I did not grow up on coffee. My mother would have recoiled at the thought. The wife, on the other hand, was woken up with a cup of (instant) coffee. You know, as a good start to her school day.

By the time we met we had both upgraded to the best possible form of instant coffee. I lower my head in shame, still. It was not until we visited Italy in 2006 that we woke up from the instant coffee nightmare.

We landed in Pisa, took a bus to the city centre and decided to stop for a break. Outside what looked like city walls, we encountered our first overwhelming espresso experience. In Italy, there are three price options for a teeny weenie cup of caffeine. The cheapest option is to stand at the counter and finish it in one gulp. (An accompanying shot of grappa is the norm.) The second cheapest option is to have your espresso sitting inside the restaurant. The priciest option is to sit outside and watch the passers-by as they watch you having your fix.

We stood at the counter. We said no to the grappa. What can I say? We were young.

We discussed whether we should go look for the leaning tower. We both said, Nah, and left the establishment. As mentioned, we thought we were outside massive city walls. We saw a group of people pushing through a gate. We followed.

We were in fact right outside the leaning tower of Pisa! And what an experience it was. It is way more impressive in real life.

For the remainder of the trip we quaffed back numerous espressos, which led my bladder to go somewhat insane. Now, free public loos in Italy, and I apologise beforehand to the Italians I will now insult, are quite disgusting. You opt for the paying public pee. Within days we figured out that a single espresso was in fact cheaper than a paying pee. So, the wife would have an espresso at a restaurant, and I would have a free pee.

Upon our return to South Africa we were of course rather broke, but now espresso snobs (and caffeine junkies). In our underfunded, but addicted state we bought a cheap little espresso machine. An Electrolux, nogal. We were quite fortunate though. Eight years later and our little R800.00 monster still works perfectly and pulls a pretty mean espresso shot. It has over the years added another level to our life motto of taking ten minutes, celebrating whatever we can find on the particular day to celebrate and sitting on the stoep and having ‘n ‘kortetjie’.

The fate of the Electrolux did momentarily hang in the balance. In 2010 we did a circular cycling holiday in Spain with some fabulous family. While in Madrid we were seduced by the inimitable George Clooney. His face was plastered over a shop front, and he was holding a teeny weenie little promise of love in a beautiful glass cup. Yes, we stumbled upon a Nespresso Boutique.

We entered. We, Awesome’ed. We tasted some coffee. We considered throwing out the 6kgs of acorn fed ham, rioja wine, organic olive oil and chorizo sausage, to make room for a retro-sexy Nespresso coffee machine. Common sense prevailed and we held on to everyone’s gifts. We started collecting espresso cups in lieu of owning a machine and patted the Electrolux lovingly.

Back in South Africa we were driving on Beyers Naude, probably visiting a hardware shop or the first Seemans Deli to open in Joburg, who knows, when I spotted the Nespresso sign in the corner of my eye going about 80kms/h. I stopped. I spent a fortune.

We have over the last few years worked our way through the Nespresso catalogue, through the different strengths marked from 1 to 10. We have our favourites amongst their permanent stock. When they release a new limited edition pod, we rush off, rush back, sit on the stoep and celebrate whatever we can find on that particular day to celebrate by having ‘n ‘kortetjie’. (The Electrolux is still there. We alternate.)

When I dropped the wife off at the Gautrain this week to start her 4 week residency in South Korea I popped into the Sandton Nespresso Boutique to buy the new Cubania Limited Edition. (Why else would one go to Sandton?) I was rather frightened when I noticed the strength of the Cubania – 13! Hannelie would love it, I thought, standing in the shop. The wife has a far better palette than me. She also has the stomach of an ostrich. A family trait. (The Coetzee’s can eat a tin can.) She can, in other words, stomach the stronger, darker Nespressos. (I hyperventilate, grind my teeth and turn pale.)

I rushed home, popped the pod in the machine, and sommer stood in the kitchen. Because how can I sit on the stoep and celebrate whatever I can find on the day to celebrate by having a ‘kortetjie’ without her. Isn’t that half the magic of having coffee, having it with someone?