Cup O’ Joe

I woke this morning thinking, as most mornings I do, of a cup ‘o Joe.

Wait-Why do they call it a cup of Joe? And who is they?
Well, I found a few theories on the origin of the popular moniker for coffee.

In 1914 the secretary of the US Navy admiral Josephus Joe Daniels abolished the officers wine mess, from that time on the strongest and apparently therefore the drink of choice was coffee. It was dubbed a cup of Joe. By 1931 the slang was popular enough to be included in the reserve officer’s manual.

Some people think that the slang is derived from the fact that coffee was a common man’s drink, and Joe was the name for the common man. I also found this interesting suggestion and wondered if it could be true - The old 16th century Scottish word joe, which translates to joy, is the explanation behind this name for coffee.

And, since we are learning about slang for coffee- here’s another popular one: Java became a popular name for coffee in the 19th century because the island of Java was at that time the major source of the world’s coffee.

Personally, every time I hear coffee termed Joe my mind envisions a tall, cool gumshoe straight from the 40’s. His face reflects his weariness; his posture is slightly slumped as if he is bone tired. His clothes are wrinkled, suit with a skinny tie anchored to the ground by a scuffed pair of shoes caked with dust. Even the black Fedora on his head looks like it could use a rest as he pulls it off and gives it a shake, dust filtering up into the pink cast of early morning light. He sets the hat on the counter. His chiseled face is covered with a days stubble because he’s been hunting clues not sleeping, eating or shaving. Even in his weariness there is a strength that could be trusted. He was definitely a man who could get the job done. He leans over the counter in a dim greasy spoon, motioning with a hand for the waitress to bring him a cup o’ joe as he lights his cigarette with a strike anywhere match.

Now back to the story-
I was waking from the nothingness of my solid sleep. As my eyes opened, there was a vision of my favorite cup filled to the brim with steaming coffee floating in front of my eyes, like the proverbial oasis in the desert, so real I could almost reach out and grab the mug from the sky.

That type of vision can motivate me to hop from under the cozy covers, even on a cold day. I’m picky about my Joe, like most people I have my own personal recipe for making the perfect cup. It involves a French press coffee maker, a coffee grinder, some really dark oily beans and half and half not milk- thank you, but honestly, the beans are definitely the key to a good cup of coffee.

Coffee belongs to the botanical family Rubiaceae, which has some 500 genera and over 6,000 species. Most are tropical trees and shrubs which grow in the lower storey of forests. Other members of the family include the gardenias and plants which yield quinine and other useful substances, but Coffea is by far the most important member of the family economically.

According to legend, human cultivation of coffee began after goats in Ethiopia were seen becoming frisky after eating the leaves and fruits of the coffee tree.

The first written record of coffee, made from roasted coffee beans, comes from Arabian scholars who wrote that it was useful in prolonging their working hours. The Arab innovation of making a brew from roasted beans, spread first among the Egyptians and Turks and later on found its way around the world.

Coffea Arabica is the one I like. It is indigenous to Ethiopia and Yemen. It is believed to be the first species of coffee to be cultivated, being grown in southwest Arabia for well over 1,000 years. Coffea Arabica is considered to produce better coffee than the other major commercially grown coffee species -- Coffea canephora (robusta).

Robusta is a species of coffee which has its origins in western Africa. It once was grown mostly in Africa and Brazil. In recent years Vietnam, has become the world's single largest exporter. Approximately one third of the coffee produced in the world is Robusta.

Robusta is easier to care for than the other major species of coffee, Arabica , and because of this it is cheaper to produce. Since Arabica beans are considered superior, Robusta is usually limited to lower grade coffee blends.

C8H10N4O2. That is the formula for caffeine. I just love chemistry, don’t you?

Caffeine is a bitter white crystalline xanthine alkaloid that acts as a psychoactive stimulant drug and a mild diuretic (speeds up urine production) in humans and other animals. Caffeine was discovered by a German chemist, Friedrich Ferdinand Runge, in 1819. Caffeine is also called guaranine when found in guarana, mateine when found in mate, and theine when found in tea; all of these names are synonyms for the same chemical compound.

Robusta, at 1.7-4.0% caffeine, has about twice as much caffeine as Arabica with 0.8-1.4%.

Does that surprise you? I just said my favorite coffee has less caffeine, and, because I like the really dark roast, it has even less caffeine. Recall that age old adage – the greener the bean the more the caffeine? No? Well that is how it goes and the fact is you can practically roast the caffeine right out of the beans. My French roast has less caffeine than a cup of Folger’s.

