“What’s your usual coffee order when you’re back home then?” I asked @vanbliss. We were tucking in to a huge plate of falafel and houmous at a modest food joint in Cancun, but clearly my mind was elsewhere. George used to own a coffee company and so I was interested to hear his opinion. “A latte probably”, he answered. “Interesting… not a flat white then?” I prompted, to which he (much to my amusement) responded, “God.. flat whites wind me up”.
This started a conversation around there not being much of a difference between a flat white and a latte. We discussed that often, when the coffee itself is great, you can’t particularly taste a difference between the two seeing as the milk to coffee ratio is not that far off (depending on where you choose to get your fix).
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An iced latte with oat milk and a slice of banana bread in a vegan cafe - Merida, Yucatàn, Mexico

It made me think about my usual coffee order back home - a mocha with oat milk (and an iced one in the summertime). I know this may be highly offensive to some, and I’m basically cheating by adding chocolate and oats to my cup of coffee, but it’s bloody good. I have tried nearly all of the oat milk mochas in my local area, and have definitely found the best one.
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A cappuccino with oat milk - San Cristobal de Las Casas, Chiapas, Mexico

You see, usually when I go out for a coffee, it’s with company. Something to be shared with a friend. And therefore what better thing to share than a moment of pure indulgence?
My daily cup of coffee differs from this. It is basically an americano with oat milk. And the coffee itself isn’t too fancy - Nescafé Azera Intenso (a strong contender amongst instant coffee powders). What I miss about this daily cup of coffee, though, is the ritual I developed around it. We are creatures of routines and rituals after all. I would wake up, knowing that that cup was waiting for me on the other side of my bowl of oats. And I couldn’t wait. It was my favourite part of the morning.
I’d heat my oat milk first, in my preferred black coffee mug, in the microwave. Whilst the kettle boiled, I would slowly stir the coffee powder in my mug, so that it created a perfectly blended mixture to pour water into. Pouring the water in to this mixture was super satisfying to watch as the colours would slowly change from a deep mahogany to a warmer brown. I’d then take this cup, that I had very lovingly concocted, to my bedroom. It would then be my companion to sip on slowly whilst I journaled, or listened to music, or scrolled through my phone, revelling in this moment to myself before the noise of the day would roll in.

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An americano to have with breakfast - El Valle de Anton, Panama

Travelling through Latin-America has turned my relationship with coffee into something else entirely. In fact, it’s barely even a relationship anymore. I end up downing a whole cup, black, as an accompaniment to my breakfast. Just to wash it all down. Sometimes I browse for independent coffee shops wherever I am and soak up the feeling of being in that environment. Other times I treat myself to sugar-free almond/oat milk from the supermarket to add to the americano that I have become accustomed to drinking (if you had told me this 4 months ago I never would’ve believed you). But these are treats.
When I really think about it, it turns out that my relationship with coffee is entirely dependent on where I happen to be in the world, who I’m with, and often, what I’m choosing to chomp down on alongside my favourite caffeinated beverage.