Merle Spitchcock made the observation years ago that by reducing his life to a certain, simple routine, he solved the entire problem of existence. And once the entire problem of existence was solved, he could get on with the business of his routine. His routine was, as stated, fairly simple.
At the center of Merle's world was coffee. It is important to note that Merle did not choose or seek out coffee; rather he was born into a world that just happened to drink a tremendous amount of the stuff, a world that in essence was telling its inhabitants that they could make their lives a whole lot easier and more pleasant by drinking coffee. The path of least resistance, so to speak.
But it would be unfair to characterize Merle as either a caffeine addict, or someone jumping on a bandwagon. It just so happened that, given his God-given body and brain chemistry, that he responded well to coffee and caffeine. It neither gave him the jitters nor kept him up at night; on the contrary it gave him clarity and insight and a sense of well being. It made him feel "normal", in the best possible sense of the word.
His natural chemistry and the chemistry of coffee just happened to agree with one another. And so, the fact that he was born into a world that seemed to go out of its way to make the stuff readily available to him did not present itself as a problem.
It just so happened that Merle Spitchcock's life coincided with the blossoming of a golden age of coffee drinking in America. Thanks to a thriving culture of independent coffee houses, as well as chains like Starbucks, the overall standards of coffee were raised to new levels. Again, this coincidence did not present itself as a problem to him.
On the contrary, it was an opportunity. As an adult he realized that the world was presenting itself to him as his oyster in the form of a world full of a wide variety of coffee houses. Coffee houses at which, he could go and enjoy a cup of coffee. Which he did. A lot.
At first he would go to a coffee shop, buy a cup of coffee, and slowly size up the atmosphere of the place while slowly enjoying his coffee. He tuned into the vibrations. He liked the places that felt relaxed and welcoming and where he got the sense that he could spend the entire day there enjoying his coffee and no one would mind. While this was the case at most coffee shops, some were even less hurried than others, and these he favored.
Sometimes he would read books and newspapers, work on a crossword puzzle, or make lists of things. When laptop computers and Wi-fi became the norm, he went out and got himself a nice laptop. Needless to say, this added a whole new dimension to the experience. It seemed sometimes that ninety percent of the other customers were also seated in front of their laptops, were also sipping mochas or lattes, and like Merle, were also slipping into a state of highly-focused timelessness. In this way, a certain informal, unplanned and silent comradery would fill up the space, which became charged with the energy of a dozen highly-focused, caffeinated brains.
In this way the coffee houses were paying homage to the original Ethiopian monks who discovered coffee, the ones who discovered that it helped them stay alert and awake during their long periods of focused prayer.
Merle discovered that he had a passion for blogging. It was the perfect accompaniment to the rest of his coffee house experience - the beverages, the relaxed but productive atmosphere, the silent comradery. His blog was about different things, but mainly it was about coffee houses. He regarded it as a long term survey of all the coffee houses he visited, the number of which increased with every passing year. While not openly stated, his ultimate, underlying goal was to visit every coffee house on the planet.
* * *
After a long day of drinking coffee and blogging at a coffee shop, Merle would return to his studio apartment. He was a simple man with simple needs. He didn't much feel a need for proper meals, since they sometimes interfered with his routine. He could spend eight or so hours in a coffee shop and eat only one or two blueberry muffins, and those he had mainly because they went so well with his dark roast coffee. Sometimes the coffee shop did have good food, and he appreciated that; but other times he found himself mastering the art of using coffee as an appetite suppressant. He got very good at successfully tricking his body into believing it was full. But it wasn't.
And so, sometimes when he returned home to his apartment in the dark, he was seized with a fierce, punishing hunger. Something had to be done. He really didn't do much cooking, beyond frying eggs or making spaghetti. The former he had frequently for breakfast and latter made a good dinner. But it occurred to him that it might not be healthy to eat the same thing every night. He allowed himself to eat spaghetti five times a week for dinner, but after that he had to get creative. He forced himself. Heroically.
But he still could not really cook. So one night he ate an entire container of mayonnaise. It was damn good. His inspiration was good memories of cole slaw from the first half of his life. Someone - his mother, a friend's mother, who knows - had prepared very good cole slaw somewhere along the way. So, after decades of wandering the planet he had an epiphany about cole slaw. First, that he liked it, and second that maybe his enjoyment of it had something to do with mayonnaise. So he went to the store and purchased a jar of mayonnaise.
