The Coffee Philosophy - English Translation

The Coffee Philosophy
Written by Dee Lestari
Translated by Kadek Krishna Adidharma
Coffee. C-o-f-f-e-e.
Over a thousand times I spelled the word while staring at the black powder.
Thinking of its charm, to bring such a being to rapture: Ben. B-e-n.
Ben trotted around the globe, seeking out correspondents everywhere to find
the best coffee of every country. He consulted the expert baristas of Rome, Paris,
Amsterdam, London, New York, and even Moscow.
Ben, with his limited linguistic capabilities, begged for permission to go into
kitchens, to slip into cafés, to scrape and scrounge for the secret of brewing coffee
from world-class baristas to know the best compositions for making café latte,
cappuccino, espresso, Russian coffee, Irish coffee, macchiato, and so many others.
Until the time came for Ben to open his own coffee shop. A coffee house of his ideals.
A year ago, I officially became his business partner. On a foundation of
mutual trust among friends and speculative bravado, I gave up all my savings for
shares in his business. Besides investing in the form of cash and knowledge of
administration, I didn’t know jack shit about coffee. That was Ben’s investment
entirely.
Now, you could say that Ben is one of the top baristas of Jakarta. He enjoyed
every second of his carrier. At our café, Ben never worked in a hidden corner, but
occupied a bar at the center so visitors could watch him in action making coffee. With
the wide selection of coffee we had, our customers were mostly true coffee
connoisseurs who never ceased to admire our list. Their admiration was born out of
deep knowledge.
The floor and some of the walls of our shop were made from reddish Merbau
wood with rough textured veins, coffee posters of people in various poses along the
wall tidily framed under protective glass in wooden borders. At the pinnacle, a large
glass window, with the name of our coffee shop in painted letters that would remind
you of a Dutch-era barber’s shop:
BEN & JODY’S
KOFFIE HAUS
Jody. J-o-d-y. You would find him in a less exciting place, behind the cashier
machine or in the corner with a calculator. Yes, that would be me. While over there,
in the center of our orbit, Ben chatted incessantly, his two hands dancing with the
machine, rows of large cans, shakers, cups, mugs, and every kind of equipment on that
long table.
Our place was simple compared to other cafés in Jakarta. But here, every inch
was prepared with intensity. Ben chose every chair and table – all of them were
different – and tested them one by one, at least a quarter of an hour for each item. He

tried it while sipping coffee, and sensed with his instinct, whether the furniture had
enough ‘soul’ suitable with the experience of drinking coffee. Just like the mugs, cups,
bush kettle, pots, and the other paraphernalia. Not one item escaped Ben’s initial
compatibility test. With him as the center, surrounded by all of them, sitting in a tight
array of various chair-and-table arrangements, I felt like I was watching a private
grand gathering. A coffee party, small and cozy, with Ben as host.
But what really made our place special was the coffee experience Ben had
created. He didn’t simply brew or taste, he also contemplated on the coffee he made.
Ben drew meaning, made analogies, thus creating a philosophy for every kind of
brew.
“That’s what makes me love this drink so much. Coffee has character.” I hear
faintly Ben speaking to one of the female customers sitting at the bar.
“Like this choice of yours, cappuccino. This is for someone who appreciates
gentleness as well as beauty.” Ben smiles while proffering a cup. “Do you know, this
cappuccino is the most playful coffee?”
The woman giggles.
“Different to a café latte, although they look similar. Cappuccino needs a high
standard of appearance. They mustn’t look common. If you can, make it as beautiful
as possible.”
“Oh, really?”
“A true cappuccino connoisseur would observe the appearance of what is
served in his cup before tasting. If at first glance it’s already a mess, without a clear
concept, they might even refuse to take a sip.” While explaining, Ben’s expert hands
form the cappuccino foam floating upon the cup to the shape of a delectable heart.
“How about kopi tubruk?” Someone asks of an Indonesian favorite, literally
“coffee crash” for the simple way it’s made, pouring hot water over coffee powder.
“Innocent, simple, but really alluring if you get to know it closer,” answers Ben
rapidly. “Kopi tubruk doesn’t care about appearances; it’s rough, very fast to make. As if
not requiring any skill. But, just wait until you smell its aroma.” Like a circus
performer Ben proffers a cup of kopi tubruk. “Please, it’s on the house.”
Astonished, he receives the cup from Ben, ready to sip.
“Wait!” Ben holds him back. “The greatness of kopi tubruk is found in the
temperature, pressure, and exact stages of making it. All of it would be meaningless if
you miss its true objective: aroma. Try inhaling the aroma first. This special coffee
grew at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro.”
The man’s nostrils widen, inhaling deep the vapors rising from his cup. The
eyes seem to shine satisfaction.
Seeing his reaction, Ben nods the same satisfaction. A blink later he has
shifted, chatting with another customer, with the same enthusiasm and attention.
When the café closes and all have gone home, it’s just us chatting in one of the
corners. Our only chance to finally enjoy a cup of coffee.
“It sure doesn’t feel like it, but we’ve had this café for over a year.” My eyes
follow the turning cinnamon stick, my daydreams sucked into the whirling coffee in
my own cup.

“So many people have come and gone.” Ben’s tone suddenly rises, as if
something stung him. “And you know my conclusion?”
“We’re going to be rich?”
“That’s not certain. What certain is, all characters and meanings of life can be
found here.”
“In this drinks list?” I pointed to the thin booklet lying on the table.
Ben nods without hesitation.
“How can you condense infinity to a drinks list?” I looked at him, amused,
“Oh, Ben.”
“Oh, Jody.” He also shakes his head. “This book is a living book, a list that will
always grow. As long as there is such a thing as coffee bean, people will find
themselves here.” Ben points at the list of coffee brews right in front of my nose.
His face is aflame with a flush of seething heat. Ben finds a new idea. I wonder
if he is going to build an altar of coffee beans, because it’s just a matter of time, it
seems.
***
After our conversation that night, Ben has accomplished many breakthroughs.
In the drinks list, now there is a short description about the philosophy behind
each brew. The culmination was his changing the name of our shop to:
THE COFFEE PHILOSOPHY
Find Your True Self Here
The name of our shop and its slogan became very popular. I observed more
people stopping, reading, then with a face withholding curiosity they enter, worried as
well as in half-hope, like entering a fortune teller’s tent. And without needing a crystal
ball, our daily takings took off.
Now, not only the coffee maniacs come, even those who don’t like coffee at all
walk in. Those in this final category are ones dragged in by curiosity to finally be
obliged to drink coffee for the sake of satisfying it. There are also philosophy-crazy
groups, who enjoy their discussions with Ben over the coffee they order, in the end
becoming regulars as well.
His innovation doesn’t stop there. Ben also made small cards to distribute to
every customer after their visit. On the card is written: THE COFFEE YOU HAD
TODAY WAS: … along with its philosophy. They slip it into their pocket, bag, wallet,
as their good luck charm donating hope to their day. Sometimes I would hear them
call the café with their own endearments, nick names like Co-Phile, Soff-Fee, Feelo,
CP, et cetera.

All Ben’s breakthroughs reinforce the magnet of our café: his presence as a
little philosopher, a friend to talk to. Our café isn’t simply a transit lounge; it also
becomes part of their personal lives, like a companion.
And what I thought was extraordinary was in fact nothing yet.
***