Diary of a Gen Z Student: How to track down the best cup of coffee

Jane Cowan: "You might be hoping that I’ve done this research for you. But the journey to caffeinated enlightenment is one that must be travelled alone."

Friends has given me somewhat unrealistic expectations when it comes to what I think life should look like during my twenties. Unlike Monica, I was not blessed to have an aunt in possession of a spare rent controlled apartment in New York City. 

No pet monkey or career in fashion to keep my wardrobe ever in season, either. The infamous Central Perk, however, is an element of the show that I feel I am very close to recreating. 

They spend a suspicious amount of time relaxing in that coffee shop without any real sense of urgency to get to the office on time, file their taxes, or deal with any other adult responsibilities.

As a college student, white knuckling what is left of my youth and its associated freedoms, I have been working on finding the coffee shop in Dublin. A quick stroll down any street in Dublin will tell you that our coffee scene is, indeed, alive and kicking. 

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be pretentious about this. There are very few things I would consider myself an expert in, but coffee is one of them. In my defence, surely, a self-aware coffee snob is better than a herbal tea quack? I mean, God forbid a girl has a hobby. Jeez. 

But there are a few things any coffee connoisseur will know to look out for, when it comes to tracking down a good brew. Here’s how to find a decent cup of Joe in the city.

The first thing you want to do is take a long hard look at the baristas. If they would be difficult to pick out of a line up – no aesthetic oddities like funky jewellery, a fluffy moustache or a loosely patriotic tattoo – reverse. 

Find your nearest tote bag-carrying hipster and follow them until they lead you to a good coffee shop. You shouldn’t have to wait long. Hipsters are a bit like the French, running on Marlboro Lights and oat milk flat whites. 

They don’t tend to last long without either. In the absence of a shepherd-hipster to guide you towards self-actualisation and caffeine, pay close attention to the haircut of your barista. 

You want them to look like their Mam cuts their hair with the kitchen scissors. A choppy fringe, a wonky mullet, a wavy fade: all positive signs. But even better than a barista with an unorthodox haircut, you ponder? A barista that dyes their hair. You want to be a little suspicious that they’ve just dunked their head into some sort of radioactive liquid. Blue is good, but multi-coloured is better. I don’t know what’s in the hair dye, and I don’t need to know. It bloody works wonders. That’s all I can say.

Next, you want to look at the crowd the coffee shop is attracting. If the crowd is mainly men in suits, I’d keep on walking. If you want coffee with a soul, you don’t want the clientele to look like they’re in stable employment. Think students and struggling artists. 

Or the kind of people that know how to read Tarot cards. Look for scuffed Doc Martens and denim jackets that were made in the 80’s. If they’re pretending to read Sylvia Plath or Kafka, you’ve stuck gold. They hate the establishment, capitalism, and deodorant. 

They’re not going to spend their parents’ money on a burnt Starbucks. They’ll use that currency in somewhere worthy of their Instagram feed, obviously.

Another indicator of the quality of a coffee is the soundtrack to the coffee shop. You want it to be a little depressing. Think Bob Dylan, Big Thief, Amy Winehouse, Joni Mitchell, Lana del Rey. 

Cry into a cappuccino music, if you will. You might feel a little emotional when you realise you’ve just spent twelve quid on a coffee you can’t pronounce. You want the playlist to match your mood. Pathetic fallacy in minor chords and oat milk, or something of the sort.

You might be hoping that I’ve done this research for you. But the journey to caffeinated enlightenment is one that must be travelled alone. It’s like a spiritual pilgrimage. Or finding a boy that doesn’t pretend he knows about crypto. 

If it was easy, everyone would do it. So, no: I won’t be sharing my moustached, wonky mullet, claddagh tattooed barista with the rest of the world. It took a lot of mediocre macchiatos to get to where I am today. Do you know how difficult it is to get lost in morose thought while listening to Lover by Taylor Swift? Exactly. You must go this alone.