Listen. I am a coffee snob. I have friends who send me unique coffees from their travels, coffees that have light roasts and mangosteen flavor notes. I am adept at using a Hario pour-over, with a scale, and beans that I grind myself every morning. I know how to tweak my pours to change the flavor and body of my coffee, depending on the roast and bean. With all of that being said, I still have, deep in my heart, a love for that stale, black charcoal water that’s been sitting on a hot plate since time immemorial, poured into a scratchy ceramic mug and slid over to me with minimal effort and even an air of contempt by a woman who smells of Virginia Slim cigarettes and calls me “hon’” when impatiently asking me for my order. Nothing pairs better with crispy corned beef hash and runny eggs. Nothing.