I've tasted some of the finest coffee beans from every corner of the globe, and yet, I still can't bring myself to like it

I understand that you all are passionate about coffee. You swear by its taste, and your day doesn't truly begin until you've had your first cup. It’s a warm embrace in a mug! It’s coffee o’clock! I know some of you love it so much, you’re willing to spend over 17.5% of your disposable income on it. I get it – you probably have a favorite café and a reusable cup you can’t go without (if you’re even limited to just one). I know you’ve got your regular order, and it rarely changes.

Knowing you, coffee lover, you likely even have a preferred stretch of rainforest where your beans are harvested. And yes, I understand that too.

I wish I could share that enthusiasm.

The thing is, I do enjoy many aspects of coffee culture. The aroma is captivating. I appreciate the vibe in certain coffee shops. The sight of gleaming machines with their chrome pipes and pressure dials, hissing and spitting out rich, dark brews, is fascinating. I admire the energy of the tattooed baristas, as they furiously knock out the old grounds before expertly crafting a portrait of your face in the foam of your cappuccino. I’m also fond of the gear – the French presses, glass carafes, filters, tampers, and those delightful little Lotus biscuits they often serve on the side.

I genuinely enjoy everything about it, truly. That is, until I take my first sip, and once again, I’m reminded of something I’ve always known.

Coffee is, without a doubt, revolting.

I’ve tried really hard to develop a taste for coffee. Over the years, countless self-proclaimed coffee experts have sat me down and said, “Forget everything bad you’ve had before, try this!” With an open mind, I’ve let go of my biases and dove into each cup with determination.

And, more often than not, I ended up splashing it all over the table. Truly awful.

Before you accuse me of being a coffee heathen, let me assure you I have more coffee experience than most. (Does a coffee pun earn me any credit?) I spent a couple of years in the early 2000s living on the Indonesian island of Java, the birthplace of Java coffee. While there, I ventured deep into the eastern region, south of Surabaya, where robusta beans are grown in tropical hillside plantations, then dried and roasted.

It was there that the French concept of terroir – the unique character derived from a specific place – filled the humid air like a caffeine-infused buzz. The red earth was moist and pungent, the sunlight filtered through a hazy sky. In its purest form, this was coffee as it was meant to be, untouched by mass production.

Yuck!

In Indonesia, there’s also a rare and pricey coffee made from beans that have been digested by a civet cat. I didn’t try it, but maybe I should have. I don’t see how being swallowed and passed through the digestive system of a nocturnal forest creature could make coffee any worse.

A few years ago, I visited Colombia and was taken to what I was told was one of the best coffee shops in Bogotá. Here, in the cosmopolitan heart of one of South America's top coffee-producing countries, I was told yet again: “Forget all the bad coffee you’ve had, try this!”

Terrible. I’m sorry, but it was.

By the way, in Bogotá’s cafés, it’s also customary to enjoy hot chocolate alongside a slice of cheese, which you can dip into the drink. Now that’s more my style!

Naturally, I continued sipping my Colombian coffee out of politeness, as I’ve done in other instances where I’ve been served the “world’s best coffee” in Turkey, Greece, Italy, France, Morocco, the Arabian Peninsula (cardamom is a nice touch, but still no) and Australia.

I don’t think it’s a problem with my taste buds. I enjoy nearly everything else and have a broad palate. Sweet, savory, sour, spicy – I’m all in.

Of course, being British, I do have a natural preference for tea. But Brits are big coffee fans, too. Coffee houses were all the rage in 17th century London, long before tea became popular. And even now, my friends and colleagues back in the UK enjoy coffee just as much, if not more, than a classic cup of Earl Grey or English Breakfast.

And that’s the issue – British caffeine culture has become increasingly dominated by coffee in recent years. The traditional cafés, where you could once get a pot of tea for pennies, have all but disappeared, replaced by corporate coffee chains.

And while Starbucks and similar chains still offer tea, they charge it at coffee prices. It’s not uncommon to pay five dollars for what’s essentially a cup of hot water, a small teabag, and a dash of milk.

It’s even worse in the United States. Whenever I travel there, I bring my own tea bags (PG Tips or Yorkshire Gold, if you're wondering – Lipton is hardly touched here). I’ve spotted tea on the menu, but the dreadful, lukewarm cups I’ve been served! If that’s what they call tea, it’s no surprise everyone turns to coffee instead.

But I know, it’s me, not you, coffee. I’ve seen how well you get along with others, and I’m honestly a bit envious. Why can’t we work? Maybe if we take some time apart, we’ll be ready to try again.