Simple Coffee

There’s a coffee place I visit every day.

I’ve been drinking coffee since I was a college student, but it was only a few years ago that I truly opened my nose and tastebuds to the real flavor of coffee. Maybe I’m still on a journey, as I prefer cafe latte over espresso or drip coffee.

It’s true that the body and mind awaken as caffeine begins to flow through the bloodstream, but there’s a more holistic phenomenon occurring with each cup of coffee. The light filtering through the cafe window, the busy hands behind the counter, the tables and chairs, the music that seems indifferent to anyone’s specific taste, the sound of machines grinding beans and extracting espresso, and the psychological safety that individualism brings — this feeling of “I don’t care about anything as long as the personal space granted by my cup remains untouched.”

Just as people’s minds differ, so do coffee places. Some places give more emphasis to certain elements than others. For example a place can speak through its luxurious atmosphere, or through its view and location, or through various deserts, etc.

When I moved to Jeonju, I explored various places to find the best holistic experience. Since discovering this spot, it’s been my go-to.

It’s unpretentious. Above the window, it reads, “Coffee only 2000 won.” It attracts customers with its affordable prices. Large windows allow for clear views inside. It doesn’t exude a particular “atmosphere”; in fact, its lack of a distinct vibe becomes its own ambiance. A sign claims, “We roast beans every day ourselves.” I might’ve never tried it if not for that sign.

This cafe is located at a crossroad corner, two blocks from the main road. Many stop for takeaway. It is modest and inexpensive, also strategically located. They use a good milk brand, and the open kitchen doesn’t use premium ingredients, but nothing seems questionable.

It’s a small space. Tables are quite close together, which makes the buffer zone feel insufficient. Observing the regulars, I became even more wary of sitting in the main area. These are people who don’t seem concerned with public perception. We call them as our “crazy neighbors.” For instance, there’s a woman with a loud, aggressive voice, openly sharing her personal tales. It’s apparent she has experienced many tragic events in her life. Fortunately, my earphones have thick rubber tips, shielding me from most of her tumultuous stories. However, if she arrives while we’re talking, we have to leave. There are others as well, seemingly from a world devoid of any sense of public decorum. Some unapologetically open their food containers, letting the smell permeate the air. Others shout into their phones without regard for those around them. A few manage to spill their drinks repeatedly. And once, a man even began playing his guitar and singing aloud!

There’s a cozy corner with cushioned chairs near the coffee machine. My ears are not too pleased when they grind the coffee beans, but with my earphones, I can isolate myself from the ebbs and flows of the other people in the main area. Through the big window by the table, I watch outside. Cars, none of which are fancy, pass by. Simple people walk by. The glimpses of everyday life, the pains, the struggles, young dreams, simplicity… all facets of life are evident in them.

What I see within me reflects onto them, and what I observe in them mirrors back inside me.

I sit amidst the stream of lives, watching.

“Simple Coffee” is what we call this place. It’s genuine, straightforward, and unmasked. This is where I see life in its raw form.

Although the coffee lacks the distinct flavors of premium varieties like Ethiopian or Kenyan beans, the use of freshly roasted beans ensures a good brew. A young girl runs the place, and she knows how to make coffee. Especially the cafe latte she makes is exactly my taste – neither too hot nor cold, with just the right amount of foam, perfectly blending with the bitter flavor of the espresso. Other part-timers occasionally step in, and they know how to ruin the coffee. However, when she’s around, I’m assured a great cup.

She maintains a professional demeanor with everyone. Even when our ‘crazy neighbors’ spill their beverage twice on the same table, or someone shouts into their phone, she doesn’t react. She neither frowns nor smiles. It’s hard to guess if she’s indifferent to the cafe’s ambiance or feels overwhelmed by the chaos around. Regardless, every morning, the cafe is open, and it welcomes me. Recently, when I place an order, I’ve noticed a slight warmth in her demeanor. We usually stick to the essential words needed to complete the order, but lately, she seems gentler. Or it could be merely a reflection of my own feelings.

A week ago, an older woman appeared, seemingly assisting the girl. At first, I thought she was a temporary worker, but her care for the place suggested otherwise. I hoped she was the girl’s mom or a relative who had come to help her.

And yesterday, a plant stood near the entrance, adorned with a celebratory ribbon. This is usually a sign that someone has started a new business.

Had the girl sold her place?

Indeed, she had. On what turned out to be her last day, I broke our unspoken rule of minimal conversation. With a slightly awkward yet genuine smile, she confirmed it was her last shift and didn’t have future plans. I expressed my appreciation for her coffee and wished her well. Returning to my table, it felt like a farewell to a dear, albeit distant, friend.

Whether it’s a tree in front of the house that I greet every morning, or a routine interaction with a stranger whose name we don’t even know, there’s comfort in continuity. And we’re attached to it. But everything in time changes. So what we’re attached to cannot be the objects themselves. Then what is it that we project onto these familiar objects? Is this comfort we’re seeking original? Or, is it just a facade masking a deeper need? Is the security and safety we crave real, or are they merely illusions?

The girl no longer works at Simple Coffee. The new owner is amiable and my latte was decent. I wonder how the place will evolve.

I hope the girl finds the life she seeks. I’m grateful for the daily lattes she provided.

And for now, I’ll continue my reflections by the window.