I have won the war on coffee. For this, in part, I must thank James Lileks who finally fueled my ire into fire. Without his rants, I’m not sure I would have finally taken action.

Admittedly, I am a coffee snob. The coffee must be good, it must be hot, and it must be strong. No Yuban or Folgers for me. I need freshly ground coffee that was hand picked by a Guatemalan who needs the money. My coffee must come from South America, Africa or some other place I’ve never been. Coffee grown in Ohio . . . that’s bad.

Also, I don’t like companies that try to prove how good their coffee is by promoting “100% arabica beans.” Whoopdedoo. Roasted coffees are generally made from Arabica beans. There is only one other option and it’s CRAP!

So, traditionally we buy coffee out of the bulk bins at the grocery store. We have three options, good, better and best. Each blend has a varying degree of success. The problem is that people use the same grinders for real coffee and imitation flavored coffees. So, I’d grind up a nice pound of Mocha Java and get home with coffee that tastes like a melted Russell Stover chocolate box. Including the cardboard. No matter what I did, the coffee would invariably come home tasting like a hybrid between what it was supposed to taste like and a vending machine.

So, many moons ago, we bought a grinder. We were happy for a bout a day. That’s when it broke. So, we went back to suffering with the masses.

We hit a good streak for a while. Seemed that the sales of flavored coffees went down in our area and I was free from Mocha-Almond-Hazelnut-Vanilla-Crunch. We went through all three brands, decided one was too expensive, one was over roasted and the other was just right! (Goldilocks then went and slept in our beds.)

Well, when the wife was preggers, she couldn’t have coffee. Consumption went down and I started to get lazy. When she came back to the world of caffeine-induced zealotry, we hit the racks with vengeance. Quickly we discovered that our beloved brand of coffee has gone down hill. Or the same beans had been sitting there for quite some time and were about as fresh as Mariah Carrey’s music. It was like drinking muddy water. Awful, awful.

I began to wonder if there had been a bad crop. Did a big storm hit the port? What was wrong with my beloved coffee? Why was it stale? Was there a fish in the percolator? It was awful.

After several weeks of this, we had gotten a good streak again. Then, Saturday morning disaster struck. I guess we didn’t sniff the grinder well enough because . . . my morning cup of joe was flavored.

Here’s what I don’t understand about flavored coffee. When you brew it, you can’t tell what it’s supposed to be. Chocolate? Maybe. Maple? Possible. Hazelnut? Dunno. Isn’t the point of a flavor to be . . . well . . . a flavor? Coffee flavors seem like an idea. Or perhaps an after thought. Either way, it’s ill advised.

To quote Mr. Lileks, “Coffee IS a flavor.” ‘Nuff said. And don’t get me started on the fact that MOCHA is a PORT and has nothing to do with FLAVOR, unless you are tracking flavor by region (which you should). It certainly isn’t chocolate, though they do export chocolate in Mocha as well. (Hence, Mocha Java. Named after the ports in which the coffees were exported from. Then, they mixed the two beans together and roasted them. Hence the term “blend.” Got it?) In fact, Mocha is in Yemen, a country that suddenly everyone knows because they don’t seem to like anybody.

We went out and bought a grinder. It’s a sweet little deal, too. More than anything else, I like how it makes me look. Like a SNOB. Now when I ask if someone wants coffee, I can grind it. Make them feel guilty for giving me Folger’s Crystals when I visit them. Bastards.

We also bought a gold filter. Paper filters soak up a large amount of the oils and acids that give coffee its flavor. So . . . a metal filter will allow them to get through.

Naturally, we had to test the sucker out when we got home. Stopped at the store and picked up some new beans. Listened to the magical electric whir and crackle of the new grinder and popped the coffee into the new filter. And we let it brew.

What can I say? I’ve rediscovered coffee. I’ve been worried because I was starting to not like coffee. Anyone who knows me knows my life is defined by my coffee. Family members ask me to make the pot at functions; for fear that they offend my palate. I like that power.

Now there’s a new level to attain. My freshly ground, fully robust cuppa joe. Can you beat it? I think not.

One side effect . . . Couldn’t sleep last night! Tested too much coffee.

I think it’s a plot. The coffee cartel in Yemen is trying to get rid of me by depriving me of sleep and causing me to use the bathroom every two minutes. Bastards!