Coffee’s a part of our national brew

When you knew that it was over,

Were you suddenly aware

That the autumn leaves were turning

To the color of her hair?  — The Windmills of Your Mind

In authoring Kapihan: A Celebration of Coffee in the Philippines, I traveled all over the archipelago, and saw coffee in all its social and geographical contexts. I have drunk coffee in many different countries, and have always been struck by how it adapts itself seamlessly to local environments all over the world.  The Philippines is no exception. 

It seems that coffee is like fabric: you can tailor it according to your needs and resources, and for the requirements of the occasion.  After more than two and a half centuries in the Philippines, coffee has become ubiquitous in place and time, and one could be forgiven for taking it for granted. As with all things, you get out of it what you put into it: a little extra focus and attention brings its own happy rewards. It’s like realizing that your old high school classmate, who you remember as a shy and plain-looking girl, is now a charming and pretty college student; or how that boring (and therefore invisible) boy in college has grown up to become a man of virtue and achievement.

There are many stories here, more than the book’s pages allowed for inclusion. One friend, an Atenista, told me how his immersion experience took him deep into the countryside. He stayed with a family of four for a number of days, sleeping on an outdoor bed, where “mutant mosquitoes on steroids” feasted on him at night.  The family’s meals consisted of rice and the contents of one tin of corned beef that was made to last several days. With every meal, there was coffee to drink. To this family, coffee was an anchor of dignity.

Another friend shared a family story about a relative who had lived in Manila in the early 1900s. It was posthumously discovered — at his funeral wake, more precisely — that he had fathered three illegitimate children. They had been brought to the wake by their mother to pay their respects. They had never been seen previously by anyone present, but the young children bore an undeniable resemblance to the deceased. A few days of detective work revealed that they had been fathered in the course of half-hour-long coffee breaks that took place at 11 a.m. every day of the deceased’s working week. In time, they came to be referred to as the “Coffee Break Kids.” To their father, coffee had served as a tool for extramarital procreation.

Single women told me how they preferred, when asked out on a first date, to be invited for coffee instead of dinner (possibility because there was less commitment involved). Single men confided how an offer of coffee could be made with feigned nonchalance (romantic exploration dressed as innocent imbibing: “Me? Have the hots for you? Nooo…”). For single men and women alike, coffee can serve as a test for interpersonal compatibility.

I came to appreciate how coffee dresses poor and rich alike, how it is an unquestioning companion to vice and virtue, and how it can be an ingredient for budding romance or multi-generational family gathering.

But it was after the book had been published and while the book launch was in full flow that my jumble of recollections crystallized into a humble appreciation of coffee’s own circle of life (I have three children, and yes, I have watched Disney’s The Lion King many, many times; the signature song rings in my ears to this day). 

I realized that a cup of coffee begins with a decision: a farmer’s decision to plant a coffee tree. As with all such decisions, there are serious tradeoffs. “Why wait a few years before the first harvest of coffee beans, when another crop can provide marketable produce within a few months? What if yields don’t work out? What if the weather works against me? What if the market price drops?” It is a moment of risk, of faith and of courage. And when the harvest comes in, professionals get to work full-time on the trading, roasting, packaging and marketing of the finished product. And so I realized that to drink a cup of coffee is to enable a farmer with a high school education to send his children to college; that it allows thousands of professionals to make a living and build careers, and to send their children to college. I realized that in a cup of coffee there is courage, effort and mutual benefit. 

The book project is now over, and I am so much more aware of the purposes of coffee, and its presence everywhere. My journey of discovery has ended for now. I wish you a good start to yours.

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Kapihan: A Celebration of Coffee in the Philippines, published by ArtPostAsia, was launched Jan. 18 in Manila. It is available at Fully Booked, Power Books and National Bookstore.