And so I bought an Aeropress coffee-maker, the one made by a Frisbee company, which has been raved about and profiled in “longform” features. Instead of being conspicuously expensive (and thus testifying to my sacrificial commitment to new coffee), the Aeropress costs about 30 bucks and is made of humble plastic bits. It was a symbol not just of better coffee, but my Yankee thrift and appreciation for genius. Because it had the official #longform cred, my coffee-making technique basically screamed: “This man is so f’n literate. There’s this whole big improbable story you probably never heard of before.”

Great coffee commenced. Or so I thought. Until I heard some other coffee people talking about burr grinders. I figured a Coffee Person needs one of those, too. And so it came to abide in the society of my kitchen counter as well. The annoyance inflicted on my upstairs and downstairs neighbors was just one of the sacrifices I was making to be the person who could talk at you about coffee.

I looked on YouTube and found a thriving community of burr-grinding Aeropress users, who talked about their “coffee setup” with the hushed reverence of a 1920s socialite telling her friends about her spiritualist. There’s really just so much peace in this room.

But now, of course, I needed the “fine” custom metal filter for my Aeropress.