Why Indian Coffee Hits Different

Recently, one of my tweets went unexpectedly viral. It was a rant about my coffee experiences in the US during a recent trip, and how it had been a money- and soul-depleting disappointment.

- NANDITA IYER

Let me explain. First, the coffee was never served hot. It was lukewarm at best. Then it was weak, like it couldn't quite decide if it was indeed coffee. And if you opt for an iced latte, congratulations—you just paid $6 for a cup of ice, a shot of milk, and a drop of caffeine. To top all this, there was always the unsaid rule, a stern request via the payment screen or a card propped on the counter asking you to tip generously, all for the heroic act of handing over a plastic cup of utterly mediocre coffee with your name misspelt on it.

After half-a-dozen such encounters, my homesickness for Bengaluru kicked in hard. I longed for our coffee—hot, strong, and shockingly affordable in retrospect. And I don't just mean filter coffee (though it deserves its own shrine). I realised that we just do coffee, in all its forms, better.

There's a reason Indian coffee hits different. The main one, in my opinion, is Chikmagalur supremacy. Indian-grown Arabica beans, especially from Karnataka's coffee heartland, are often shade-grown, handpicked and wet-processed. These methods preserve their inherent richness. When brewed well, they deliver that nutty, chocolatey depth we love. And Bengaluru has become a showcase for quality coffee, whether it's the old-school filter kaapi at local darshinis or single-origin pour-overs at coffee shops. The city does coffee with flair.