Excuse me, I know you are enjoying a quiet morning in your cubicle, looking over the news, and drinking a cup of warm coffee from the communal, single-serving coffee machine. I just thought you would be interested in hearing about my Lord and Savior, Cold Brew Coffee.

“But coffee is supposed to be warm,” you may say. See, that’s where you’re wrong. Coffee, when cold, is capable of reaching its full flavor profile. That’s a word we java-heads use to describe the rich, complex tastes a real cup of coffee can offer you. Sure, French presses or a proper pour-over will give you a good cup of Joe in a pinch, but you have not lived until you cold brew your own coffee.

It couldn’t be easier. First, you begin with good organic water. I usually stop by Whole Foods or any old neighborhood market that sources all its produce from a hundred-mile radius. I tend to get the best results from that new bottled water that they package from the drippings of lava rocks in Hawaii. Then, I grind my Nicaraguan beans in a mortar and pestle. That will really preserve the coarseness without breaking into the bitter flavor pocket. (We’ll discuss bean anatomy later.) From there, you just put the grounds in the water and let it sit overnight. It will be difficult, make no mistake about it. Not having access to coffee might wake you up in a cold sweat, but be strong. Put on your preferred undiscovered, local metal band CD and take a deep breath. Whatever you do, don’t give up by hopping on your bike and going to Starbucks.

You can strain the stuff the next morning, and you’ll have coffee that is rich, bold, and darker than a collapsed star. Some people heat it or put milk in it, but don’t fall into that temptation. Keep it pure. It takes a while to become used to the flavor, but I assure you you will in time. There will be subtle changes at first: your political leanings will shift to the left, and you’ll see that mainstream culture is really a capitalistic orgy. Embrace the differences.

Everyone here knows that this is what I do. It’s really who I am. They can come to me, the master, and ask any questions they may have. Has anyone done it yet? No, but give them time. The deceptively complex art of cold brewing is really the final frontier for the home brewista. Anyways, they are probably mortified, knowing they can’t tell the difference between a medium-dark roast and a pre-dark one.

I bring my CBC to work in a large glass jug like the moonshiners do. That way, everyone can see it, and it becomes a spectacle for everyone to take part in. When you start doing it, try slipping things in conversation like “Oh, I was up all night tending to my cold brew coffee,” or “I love my coffee like my own children.” That really helps everyone see that coffee is a hobby for sensible and totally casual people like us.

What do you say? Come by tonight, and we can craft our own mugs out of Phoenician clay as we wait. Don’t tell me you’ve never drunk coffee from a hand-crafted clay mug.