You are probably thinking “Good God Almighty! Why would she like coffee with less caffeine?”

Because it’s not about the buzz. It’s about the flavor, the warmth, the smell. It’s about my favorite mug snug in my hands and taking a few minutes to let myself wake up before I fling myself into the day. Honestly folks, why would I need a bunch of caffeine after I just slept all night? Now, ask me about my one cup in the afternoon, and that might be about caffeine, but the morning, the morning is about flavor, savor and time.

The gumshoe surveys his surroundings. Nothing to make him nervous, just a few people waking in the early morning light of the diner. He eyes each one as if to find the meaning of their lives hidden in the wrinkles of their faces. He sees no malice, no suspicion, no flickering glances that might reflect someone looking for him. The waitress returns with his cup o’ joe and he settles his mind into contemplating the events of the last few nights and his expectations for the day. Somewhere in his mind he knew he would find the key to unlocking this puzzle, somewhere in his mind he had yet to access. Now, at this moment, the puzzle pieces still lay jumbled. Mismatched notches, colors colliding, outside edges missing. It didn’t make sense, and that he finds disturbing.

His long arms reach with strangely graceful hands for the creamer in a little pot on a bed of ice in a bowl not two feet away. He pours a small trickle of white, it disappears into the night black of his cup o’ joe, turning it into the dark brown color of sand on some exotic beach half a world away. With a glance around the room again he lifts his spoon and, feeling comfortable with his surroundings, he puts his full attention on the stirring of the coffee, mixing the cream in slowly, contemplatively, round and round. As he does, like a kaleidoscope, the pieces of the puzzle move round and round in his mind.

I found this interesting: The average Arabica plant is a large bush with dark-green oval leaves. It is genetically different from other coffee species, having four sets of chromosomes rather than two. C. arabica is a tetraploid (44 chromosomes) and is self-pollinating.C. canephora ( robusta) is diploid and self-sterile, producing many different forms and varieties in the wild.

It takes seven to nine pounds of cherry to make one pound of roasted coffee. Thus 100 pounds of cherry will yield about 12 pounds of roasted coffee.

The first sip from the heavy white mug warms his body as if a campfire had been lit on the counter in front of him. He savors the warmth, his mind starts to defrost as he awakens the lingering memory of his night spent crouching in the bushes outside the bleak apartment building. The next sip follows, gliding smoothly into his body as his mind recalls every shadow, every sound. The palm fronds crossing the walk, shadows in the moonlight, the hushed roar of the nearby beach, the scent of gardenias and salt. The sound of footsteps echoing to his hiding place, his brief sight of shoes, first the red patent leather high heels of the dame and later, much later the well heeled boots of a heavy man transversing the same route.

He sips again and recalls the urgent knocking on the door of the second floor apartment. His line of sight was obscured, but the timing was right and no other steps had fallen on his ears in the meantime. The boots must have stood for a while, searching? Remembering? His mind replays the muffled thump, the strangled gasp, recalls the sight of the blood.

Many social aspects of coffee can be seen in the modern-day lifestyle. The United States is the largest market for coffee, followed by Germany and Japan. The Nordic countries consume the most coffee per capita, with Finland typically occupying the top spot with a per-capita consumption in excess of 10 kg per year, closely followed by Norway, Sweden and Denmark.

A woman's late-night invitation to a man for a cup of coffee (typically after a date) has become code for an invitation to sex. This convention has become the subject of a great deal of comedy, and the treatments given to it in Seinfeld (in the words of George Costanza: "'Coffee' doesn't mean coffee! 'Coffee' means sex!")

The light in the diner changes as the sun begins to rise. The gumshoe continues to contemplate the meaning of the recalled clues as he savors the warm cup o’ Joe. The taste of the brew seems to strengthen his resolve. The kaleidoscope of fragmented puzzle pieces swirls around and the disjointed parts begin to fall into place. He feels himself snap to attention, like a bird dog pointing, as the final clue fits and the picture is visible. He picks up the cup and swallows the last drops of warm, bitter nectar as his mind swallows the truth.

He reaches with long fingers into his pants pocket and extracts a dollar. Laying it on the counter he picks up his hat and swings himself off the stool. As he turns he again takes in every face around him, still searching for a glint of recognition. None comes. He knows where the trail points; he knows where he has to go. He walks across the diner as if led by an invisible thread, out the heavy door, bells jangling, out to the sidewalk already warm from the morning sun. It was going to be another hot day, sweat breaking under his collar as he turns east with confident steps, heading toward the answer.