Oliver Benjamin
unity in coffee, where the four separate rivers bubbling out of Eden
came swirling back together, collecting in his cup of Blue Mountain
Rat-Cut.
Morris Bidden, the CEO of Biddenbrooks, didn’t put much
currency in Roy’s abstract musings, but Bidden knew his history, and
he knew that coffee had been at one time the drink of kings and
heroes. Then, as with all fine things, it percolated down to the
bourgeois, who promptly robbed it of its delicacy and dignity: Where
it had once been associated with the religious, the exotic, and the
philosophical, it became in the 20th century a symbol for the
bureaucratic, the domestic, and the roadside diner. Predictably, its
quality had degenerated to such a degree that it was practically given
away for free, refill upon lousy refill. Bidden came to the rescue then,
helping to resurrect coffee’s heroic heritage by reminding Americans
that coffee was not only a drink that suited their national character,
but insofar as it fueled the Enlightenment philosophers, played a
major role in shaping the nation itself.
Roy’s first job was to select the best coffee varieties for
Biddenbrooks’ new lineup. It was almost immediately then that he
sustained his first loss: The bean he chose for number one was
Jamaican Blue Mountain, but at three times the price of other
coffees, Morris Bidden had to veto him right off the bat.
“Biddenbrooks charges four dollars for a premium espresso
drink,” Roy complained, “The cost of the beans for each cup is ten
cents. What’s another twenty cents? It wouldn’t make the slightest
difference.”
“Oh, but it would,” Morris replied, lampooning Roy’s heartfelt
metaphysical musings: “It would undermine justice. It would upset
the fabric of the universe. Forget Blue Mountain, Roy. No one can tell
the difference but you.”
Was it true? Could no one tell the difference? That was terrible
news. And Bidden was proved right, it didn’t seem to matter—their
beanstalk grew strong and wide and quickly shot up into the upper
reaches of industry analysis charts. The timing was perfect. People
had grown tired of the austere mineral-water trend and were looking
for a new drink that actually looked and tasted like something. It had
become increasingly difficult to pretend that water should be savored
and compared like wine, that it was a reflection of the drinker’s good
taste. Even the most earnest connoisseur couldn’t pull it off
convincingly.
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