It is October.
The leaves are beginning to change. The temperature is dropping. Sweaters are emerging from closets. Somewhere, a woman wearing boots and an oversized scarf is taking a picture of a coffee next to a decorative gourd.
And apparently, I am supposed to be excited about pumpkin spice. I am not.
Every year, sometime around Labor Day, America collectively loses its mind and decides that everything we consume should taste vaguely like someone dropped a pumpkin pie into a Yankee Candle.
Coffee? Pumpkin spice. Cookies? Pumpkin spice. Cereal? Pumpkin spice. Cream cheese? Pumpkin spice. At this point, I fully expect to walk into the hardware store and find Pumpkin Spice WD-40.
Meanwhile, I sit quietly at the Grounded Bean, watching civilization collapse around me, waiting for the beverage that actually matters. Peppermint mocha.
Now that is a seasonal drink.
Chocolate and peppermint understand their assignment. They aren’t trying to convince me that a vegetable belongs in my coffee. And yes, I know. “Pumpkin spice doesn’t actually taste like pumpkin.” This is not the defense pumpkin-spice people seem to think it is.
You’re telling me we’ve managed to create an entire cultural phenomenon around something named after a pumpkin that doesn’t even taste like the pumpkin? Excellent. We’ve created the Kardashian of coffee. Famous for reasons nobody can adequately explain.
The Pumpkin Spice People
Pumpkin-spice people don’t merely drink pumpkin spice. They announce it. The first pumpkin-spice latte of the season isn’t a beverage. It’s an event. There will be a photograph. Possibly a leaf. Definitely a sweater. And somewhere in the caption will be the words cozy, fall, or finally.
Nobody does this with regular coffee. I’ve never ordered a medium roast and immediately thought: I need the internet to know. But pumpkin spice apparently requires documentation. I don’t understand it. Then again, these are probably the same people who begin decorating for fall while it’s still 84 degrees outside.
I Know My Season Is Coming
So, I don’t complain. Okay. I complain a little. But mostly I wait. Because eventually the pumpkins disappear. The decorative gourds are returned to wherever decorative gourds spend the other ten months of the year, or the real ones eaten by neighborhood wildlife. The coffee shops begin changing their signs. And then I see it. Peppermint mocha.
Suddenly, everything makes sense again. Chocolate. Coffee. Peppermint. Whipped cream if we’re abandoning all pretense of nutritional responsibility. That is a beverage with purpose. I don’t need it served inside a Christmas ornament. I don’t need artificial snow sprinkled across the counter.
Just hand me the cup.
There Is a Season for Everything
Ecclesiastes tells us there is a season for everything. Apparently, this includes several months during which otherwise rational adults willingly pay six dollars for cinnamon-flavored coffee because somebody put an orange leaf on the menu.
Fine. Enjoy your season. I will not interfere. Seasonal coffee, I’ve discovered, is apparently right up there with politics and religion. People have deeply held beliefs, opposing factions, and absolutely no interest in hearing evidence from the other side. So, before I start losing friends over this, let me be clear: I respect the pumpkin-spice community. I support your right to make your own choices, even terrible ones. Drink your pumpkin spice. Wear your sweater. Photograph your mug. Arrange tiny pumpkins around your front porch until Amazon can identify your house from space.
Be happy. Because I know something you know. Your reign is temporary. Peppermint is coming. And when that glorious day arrives, I’ll be sitting in my secondary office at the Grounded Bean, holding my peppermint mocha, watching the last pumpkin-spice sign come down.
I won’t gloat. I won’t say anything. I’ll simply take a sip, smile politely… and know that order has finally been restored to the universe.
