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In 1991 a Sun Microsystems engineer working on how different computers could talk to each other named his project Oak, after a tree outside the office window. Trademark trouble forced a new name, and the team picked Java, after the Indonesian coffee they were drinking. When Java debuted publicly in 1996, it answered a real mess: every processor and operating system needed its own compiled version of a program. Java's promise of write once, run anywhere worked by compiling code into hardware-neutral bytecode that a Java Virtual Machine installed on each device translates on the fly, which let applets run inside mid-1990s web browsers on any machine.
That translator made early Java slow and memory hungry until just-in-time compilation, including the HotSpot compiler, began caching frequently run code as native machine code. Java also swept up unused memory automatically with garbage collection and deliberately removed pointer arithmetic and multiple inheritance to stop programmers from making catastrophic errors, then added generics in Java 5.0 in 2004 for stricter type checking. Its reach made it a legal prize. Sun sued Microsoft in 1997 over Windows-only extensions and won a $20 million settlement, and after Oracle bought Sun in 2010 it sued Google over Android's use of the Java APIs in an 11-year fight that reached the Supreme Court in 2021.
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Kissaten translates literally as tea-drinking shop, yet the word names Japan's century-old coffee sanctuary. Tokyo's first cafe opened in 1888 as a showcase of Western modernity, complete with leather chairs and billiards. By the 1920s, as Tokyo industrialized and a class of young urban workers filled the streets, cafes had turned into loud venues serving alcohol, with jazz playing and waitresses hired to entertain. The kissaten flourished as the answer: a sober, quiet room where silence itself was the product. Its founders borrowed from the salons of Paris and Vienna but stripped away the performative debate, keeping the dark wood, the serious coffee, and a hush that drew writers, scholars, and thinkers.
To survive, the kissaten learned to feed working people. The morning service began in industrial hubs like Nagoya, where textile workers starting early shifts needed cheap calories, and cafes competing for that foot traffic served thick-cut toast, a boiled or fried egg, and sometimes ham or bacon, often included in the price of the coffee. The tradition spread across urban Japan. In the modern era the lineage split in two: manga kissa that rent private booths for games, comics, and overnight stays, and a 2020s Showa retro revival that sends young people back to vintage rooms of velvet and amber light.
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Howard Schultz was born in Brooklyn in 1953 and raised in the Canarsie public housing projects, a place some peers later called the country club of projects but which he described as a poverty he burned to escape. A football scholarship took him to Northern Michigan University in 1971, an injury ended that path, and after graduating in 1975 he sold for Xerox and then ran the US arm of a Swedish kitchenware company. In 1981 he noticed a tiny Seattle roaster ordering an odd number of plastic cone filters and flew out to see it. That company was Starbucks. After a 1983 trip to Milan, its founders rejected his espresso bar idea, so in 1985 he pitched Il Giornale to 242 investors. Of those, 217 said no, while the Starbucks founders themselves put in $150,000, and in 1988 they sold him the Starbucks retail unit for $3.8 million.
The same appetite for control shaped everything after. He refused to franchise, took the company public in 1992 to raise $271 million, and on returning as CEO in 2008 closed every US store for an afternoon to retrain baristas. It went badly in sports: his group bought the Seattle SuperSonics and Seattle Storm in 2001 for $200 million, he feuded with point guard Gary Payton, and when the legislature refused $200 million for an arena in 2006 he sold to Oklahoma City investors for $350 million. He fought a union wave during a 2022 to 2023 interim stint, and his 2019 independent presidential exploration ended with an endorsement of Joe Biden.
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Cold brew is not iced coffee with better marketing. Iced coffee is brewed hot and then chilled or poured over ice, and as it cools its chlorogenic acids break down into quinic and caffeic acids that taste harsh and stale. Cold brew never touches hot water: coarse grounds steep in cool or room-temperature water for 12 to 24 hours, then get filtered through paper, a metal sieve, or felt into a concentrate that is diluted with water or milk and can even be served piping hot without losing its mellow profile. The method traces back to Dutch trading ships in the 1600s, where lighting a fire to boil water was a hazard, and to Japan, where the Dutch technique became known as Dutch coffee and grew into Kyoto-style slow drip towers that pass water through the grounds one drop at a time.
