“Is Coffee Really Coffee? Or Is It Crack?”
By R&D

When I first arrived in America, the culture shock didn’t hit me with the food, the weather, or even the accent. It came from something far more subtle—yet far more addictive.

Coffee.

It was everywhere. Morning rush hour, lunchtime crowds, late nights—people clutched their coffee cups like they were holding on to the last thread of sanity. Starbucks, Dunkin’, Peet’s, Tim Hortons, Dutch Bros, Blue Bottle, Devoción—you name it. I started noticing coffee cups the way Jamaicans notice someone holding a hot patty bag. It was serious.

At first, I thought, “Maybe it’s just a morning thing.” You know, like how we drink bush tea back home—cerasee, ginger, mint from Grandma’s backyard. But no, my friend. This coffee thing? It’s different. It runs deep.

Everywhere I went, people were sipping. At IHOP, Denny’s, Waffle House, the corner deli in Brooklyn—it was nonstop. I remember my friend Jessica. Lord have mercy. She was the worst.

She’d wake up and the first thing out of her mouth wasn’t “Good morning.” It was, “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee.” And she meant it. If she didn’t get her caffeine fix, she’d start pacing, twitching, snapping at her dog, at the air—at everything.