“Hey Joe!”

For anyone reading this who knows me well, I will assume that what popped into you head after seeing my title and the accompanying photo went something like this: “Why the ^%&^$ is he writing about coffee?” Or perhaps it went: “Coffee! The dude’s never had a cup of coffee in his life!”  For those of you who don’t know me that well, listen to the first group; they know what they’re talking about.

Yes, it is somewhat true to say that I have never had a cup of coffee in my life, as the first time I attempted to indulge in this (what appears to me to be a fairly widespread addiction…uh, sorry, ritual), it was from a vending machine in 1969, at the university I was then attending. I figured it was time to be an “adult,” so I joined the line that had formed in front of the machine around 8 AM, with fellow students and faculty, all of us looking a little worse for wear, waiting to slide my quarter into the slot. I had no clue as to what all the buttons there were to push meant, so I closed my eyes and pushed away and waited. I honestly don’t remember if I gagged, or spit it out in disgust, but it was, to me at least, the most vile thing I had ever tasted. In 1969, we were still a few years away from the first Starbucks (1971, Seattle), and a few more years away from hearing: “Yes, I’ll have a double-non-fat-extra-shot-no cream-mocha-latte…whatever.” “Of course, that will be $12.59, can I get a name for it?” Yes, ridiculous.

The term “joe,” or more accurately, “cup of joe,” has been around for some time, but, as I have recently learned, its origins are unclear. Of course, there are some theories. One is that “joe” may be a shortened version of “Jamoke,” a popular nickname for coffee in the 1930s, a combination of the words “java” and “mocha,” common terms back in the day. Another theory posits that it may be linked to the slang term for “the common man,” also Joe, which first appeared in the English lexicon around 1846. Or perhaps it belongs to Joe Martinson of Martinson Coffee in New York City circa 1898, who called his coffee blend, “cup of Joe” as a marketing ploy – I like that one the best. Coffee is also known as “cuppa,” “go juice,” “bean juice,” “morning jolt” and, my personal favorite, “rocket fuel.” There are many more, but I’ll spare you.

Just because I do not drink this cultural elixir does not mean that I do not understand its importance to people and cultures around the world. As a matter of fact, my indoctrination into people’s personal relationships with coffee started at a very early age, when I became aware that if I tried to talk to my mother before she had her morning coffee, my day would not go well at all. The look on her face when I bounced into the kitchen babbling incessantly said it all: “Say one more word and you will wish you lived somewhere else!” My coffee education continued into my early teens when travelling with my dad in the summer on his sales trips. This was when I was exposed to not only coffee culture but coffeehouse culture, which is as important as the beverage itself, if not more so. It was in the small town of Cobourg, Ontario, where my dad had clients and a friend, and every morning we were there involved a short walk to the local coffee joint and a seat at the communal table which, as I would later learn, always had the same group of men, sometimes women, huddled around their steaming mugs, pontificating about everything from politics to the amount of snow that had fallen from the previous night’s storm. They were known as the Cobourg Coffee Klatch. It may not have been school, but it certainly was educational! Sometime later, when I was in my mid-twenties and working in sales myself, I would often be hosting several buyers for early morning meetings in my company’s boardroom. It was then that I was reminded of my mother’s stares. It’s 8:30 AM, the buyers are all seated around the table, and I would bounce in and start right in on my sales pitch and showing samples of our wares, when I realized I was being glared at by six sets of eyes. I stopped mid-sentence, looked around the table, when one of the group just looked at me and said: “COFFEE, NOW!” “Oh yeah, my bad.”

Coffeehouse culture is by no means a new phenomenon, as the first coffeehouses appeared in Damascus. These Ottoman establishments also appeared in Mecca, in the Arabian peninsula in the 15^th century, then spread to the Ottoman Empire’s capital, Istanbul, in the 16^th century. They became popular meeting places where people gathered to drink coffee, have conversations, play board games, such as chess and backgammon (Shesh besh), listen to stories and music, and discuss news and politics. By the 17^th century, it spread to Europe and on and on it goes.

So, why the sudden interest and urge to write about this? Fair question. Just the other morning, after driving my wife to work, I had some time to kill before starting my weekly grocery shopping, and I stopped at the Peet’s we often frequent on the weekends. It is a rare occasion when I am there on my own, but here I was at 7 AM, sipping on a tea, and just observing the groups of people, friends, acquaintances, coffee buddies, etc., at different tables deep in conversation, and the memories mentioned above washed over me. For a large part of my life, this was not at all part of my daily routine (a cocktail after work…now we’re talking!). That would change in my mid-fifties when I relocated to LA and married a coffee drinker. Over the ensuing years, I have been part of three separate “Peetnick” clans, as they are affectionately known, all replete with those “special” characters who congregate on a regular basis to indulge in their daily fix, and to develop friendships that range from fleeting to lasting. This is what I missed all those years, but I have more than made up for it, except for the coffee of course!

Los Angeles 2025