How I adore black coffee.

Give me a Saturday morning (no later than 9 a.m.), fuzzy slippers and a steaming cup of dark roast or give me death! Seriously, though, I drink this stuff like a starving panda attacks stalks of bamboo.

Winner! You are correct: I am a stereotype. And I accept such placement gracefully.

As a drinker of only straight coffee, seeking out dark grounds like a starving panda seeks out stalks of bamboo, I enjoy philosophical discussions and prefer listening to vinyl whenever possible. However, though some might be inclined to extend such stereotyping into the assumption I am a coffee snob, I must politely disagree.

I get my coffee grounds from Kroger — Folgers “Black Silk” or Maxwell House “Intense Bold” do the trick.

But don’t be alarmed: Just like any other modern coffee-drinking Bowling Greenian, I treat myself to a nice medium-sized dark roast from Spencer’s Coffee whenever time and my wallet permits. Sunday study sessions and the presence of fellow students cramming for Monday classes, coffees of all kinds close by and a pervasive scent of rich and roasted coffee beans in the air, make time at Spencer’s a comfort I’d recommend to anyone.

Now a daily coffee consumer and big-time coffee enthusiast, it’s tough to remember the first time I gave the drink a try. But I think I was a little over 10 years old.

Spoiler alert: Not even the masking of creamer could interest me in the French roast I was offered — an experience which preceded nearly a decade of coffeeless living. It wasn’t until one fateful day in January 2018 I decided to give the drink another chance.

I was busy doing work on a laptop at a small coffee shop in Versailles called The Amsden when sleepiness hit. With a decent chunk of work to go and a yawn-inducing mindset of “you should go to bed right now” nipping at my heels, I made a choice I don’t regret.

The moment I experienced a caffeine rush off the cup of dark roast I purchased, I never went back.

The burst of focus, jitteriness which moves from your feet to your brain felt like the ultimate antithesis to any doubt or unwillingness to be productive. I was transformed from man to starving panda to man again, and I couldn’t be happier.

Plus, the taste wasn’t anything to scoff at. I soon found myself embracing the bitter and searching for deeper, richer flavors, always game for a shop’s darkest blend.

With not even two years of coffee drinking under my belt, I recognize I’m still a rookie to the scene. However, I see plenty of early morning, afternoon and nighttime (Trust me, sometimes it’s necessary) brewing in my coffee drinking future.

In the meantime, I’ll be alone with a cup o’ joe in hand, content to know I brewed a pot of coffee large enough for a small family.

Features Editor Griffin Fletcher can be reached at [email protected].