Smelling the Coffee

We walked through the small door of the tiny coffee shop we had discovered close to our house.

As we sat down at one of only two tables, the owner, a small Japanese man in his late 60s, welcomed us with a soft, high-pitched “Irasshaimase!”

We browsed the menu. I ordered cocoa (I was watching my caffeine intake) with toast and a boiled egg. My wife opted for a coffee with toast and jam.

Taking our order, the owner, his huge glasses sliding down his nose, politely explained in Japanese that the order would take a little time.

“No problem,” I replied.

After 15 minutes, there was no sign of our order. But the owner appeared to be busily working away in his tiny kitchen.

Thirty minutes passed. Still waiting for her coffee to appear, my wife started jokingly referring to the owner as “Mr Speedy.” 

“What’s taking him so long?” she whispered to me.

Finally, after 55 minutes, the man appeared with our order. It was the best cup of cocoa I’d had in years.

My wife looked like she was enjoying her coffee and toast. Plain toast. The owner had forgotten the spread. After we drew his attention to the missing jam, Mr Speedy dashed to the door, put on his shoes and disappeared up the stairs at the side of the building. 

He emerged two minutes later with a pot of jam.  

“I keep the jam upstairs,” he explained. 

“How many years have you been running this coffee shop?” I asked. 

“Twenty-eight years” he answered.

“And it still takes 55 minutes to make a coffee?” I pondered. 

Despite the wait, everything was so good we decided to return. This time, we were prepared for a long wait and decided to carefully watch Mr Speedy at work. 

After taking our orders, he started assembling a coffee pot, screwing on its wooden handle. 

“Gomenasai ne,” he apologized. “I usually use only one pot, but I need my second pot to make the cocoa.”

He concentrated on one task at a time. He spent an age meticulously mixing the cocoa powder, later explaining that the secret to making delicious cocoa lay in filtering coffee through the powder before adding the milk. That’s what gave it its bittersweet flavor, he said. 

Standing in front of the toaster, he watched the bread slowly turn brown. Next, he placed my boiled egg in ice water to cool before serving. Everything was done in a measured, deliberate sequence.  

After he brought our drinks and food to our table, he disappeared upstairs for the jam. 

This time, we enjoyed the long wait, making conversation and taking in Mr Speedy’s silent dedication to his craft. We thought about having a second cup but realized we would probably need to hone our Zen meditation skills first. 

In our high-tech world of same-day deliveries and instant gratification, Mr Speedy helped us rediscover the joy of anticipation.

This article is an edited version of a speech Member Paul Timmons made at a TAC Toastmasters Club luncheon.

Words: Paul Timmons
Illustration: Tania Vicedo