Having a coffee snob for a roommate means a lot of random conversations in the kitchen about coffee beans (and why we have six different kinds between the two of us; our third roommate drinks none of it.) Or what kind of ground to use. Or the best tool to use to get good coffee.

The other night, he found me in the kitchen making a cup at 11pm. We ended up talking about morning coffee. He whipped out his moka pot. Did I want to borrow it? “Oh, I don’t have time,” I said, “and even this sad drip machine takes forever —I don’t want to miss the train.”

He gave me this look—an are you serious glare. “Uh, you make time.”

I smiled.

Yes, yes. I do make time. Just not at home. See, I rush to catch just the right train that takes me to Mountain View exactly 20 minutes before the bus I need to take next. That’s where I make time.

I make time for that perfect cappuccino from Red Rock. I mean, it’s not the most perfect ever, but pretty perfect for my first cup of the day.

(I’m basically a zombie throughout my 90 minute commute—there have been days that I fall asleep in San Francisco and wake up as soon as the train stops at Mountain View. Panic!).

I know I can’t make time to brew that perfect cup in the morning, so I might as well leave it to the pros. I used to grab a cup at the Caltrain station before leaving—horrible. It was always either too hot or too weak or both. That was the practice until I missed the bus one day and wandered past the Mountain View station looking for coffee.

Four Barrel! Google guys! Coffee cake! (And today, calling out coffee orders by tech company. “Picasa, soy latte!” I thought I was hearing things.)

The first magical sip sets the mood for the rest of my day. I think I even smiled back at a creepy group of construction workers once because I was in such a good mood (note to self: not a good idea). I didn’t even mind when they gave me more pages to design at work.

Funny how a simple cup of amazing coffee makes all the difference. Never settle, right?