JON CARROLL

You see the problem. You need the coffee early in the morning, and yet you have to make the coffee early in the morning. People should not be required to make coffee until they have some coffee.

I know that many people purchase coffee at a Starbucks or other retail coffee purveyor. In order for me to do that, however, I would have to get dressed, and one of the great blessings of my current job is that I do not have to get dressed to do it. (Let me reassure you: I am in fact dressed as I type this. Just because it's a clothing-optional profession doesn't mean there are lots of naked writers around. Composing prose while nude is unsanitary, marginally abnormal and, in warm weather, painful. I know for a fact that John Updike was fully clothed while writing each and every one of his 92 novels, 436 short stories and 1,203 essays about art. I've had my coffee now. Can you tell?)

Because I am bound by the laws and customs of the East Bay, I buy my coffee at Peet's. I used to buy coffee beans, which meant I would have to start each morning interacting with a machine whose operating principle is sharp blades whirling around at high speeds. Was this a good idea? I think not. Then one day, after having had a cup of coffee made from ground-at-the-store Sumatra, I realized: I can't tell the difference.

Indeed, I discovered that I do not have very many opinions about coffee. I know this marks me as an outcast. If the coffee is grown on the north side of the lush mountains of Jamaica and stored at a temperature of 47 degrees and hand-ground just moments before the hot (but not too hot) water comes into contact with it, swell. If not, also swell. I like my coffee fresh and hotter than room temperature; beyond that, I really don't care. It's not that I can't taste the difference between various kinds of coffee; it's that I don't care about the differences. I suffer from opinion deficit disorder.

To start the day, I enjoy a mock latte. A mock latte is made with coffee, milk and a little spinning gadget that whips the milk up into a fine froth. Mock lattes are not quite as good as -- well, yes, they are. To my taste, anyway. Just as good. I could buy a $5,000 espresso machine and use up all of my remaining available counter space, but to what end? Besides: hot steam in the morning? Are you mad?

So here is what I must do in the morning. (Please pay attention to this, despite its boring details, as you would to the instructions for assembling your child's dollhouse, or to an article on freight trains by John McPhee.) I must take the coffee, the caffeinated coffee (we have the other kind too), and put it in a cone-shaped filter made from wire mesh. Then I must place the filter into a filter caddy that rests atop the coffee cup. Then I must fill the back of the Krups coffee machine with water and turn it on. Then I must take the large Pottery Barn glass and fill it one-quarter full with milk and pop it in the microwave for 40 seconds. I remove the glass from the microwave, throw a little Splenda brand chemical sugar into the milk, whip the whole thing up and pour the coffee into the glass.

Imagine the possibilities for error. I don't have to imagine them, because I've already done them. Coffee, pot on, no water -- check. Water, pot on, no coffee -- check. Water, coffee, pot not on -- check. Milk in microwave, but microwave not turned on -- check. Milk in microwave, microwave turned to four minutes instead of 40 seconds -- check. (I almost grasped the glass on that occasion, but the fiercely bubbling lava-pit-like milk tipped me off in time.)

Putting coffee where the water goes -- check. Pouring cold water directly on the coffee -- check. Putting the water in and starting the pot without putting the coffee filter back in -- check. (Lovely flood.) Putting salt into my coffee instead of fake sugar -- check. (Don't you think that the makers of salt should be required to put a harmless chemical dye into their product, so that it turns orange and becomes readily distinguishable from sugar? I do. I once gave my granddaughter Cheerios with salt on top. She loves telling that story. She remembers nothing else from when she was 3, but she remembers that.)

I understand we're touching on addictive behavior here, but has anyone marketed injectable caffeine? Not much, you understand -- just enough to get the coffee started. It's a grand business opportunity.

There's nothing like a good cup of coffee, unless it's another good cup of coffee, which is actually like it in every way north of the atomic level.