My friend Felix saw the words "British cold coffee" written in a note in my phone last night. He asked if I'd ever had Japanese cold coffee. I realized I had to explain.
For the first 20 years of my life, I spent a cumulative half year sleeping in various European hotel rooms. Every single morning, regardless of city or bed, I woke up to the same three things occurring simultaneously:
The television was on and turned to CNN Europe.
There was coffee brewing.
And it was cold.
This combination of senses - the sound of the accent and cadence of a British journalist, the delicious smell of coffee universally associated with mornings and waking up, and the feeling of cold that made me thankful to have a warm bed to sleep in - has throughout my life represented the absolute perfect, most ideal version of waking up, and I am determined to recreate it eventually.
It's difficult today, because I don't control the heat in my NYC apartment (built in 1900). So in the wintertime, at least, it is unbearably hot. I use a coffee press, and have no machine with a built-in timer that I can set up the night before. And I haven't yet downloaded a radio app that automatically turns on at a certain time (though I do listen to the BBC Global News podcast every morning, not by accident).
One morning I'll get it right.