The first time I tried coffee, I was six years old.
My mother, of blessed memory, used to take us to Stump’s grocery store in Columbus, Ohio for her morning ritual — black coffee, no sugar, no cream, no nonsense.
This was 1976. The coffee? Sanka.
The aroma? Burnt hope.
Most days, my brother and I would snack on those Smucker’s jelly packets Stump’s kept on the breakfast counter — grape if you were lucky, strawberry if you were bold.
But one day, curiosity got the better of me. When my mom went to the bathroom, I slid the mug across the table and took a sip of her jet-black Sanka.
“DISGUSTING!” I screeched, spitting it out in dramatic six-year-old fashion while my two-year-old brother giggled like he was watching a live cartoon.
That moment was enough to keep me away from coffee for the next 34 years.
But at 40, I came back — this time, to the good stuff.
Since then, I’ve become a full-blown coffee snob. Scratch that — coffee scholar.
I’ve traveled to Panama to sip small-batch beans that only are sold at special auctions — $40 for 4 ounces of caffeinated gold.
I’ve sipped Rwandan coffees in Kigali with flavor so bright it felt like sunrise in a cup.
I’ve sat in Addis Ababa, drinking brews born from the very birthplace of coffee itself.
I’ve been to Antigua, Guatemala to drink some of the best coffees in the world, grown in the rich volcanic soil there.
Coffee beans from Burundi. Yemen. Bolivia. Peru. You name it — I’ve tasted them.
I know coffee the way some people know fine wine.
Acidity, terroir, altitude, processing methods — washed, anerobic, natural, honey.
My go-to? Washed light roasts from Honduras or Bolivia, though a Yemeni varietal once nearly made me weep.
At home, I prefer a pour-over when I have the time.
But for speed and texture? I’ve invested in some of the most expensive home espresso machines.
And I don’t mean a cute $300 gadget on your kitchen counter — I’m talking $2,000 machines engineered for diehard coffee disciples.
But here’s the thing: these machines hate African beans.
Seriously.
Beans from places like Burundi or Tanzania are often smaller, more irregular in shape. Their complexity in flavor is off the charts — but so is their ability to jam up high-end grinders like a toddler in a LEGO aisle.
And when they jam? It’s full coffee surgery time.
Me, hunched over the kitchen counter, dismantling a luxury espresso machine like I’m defusing a bomb.
Lifting, shaking, blowing, swearing.
Praying there’s not a hidden camera catching me yell “What the hell is wrong with you!?” to a $2,000 piece of stainless steel.
This week, I returned my fifth espresso machine in four years.
Why? Because not a single major brand seems to have engineered their grinders with African beans in mind.
Now, do I think the folks at Breville or De’Longhi are sitting in a dark room plotting how to sabotage Burundi’s coffee trade?
No.
But I do know this:
When you don’t have diverse voices at the table, your product will reflect that ignorance.
It’s the same problem that shows up in:
- Facial recognition software that misidentifies Black and brown faces at rates 20 times higher than white ones.
- Predictive policing models trained on decades of racially biased data — then sold back as “neutral technology.”
- “Smart” home assistants that can’t recognize non-standard English accents.
Or yes, espresso machines that choke on beans grown in Africa — where coffee literally originated.
My point?
The coffee machine story is part comedy.
But the lesson about diversity isn’t a joke.
When you build teams that all look the same, think the same, and come from the same corner of the world, you don’t get better results.
You get blind spots. You get failures dressed up as innovation.
Diversity isn’t a buzzword. It’s a blueprint for excellence.
Better ideas.
Better systems.
Better tech.
Better outcomes.
And yes — better coffee!
This post originally appeared on Medium and is edited and republished with author's permission. Read more of Jeffrey Kass' work on Medium.