The world is full of excellent pairs. Big Ears and Noddy – that enchanting friendship/ambiguous homoerotic energy that they brought to my childhood stories will always be memorable. Ditto for Batman and Robin (insert ‘bat-cave’ reference with a wink), Biggles and Ginger, Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau and of course, motherfucking Thelma and Louise. And these pairs were excellent for the same reason – they complimented one another – each pair being greater than the sum of its parts. Where Noddy brought nervous, optimistic energy, Big Ears was the steady (albeit lecherous), guiding hand. Batman dealt with all the fame, money, gadgets and women and Robin – well, you know, someone had to clean the ol' Batmobile (ahem). Biggles – the pilot, strapping and heroic and Ginger - the comic relief and diversity quotient that ensured the tales never grew too grim. Jack Lemmon, the anal-retentive, persnickety, nagging pessimistic antithesis to Walter Matthau’s laid back, comic, horny, hound-doggery. And finally, Thelma was the passive, unsuspecting canvas onto which Loiuse was able to unleash her dormant, but ambitious, psychosis. Bless.
Of course, as with all things of excellence, if you look hard enough, you’re likely to see a whole pile of fuck-ups that were swept under the rug. That is to say – in some cases at least - the pair is somewhat less than the sum of its parts. Bill Clinton & Monica; Edison & Tesla; John Edwards and Decency; and most recently, the grouchy pairing of Marty (Woody Harrelson) and Rust (Matthew Mcconaughey) in True Detective (a 2014 series you are not allowed to miss), whose relationship is epitomised in a tender moment when Marty says to Rust: If you were drowning, I’d throw you a fucking barbell.
And there is nothing subjective about the awfulness of these pairs. Each one is perfectly, objectively terrible. In one swift moment, they can take a perfectly respectable moment and butcher it with impunity. So it is with the pair that most vexes me: coffee and sugar….. pause for the rowdy rabble to interrupt…. And by coffee, I mean, of course, quality coffee made by a ninja-like barista. I do not mean 1) instant coffee, 2) shitty shitty drip coffee or 3) over-extracted and/or over-roasted coffee. So, if you were part of the interrupting rowdy rabble and drink one of these 3 exempt coffee types, step aside. While I judge you, it is not for the use of sugar. If, however, you drink ninja-barista coffee and still use sugar, then roll up your sleeves and put away your big rings – we’re going to need to slug it out.
Sugar is delightful. Very rare is the flavour that yanks on our evolutionary taste-buds with such aggressive debauchery. Entire empires have been built on the little fella and we should always have respect for its crystally deliciousness. But take that marvelous molecule and drop it into your cup of revered coffee and it becomes a vindictive little shit, swinging a sickly sweet hammer and crushing all kinds of delicious flavours around it. Yup. It smothers flavour and kills complexity at the end of an epic journey. You see, after years of careful tending, a tree in some far-flung plantation starts birthing berries. These berries are carefully sorted and then start the price negotiations, FairTrade certifications, and then a seventy-hour train journey through war-torn hovels. Eventually, the beans arrive in the sacred roasting room of your local coffee Mecca. The roasting is precise and meticulous to get the flavour profile absolutely perfect. Finally, a ninja-barista faithfully extracts the coffee for your privileged enjoyment. And then, you, hapless cretin that you are, toss in a dollop (or two) of sugar. Merde! If the point still isn’t sticking – this is the equivalent of adding apple juice to your 2005 Bordeaux blend because it’s too rich for you. Bottom line? Don’t fucking do it.
The ONLY time when it is acceptable to put sugar in your coffee is when you are enjoying a deliberately bitter coffee (e.g. Turkish or Greek) and the sugar is a traditional part of the process (because the actual brew is usually unpalatable) or when the coffee you’re drinking is so inferior, that it barely counts as coffee anymore. Then nobody gives a shit what you put in there, so feel free to go crazy.
Does this make me a coffee fascist? Perhaps. I’m okay with that label. We’re talking about the finer things in life here. This is not about getting a caffeine fix (although it is a great side-effect) or about skulking in the corner of a café, hunched over a Mac pretending to write a generation-defining novel. And it is never about gulping back some kind of iced frappe dappe abomination. This is about tasting the best craftsmanship that the coffee world has to offer. Don’t spoil it by smothering it in sugar.
Or if you do, make fucking sure I don’t see you doing it.
Or if you do, make fucking sure I don’t see you doing it.