and has been transformed in so many different directions, that you can find coffee drinks almost anywhere now. But finding an espresso drink that carries some sense of care, or some proper effort, is still not that easy. Even in New York, a city that often likes to imagine itself at the front line of gourmet food, that remains true.
Joe Coffee is one of the places where I can still sense at least a certain degree of effort. They have and operate their own roastery near the city, make their own blends, and source their own beans. I also happen to like their Waverly blend. The fact that its name overlaps with the name of my blog is purely a coincidence. It is, after all, one of those common street names in America.
For those reasons, when I have to choose coffee in New York, I often prefer Joe. And this morning, on a day when I could not make the cup that usually helps me settle my mind before work, I had their cafe latte.
I suppose I could say this or that about the drink. But do I really need to?
That thought came to me.
Maybe it is easier than we think to review a cup of coffee. But I do not drink coffee in order to review it. That is not my ritual. My ritual is to brew a careful cup of coffee, to decide again that I am beginning another new day, and to quietly gather myself before stepping into it.
By extension, if a coffee bought outside can become a kind of ritual, perhaps it depends on how much sincerity toward coffee I can feel from the cafe. I do not mean that I am looking for some excessive performance. But in the middle of New York, perhaps one of the busiest and fastest-changing cities in the world, that kind of longing is not easily satisfied.
I know that. And being reminded of it again this morning left me with a complicated feeling.
That same feeling, in the end, brought me back once again to oshinko, tsukemono, and nukazuke.
At home, or at a small restaurant, there is a quiet pleasure in tasting vegetables that have been preserved simply with salt, or miso. It is not something one approaches with grand expectations. But maybe it is a small component of everyday life, and perhaps a kind of ritual in its own right. A little waiting. A little preparation.
If you go to Shinpachi Shokudo, they will probably serve factory-made nukazuke as a small side dish. But somewhere nearby, there is also probably a small breakfast place that makes everything by hand.
All of this, from just one cup of coffee.
And because that cup made me think about those scenes that seem to be slowly losing their shape in New York, my heart this morning remains complicated.