The chemistry is counterintuitive. A 24-hour cold steep ends up with more caffeine by volume than a six-minute brew at 98 degrees Celsius, and cold brew's pH is nearly the same as hot coffee. Its smoothness comes from lower titratable acidity, because large bitter acid molecules stay locked in the discarded grounds. The 2010s added nitrogen: a draft coffee predecessor at the Queen's Kickshaw in New York in 2011, then Stumptown in Portland and Cuvée Coffee in Austin, which poured nitro cold brew on tap at the Slow Food Quiz Bowl on August 14, 2012, and later worked with the Ball Corporation on a widget can.
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The work break was fought for, not handed out. At the 1903 Brussels International Congress of Hygiene and Demography, researchers began treating industrial fatigue as a measurable hazard tied to monotony, alcohol, and accidents rather than a personal moral failing. During World War I, Oxford physiologist A.F. Stanley Kent, sent by the UK Home Office to test a mid-shift tea break at a munitions factory, was refused by the manager and answered with a letter from the Home Secretary and a threat to have the police arrest him on the spot. His results, presented to Parliament in 1915, showed scheduled breaks raised total output. Meanwhile in Stoughton, Wisconsin, Norwegian immigrant wives hired by Osmond Gundersen to sort tobacco demanded morning and afternoon breaks to go home, tend their households, and drink coffee, the arrangement often cited as the birth of the American coffee break.
By 1902 Buffalo, New York employers were writing coffee breaks into company policy, and in 1952 the Pan American Coffee Bureau, working with behavioral psychologist John B. Watson, sold the slogan give yourself a coffee break. The law never caught up evenly. The 1938 Fair Labor Standards Act requires pay for short breaks but not the breaks themselves, and as of 2017, 26 states including Texas and Florida had no break requirement for adults. California went the other way, and its 2012 Brinker Restaurant ruling held that employers must provide breaks but need not police them, even as workers increasingly skip lunch to look productive.
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In Addis Ababa there is a restaurant built in the shape of a giant clay coffee pot, and that pot is the jebena, the traditional brewing flask of Ethiopia and Eritrea. Standing roughly 20 to 45 centimeters tall, it has a flat circular base that balances on hot coals, a thick bulbous body that holds heat like a battery, and a narrow neck that works as a built-in strainer. Spouts mark origin: Ethiopian jebenas pour from a separate lower spout, some butter-brewing regions use two spouts so the fat mixes into every cup, and pots from Eritrea, Tigray, and Sudan use one spout at the top of the neck. Female elders gather local clay and often coil the pots by hand without a wheel.
The ceremony can run three times a day, with about 45 minutes of prep, washing, roasting, and hand-grinding green beans, then about two hours of brewing and serving. The coffee is boiled, poured into another vessel to cool and settle, and returned to boil again, then served through a horsehair filter into small cups called sini or finjal. There are three rounds: the strong awel, the milder kalei, and the weakest, baraka, meaning blessing. Women lead every step, and if the coffee is not boiled in a jebena, a true ceremony has not happened. For families in the diaspora, the pot is an heirloom that must make the journey.
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Order a latte in an Italian cafe and you may get a plain glass of milk, because latte simply means milk; you need caffè latte or caffè e latte. The drink itself is precise: one or more shots of espresso topped with steamed milk in a glass of about 230 milliliters, milder and milkier than a 140 milliliter cappuccino and without its stiff foam cap. The key is microfoam. A steam wand unfolds milk proteins, which wrap around microscopic air bubbles in a stable emulsion, and heating to around 140 to 150 degrees Fahrenheit makes the milk taste sweeter. That velvety texture pushes the espresso's crema around, which is what makes latte art possible.
Mixing coffee and milk is old. American writer William Dean Howells described a caffè latte on a steamship from Trieste to Venice in his 1867 Italian Journeys, but that was a proto latte. The modern drink waited for 1903, when the commercial espresso machine was patented with a steam wand that could aerate and heat milk at once. In Italy, milky coffees stay at breakfast, with straight espresso after 11 a.m. In the U.S., paper cups of 12, 16, and 20 ounces meant more milk, darker and more bitter espresso roasts to punch through it, and then sugar and syrups, turning a morning staple into an all-day sweet drink.