Later that week he returned to his studio apartment and was seized with a fierce, punishing and uncompromising hunger. He searched his cupboards and found the jar of mayonnaise. There wasn't much else in the house. There weren't many options. He was a simple man, and a man of action. Something had to be done. So he sat down and ate the entire jar of mayonnaise.
He wouldn't have minded if the mayonnaise were actually cole slaw, but it wasn't, and in his hunger he was not going to make a fuss about that detail. Besides, he enjoyed the way the mayonnaise tasted.
He thought about the Ethiopian monks. Evidently all they needed was coffee. Their lives were spiritual. If there was any cole slaw in their lives, he - Merle Spitchcock - had not heard about it.
After a long day of drinking coffee and blogging at a coffee shop, Merle would return to his studio apartment. He was a simple man with simple needs. He didn't much feel a need for proper meals, since they sometimes interfered with his routine. He could spend eight or so hours in a coffee shop and eat only one or two blueberry muffins, and those he had mainly because they went so well with his dark roast coffee. Sometimes the coffee shop did have good food, and he appreciated that; but other times he found himself mastering the art of using coffee as an appetite suppressant. He got very good at successfully tricking his body into believing it was full. But it wasn't.
And so, sometimes when he returned home to his apartment in the dark, he was seized with a fierce, punishing hunger. Something had to be done. He really didn't do much cooking, beyond frying eggs or making spaghetti. The former he had frequently for breakfast and latter made a good dinner. But it occurred to him that it might not be healthy to eat the same thing every night. He allowed himself to eat spaghetti five times a week for dinner, but after that he had to get creative. He forced himself. Heroically.
But he still could not really cook. So one night he ate an entire container of mayonnaise. It was damn good. His inspiration was good memories of cole slaw from the first half of his life. Someone - his mother, a friend's mother, who knows - had prepared very good cole slaw somewhere along the way. So, after decades of wandering the planet he had an epiphany about cole slaw. First, that he liked it, and second that maybe his enjoyment of it had something to do with mayonnaise. So he went to the store and purchased a jar of mayonnaise.
Later that week he returned to his studio apartment and was seized with a fierce, punishing and uncompromising hunger. He searched his cupboards and found the jar of mayonnaise. There wasn't much else in the house. There weren't many options. He was a simple man, and a man of action. Something had to be done. So he sat down and ate the entire jar of mayonnaise.
He wouldn't have minded if the mayonnaise were actually cole slaw, but it wasn't, and in his hunger he was not going to make a fuss about that detail. Besides, he enjoyed the way the mayonnaise tasted.
He thought about the Ethiopian monks. Evidently all they needed was coffee. Their lives were spiritual. If there was any cole slaw in their lives, he - Merle Spitchcock - had not heard about it.
* * *
Another night he had leftover popcorn and tangerines. Popcorn was also one of the few things he was able to prepare well. Sometimes he would have only popcorn for dinner. If there was any leftover from the previous night, it was an opportunity to get creative. The night he paired it with tangerines, he was especially proud of himself. It seemed that the tangerines were a good counterpart that balanced out the meal.
Another discovery he made, quite accidentally, was tortilla chips and tangerines. Somehow the combination of these two very different foods produced flavors that were greater than the sum of their parts. It became a regular favorite, and he would look forward to his "tortilla chips and tangerine night" after five nights of spaghetti.
* * *
In the end, Merle Spitchcock led a pretty interesting life. He rarely deviated from his routine, but he did relocate to a completely different place every few years. His blog of course required new material.
He was born into a world that seemed to have an abundance of coffee shops, and the only way to experience them all was to move a lot.
It was a pretty ambitious undertaking for one man. A team of coffee drinkers may have tackled the project more efficiently. But Merle had become his own one man show. No one was stopping him, so he went ahead and did it.
He had no children, only a small pension from a government job.
In the end he did a pretty good job reviewing all the coffee houses in California, Arizona, Texas, Louisiana, Florida, Oregon, Hawaii, New York, Japan, Jamaica and parts of Mexico.
- Copyright 2016 by P.T. Gachot
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