Where–or when, rather–would you go if you could travel back in time?
It’s a question that’s been posed a thousand times over in a thousand different ways (and media forms). One of my favorite reads that does so beautifully is Toshikazu Kawaguchi’s Before the Coffee Gets Cold.
The first installation in what has become an immensely successful series of novels asks that age-old question, but with a delectable twist: What if the vehicle for sending you back in time was a steaming hot cup of coffee?
How it works is simple: the barista pours you a cup, the steam rises, gently engulfs you, and carries you back to a different time, albeit in that same cafe.
Made up of a series of loosely interconnected stories, the backdrop of which is a strange little cafe in an unassuming Tokyo alleyway, Before the Coffee Gets Cold is tear-jerkingly good. I read it in January of 2025, and I knew it was going to be one of my top reads for the year (and in general, really) the minute I dove into Part One.
What I never expected was that it would have served as the prelude to a rather coffee-centric year.
This past December, I published my second collection of poetry. (Yay) And with its release, it turns out, my 2025 was bookended by one of my favorite vehicles for connection.
Okay, What’s So Great About Coffee?
Nothing. And, yet, everything. One of the things I often have to contend with as a writer is my innate ability to romanticize things. It’s contributed to my downfall (read: poor judgment) more often than I’d like to admit. Occasionally, though, the rose colored glasses I sometimes simply cannot resist wearing help me turn the mundane into something truly beautiful. In this case,it helped me appreciate the beauty that exists in a simple act: when friends, lovers, and even strangers sit and bond over a shared cup.
Whether for client meetings, catch ups, or coworking dates, the few months I spent in 2025 pursuing a life outside of the 9-5 grind involved a great deal of coffee shop meetings. And somewhere in the midst of it all, a concept for a new book was born.
I can wax poetic about the beauty of connecting with people in coffee shops and around coffee tables for ages. But I think American writer Richard Brautigan does it best, and most succinctly, in his poem entitled Coffee:
“Sometimes, life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee affords.”
The poem itself is a journey through the speakers quest to find connection, no matter how awkward or strange the attempt. The line, which resonated deeply, is the epigraph in the first section of my newest book, Coffee Table Conversations.
Much like my first book, Coffee Table Conversations is vulnerable, open. But where Crossroads serves to tell a story about overcoming darkness, CTC is more of an ode—a love letter to the human desire for connection that doubles as a vehicle for said connection itself.
Coffee Table Conversations: Poems Is Out Now. You can get yourself a copy (or learn more) here.
Khaila A. Gentle 