Kick the coffee bucket

Today, a few unscientific thoughts about coffee. In true disclaimer style, all views are my own, with very little foundation in the culture or science of the mighty bean. Over the past few years I have a developed a keen interest in these beautiful, caffeinated kernels. It all started with a stormy but ultimately productive love affair with my Gaggia Cubika espresso machine. Gaggia is a well respected Italian brand, but my initial dates with sleek, brushed steel Cubika left me flat. I wanted crema and depth. She produced stale, black water. I pulled myself together and eventually confessed the old adage, "It's not you, it's me". After giving the old girl a good descale, I bought her some decent coffee to spit on.

And there lies part of the secret to good coffee- not only decent beans, but the freshest possible grind. And fresh means really fresh. I discovered Two Day Coffee Roasters in Bristol after a chance introduction by my friend Jonathan. Perched in a small but perfectly formed shop at the top of St Michaels Hill, this husband and wife venture buys bags of beans from smaller growers, and then fires them up on site, billowing acrid coffee clouds onto the street outside. The scent is alluring, with an ever changing line up of coffee varieties available by the 100g, and served in neat, brown paper bags. Luckily, it was after discovering Two Day Coffee Roasters that Cubika started to return my affections. All of a sudden her crema was thick and dark, and espresso beneath was smooth and mild. Our relationship was back on track.

My next revelation was all about grinding. Two Day Coffee Roasters would always ask you the intended destination of your beans, be it espresso or french press. When I tried to replicate it on my cheap and cheerful home grinder, Cubika started to sulk again. It must have been the texture she disliked, and on subsequent enquiry I was informed that succesful home grinding required an expensive, burr based technology at the very least. Back to Jonathan, who was pleased to give me a demonstration of his beautiful Kitchenaid grinder which, in combination with his Rancilio Silvia machine, produced a dark velvet crema and an unparalelled depth of espresso flavour. Poor Cubika began to appear somewhat frumpy in comparison to Silvia's solid and faithful body. At three times the price, I would expect so too. At this point, I felt that my coffee obsession was starting to run too far. I spent night shifts trawling through coffee review websites trying to identify the sexiest machine in my budget. I added them to my basket, only to be interrupted by emergencies that stopped me from buying.

As a nation, we would now like to think that we are coffee wise, slurping lattes and cappucini by the gallon load each day. We certainly seem to have sailed past our American counterparts, who still give their hard earned dollars to slurp stale filter coffee from polystyrene cups. But who are we kidding? You don't see the Spanish swanning round Madrid with takeaway coffee cups big enough to bathe in. The Italians don't sit with a sinkful of cappucino in the late afternoon. We've adopted a pseudo coffee culture now, which our European cousins must think is rather bizarre. The idea of half a litre of hot milk with a espresso hiding in the bottom sounds unappealing on paper. On the continent, coffee is much more functional. It's an espresso. It's cheap. It's freely available. Most importantly, it's a quick affair, perhaps accompanied by a glass of water in acknowledgement of the physiological need to rehydrate and of caffeine's diuretic consequences. Maybe our cooler climate has led us into our love affair with the "longer" coffees. Perhaps our age-old obsession with voluminous cups of tea will prevent us from ever moving towards an espresso culture.

However, there are signs that things might be improving. The appearance on the market of the flat white gives me hope. The Australians are big fans, and there is a Soho coffee shop that takes its name from this middle-grounder. Unfortunately, some of the bigger chains have labelled it as an "artisan" drink, with a price to match. In fact, it is delightfully simple. Espresso, not much milk, no unnecessary foam, no bucket sized cup, and no Cadbury style sprinkles on the top. If you're not going to drink espresso, and consider a macchiato as a messy sneeze, then a flat white is your man.

But now that I have convinced you to resolve your coffee mistakes of the past, where should you find that authentic espresso, or a non artisan flat white? The answer probably lurks round the corner from your office or on your walk home. Perhaps, like me, yours is parked up on the pavement. Ditch the chains. Try local, small and independent, until you find something you like. Don't treat your grande massivo as a fashion accessory. Keep your coffee small and quick. My recent discovery parks outside Waterloo station, and provides me with a no frills cup of goodness at two thirds of the price as its well known competitors around the corner.

And if you're feeling really brave, go and buy a Rancilio, and start an obsession.