I’ve always been a late bloomer in nearly every aspect of my life. Just slow, I guess, or maybe I’ve just been distracted a lot of the time by the one or two areas where I “bloomed” early, I dunno.
Anywho, I do know what delayed my love affair with coffee for a while. Sophomore year in high school. Band trip into Mexico. We stayed in all kindsa places–whatever the communities would arrange for lodging. Big towns/cities: maybe commercial lodging facilities. Small towns? Notsomuch. I recall lodging accommodations in a convent–yeh, a convent. They were pretty hard up to take on a bunch of high school boys as lodgers even for a night.
Breakfast the next morning? Some questionable egg dish, tortillas and some “fresh ground” coffee. No, I mean it tasted like some ground they’d just dug up and put in the pot to boil. Overnight. Those of us who tried it wanted to take back the previous night’s concert for the town.
It was four years before I tried coffee again.