"Coffee is bitter, a flavor from the forbidden and dangerous realm." —Diane Ackerman

I have a framed Gary Larson, Far Side cartoon hanging in my kitchen. Most of the frame is dominated by a hulking, grotesquely muscular Satan. The point of view is from behind and over the shoulder of the beast, looking down — way down — at a bath-robed, frightened supplicant who is waking up to his first morning in hell. “Coffee?” bellows Beelzebub. “What coffee?”

I love my coffee. No lattes; no low-fat caps; no mochas; no syrups, vanillas, hazelnuts, sugars or even creams. Coffee. Plain, hot and black. The only possible acceptable infusion might be Irish whiskey, but not before lunch.

My pot is on a timer so I wake up to the sublime smell of coffee brewing. I can taste it before I get to the kitchen. I reach for my favorite mug, in the cabinet right above the Far Side cartoon, and flip the cup right-side up on the counter. I grab the handle of the plastic thermal pot, and pour out that first cup of deep brown elixir. I lift the mug to my lips, not even stopping to blow across the surface. The first sip is a slow, deep savoring of the woody, biting flavor, caressing my tongue, filling my mouth, and gliding down my throat. That first swallow orders the world, dispels the chaos of the night, and sets life once again on the right path. That must be why there is no coffee in hell.

In a mistaken fit of moral rectitude and youthful exuberance, I once gave up coffee for Lent. This provided no spiritual benefit for me whatsoever and even less for those around me who had to deal with the effects of my caffeine withdrawal. I would never be accused of being a “sunny” morning person even with multiple dosings of coffee. The result of going cold turkey was not in anyway considered a glorification of the Lord by those who were unwittingly sharing in my penance. I tried drinking black tea to mollify the effects because someone had told me tea contains more caffeine than coffee. That is either a malicious rumor started by the major stockholders of the Lipton Company or the caffeine remains perpetually in the tea bag, impervious to the boiling water meant to extract it into my morning comfort. I did have a conversion experience of sorts that Lent, however. I’ve never again felt led to forgo coffee. Indeed, I see it as my Christian duty to witness to the spiritual effects of a plain, hot, black cup of joe in the morning.

This Lent, however, I did give up drinking coffee that is not certified as “Fair Trade.” People in the United States drink one-fifth of all coffee in the world. (I’m not sure if that percentage was significantly less the Lent I gave it up, but I wouldn’t be surprised.) Somewhere there is a coffee grower whose yearly income is pretty much dependent upon my Starbucks runs. The problem is, that yearly income is not enough to live on. It actually costs most farmers more to grow coffee beans than they get in payment for their crops. Instead of me subsidizing their lifestyle, they are subsidizing mine. Fair trade coffee is the exception to this. Fair trade coffee is purchased from farmers for at least $1.26 a pound (in contrast to the usual $0.60 per pound) which is enough to guarantee them a living wage. When I first made my Lenten resolution, I thought I’d have to order my beans from some obscure Web site or drive to a high-end, socially conscious grocer miles away from my home. But, no, my local Safeway stocks beans certified by the Rain Forest Alliance, and they only cost about $2.00 more per pound than the stuff I was buying. It seems like a small price to pay for my morning satisfaction.