And why that says something about writing too
Disclaimer: The opinions expressed here are entirely my own and should not be considered as statements of fact, endorsements, or criticisms on behalf of any company, brand, or organization. My experiences with coffee — Tim Hortons or otherwise — are personal, subjective, and shaped by my own taste buds and quirks. Your mileage (and your caffeine preferences) may vary.
People love telling me I have terrible taste in coffee.
“Try this!” they say, shoving some artisanal, small-batch Ethiopian roast under my nose.
“Bro, you call yourself a coffee lover and still drink Tim Hortons?”
I’ve even been challenged — as if my loyalty to Tim’s black coffee is some kind of caffeine-based personality flaw.
Apparently, my “standards are low, and I should switch to another brand of bit more famous (in terms of worldwide presence) than Tim Hortons.”.
In India, I used to frequent a coffee chain called Café Coffee Day (CCD). Every now and then, people would nudge me — sometimes outright push me — to try a “higher-end” brand. Whether it was actually higher in quality or just higher in price is still up for debate, but one thing was certain: it cost a lot more than CCD.
Price or no price, no amount of convincing could make me switch. I was perfectly happy taking my client meetings at CCD back then, just like I now happily conduct them at Tim Hortons here in Canada.
That’s me. That’s my taste. That’s my standard — and I’m sticking with it.
But honestly… who makes these standards?
Who gets to decide what the “correct” coffee experience is?
Is there some secret council of elite coffee judges meeting in an underground café somewhere?
Either that or I need some new friends :) — Peace out, no offence meant!
Because here’s my truth: Tim Hortons black coffee works for me.
No sugar, no milk, no frothy clouds of oat-foam righteousness. Just a simple, straightforward cup of motivation that tastes the same every time I need it. Consistency is underrated.
And this whole coffee-judging phenomenon reminds me a lot of writing.
Some writers spend years perfecting a single book. They nurture their plot like it’s a bonsai tree. They wait for the perfect idea, the perfect moment, the perfect alignment of planets. Their manuscript becomes the literary equivalent of a cup brewed with water sourced from Himalayan glaciers.
And that’s fine. Truly.
But me? I don’t do that.
I write the way I drink my coffee — consistently, unapologetically, and with zero interest in impressing the imaginary council of “standards-setters.” I’ve churned out multiple books a year, and I’m perfectly content with that. I enjoy the process. I enjoy the momentum. I enjoy telling stories without overthinking whether my work fits someone else’s definition of “refined.”
I write to entertain, not to etch my name into some literary hall of fame. And honestly, I’m proud of what I’ve created and the milestones I’ve reached along the way.
Taste — whether in coffee or creativity — is deeply personal.
If someone wants a ten-step hand-poured artisanal masterpiece, go for it.
I’ll be over here with my Tim Hortons, tapping away at my next chapter, happy with my choices.
And if that makes my coffee (or my writing) “low standard,” then I guess I’ll just enjoy being joyfully, productively, caffeinatedly low-standard.
Because at the end of the day, what works for you is the only standard that matters.
PS: I wrote this piece while sitting at the Tim Hortons on Sheppard Ave E in Scarborough, happily savoring my coffee. Touché to the team there — you guys never miss.
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