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Alfonso Bialetti, born in 1888 in Piedmont, spent a decade in the French aluminum industry when the metal was still a serious material for aviation and rail. Back in Crusinallo in 1919 he opened a shell foundry, casting aluminum in reusable steel molds that gave the smooth, precise threads a pressurized pot needs. His first attempt carried the name Triple Rapid Miracle 900, and he refined it alongside other European designers. The episode explains the physics: steam in the lower chamber pushes boiling water up through the coffee and into the top. The eight facets are structural, stiffening soft aluminum against warping, giving a grip on a hot wet pot, and shedding heat quickly off the flame.
Between 1934 and 1940 Bialetti sold about 70,000 early versions hand to hand at Piedmont's outdoor markets, while Otello Amleto Spadini patented a competing design in 1937. World War II diverted aluminum to the military and dried up coffee supplies. In 1946 his son Renato took over, cut nearly every other product, and bet the company on the Moka Express, which the record says Alfonso finalized in 1950. A factory in Omegna followed in 1956, along with television ads, Milan billboards, and a giant monument of the pot. Production passed 220 million by 2001 and later topped 330 million, earning a Guinness World Record.
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For decades the price of coffee was set by fears of Nazi and communist influence in Latin America. When World War II and U-boat patrols sealed off European markets, coffee prices collapsed, and Washington worried that ruined economies in Brazil and Colombia would turn to hostile ideologies. The 1940 Inter-American Coffee Agreement capped U.S. imports at 15.9 million bags while producers limited output, and by the end of 1941 prices had nearly doubled. Producers wanted that stability made permanent, leading to the first International Coffee Agreement in 1962 and the International Coffee Organization in 1963, which tracked an indicator price from hubs like New York and Bremen and tightened or loosened export quotas like a thermostat.
The system held through agreements in 1968, 1976, and 1983, but by 1989 American drinkers wanted milder Arabica, the volume-based quotas could not adapt, and producers were dumping surplus beans on non-members at steep discounts. Brazil, whose market share had slipped since black frosts in the 1970s, refused to give up any quota, and with the Soviet threat fading the U.S. lost interest in paying for stability. Quotas were suspended on July 4, 1989, and the average indicator price fell from $1.34 a pound to 77 cents, pushing farmers into poverty while opening the door for the 1990s specialty coffee boom.
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The one rule that separates a liqueur from a liquor is added sugar. Liqueurs are spirits bottled with added flavors from fruits, herbs, or nuts plus sugar, usually 15 to 55 percent alcohol, and that sugar changes the viscosity, density, and mouthfeel of the liquid. The labels mislead constantly. A chocolate cream liqueur like Cadbury or Mozart contains real dairy, but the French crème in crème de cacao means no dairy at all: under European law it marks a liqueur with at least 250 grams of sugar per liter, close to 200 grams in a single bottle. Dark crème de cacao gets its color from macerating roasted cacao beans, while the white version is distilled so only light aroma molecules carry over.
The episode tours the back bar: orange liqueurs like Cointreau, Grand Marnier, triple sec, and curaçao, whose limonene-rich peel oils cut through the sugar; regional fruits like South Africa's Amarula, Malta's prickly pear Bajtra, and Cambodia's Sambai; and the dividing line between sweet fruit liqueurs and dry fruit brandies like kirsch and slivovitz. Monastic herbal blends were digestifs first: Jägermeister uses 56 herbs, Centerbe claims a hundred, Chartreuse 130, and Benedictine 27. Anise splits too, with sweet sambuca and pastis on one side and unsweetened absinthe, ouzo, and arak on the other.
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pplpod is a podcast about people, places and lots of other stuff. Each episode takes a deep dive into the lives, choices, and legacies of fascinating figures from history, culture,…
Thoughtful, engaging, and story-driven, pplpod explores what makes these lives extraordinary—and what we can learn from them today.