Although both my parents were dependent on their morning coffee 
percolated out of a can like this one, I myself never touched the stuff until my first year at college. In the 1950s, coffee was 10 cents a cup and I drank gallons of it, morning, noon and night. It became essential to my well-being. Black, no sugar or milk, but in truth, not black but barely brown, weak by present standards. In the early 60s my hipper than I — not much of a leap – friend SDS introduced me to the coffee shop. Figaro in Greenwich Village, mighty sophisticated for a boy from Flatbush. I became addicted to coffee shops as well as coffee itself for many a year. I couldn't handle any routine paperwork, or indeed grade a tedious set of papers without infusions of caffeine. With the Starbuck's revolution, coffee became tastier and more luxurious. But, conservative as I was, I never succumbed to fancy drinks but kept to what had come to be known simply and condescendingly as "Americano."
During these thirty-five or so years of pleasant coffee dependence, atrial fibrillation became an annoying feature of my life. Frequent bouts, longer and longer. Debilitating, possibly dangerous — there's a strong association of fibrillation with strokes. Finally, a doctor suggested that I might consider giving up caffeine. So I stopped on a dime. It took six weeks to get the caffeine out of my blood and put an end to the longing for coffee — but the atrial fibrillation came to a total halt. Ceased. Not a single episode these last two and a half decades. Astonishing. I had been poisoning myself — or at least, compromising my well being.
Do I miss coffee? Yes, I'm afraid so, every morning. I still love the odor (which was always better than the taste). More than that, I miss the society of coffee cup and conversation. In those days, I loved to sit with a book in a nook, warming my palm with a bottomless cup. Once, only once, about two years ago, I did venture to order a medium Americano — but I couldn't stomach more than a couple of sips. Coffee's an acquired taste, and one that I had I de-acquired.
Tea? I haven't found one that is more than barely tolerable. Hot chocolate? Feels juvenile. Acceptable for breakfast but not for Peet's or Ozo or Starbuck's or the Trident.
On the other hand, a heart that keeps to a regular rhythm and doesn't go creatively syncopated several times a week is also a pleasure.
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