Why I started drinking coffee in my fifties

Caffeine dependency was something I avoided for the first third of my life. Then, in my mid-thirties (almost 20 years ago), I became interested in tea and began including black tea and milk in my morning routine.

I transitioned to a plant-based diet right before the world shut down for the pandemic. Cow’s milk was the only animal product that remained in my diet and only because of my daily tea ritual. Plant-based “milk” beverages—and I’ve tried all of them—don’t mix well with tea.

I made some weak attempts to switch exclusively to teas (white, green, oolong, Darjeeling, etc.) that didn’t require milk but found it difficult to give up something so pleasurable and soul-soothing.

If ever there was an opportunity to quit caffeine this was it. And there it went.

I’d substituted coffee for tea on many prior vacations, but a permanent change happened during a summer trip to my wife’s family’s Connecticut beach house.

We made coffee every day in a Cuisinart grind and brew unit. The fridge had soy milk (and soy creamer) to pair with it. I brought my cup to the screened patio and looked at the ocean.

And that’s all it took. The old habit died when the one was constituted. Long live English breakfast tea. Tea is now an afternoon indulgence.

Switching to coffee seems sensical in hindsight. It’s how the rest of society runs. Only a stubborn, nonconformist mule like me would buck cultural norms.

Mornings in my house are now filled with the sounds and smells of coffee being brewed in an inexpensive, Mr. Coffee drip machine. I look forward to this every night when I go to bed.