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“I mean, I don’t disagree that he’d be lucky.” The words slither out before I can stop them, and for a split second, I stare at them, horrified at what I just said.

Then George grins the same time as Eleanor laughs, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Okay, luckily they didn’t take that badly, but come on, mouth. Don’t do me like that.

Eleanor goes over to Kiki and says, “Ci Kiki! You look ah-mazing. You know, I wish instead of gege I could have you as an older sibling.”

“Oh, sweetie. You have no idea how much I wish I had you as a younger sister.” Kiki slings her arm around Eleanor’s thin shoulders and they start walking toward the entrance, where another ginormous Alphard awaits.

“Shall we?” George says, holding out his hand.

I gulp, and I honestly can’t tell if I’m nervous because of the fake dating or the cameras. Then I catch his small smile, the expectant look in his eyes, and I realize that he’s just as nervous as I am. The realization warms me and I exhale as I put my hand in his, noting with some surprise that his hand is significantly bigger than mine.

“Let’s go,” I say with a lot more confidence than I feel.

Of course, the first stop we make, as predicted by Kiki, is a café. I like cafés just as much as the next person, but in Indonesia, I’m finding that coffee isn’t so much a pastime as its own religion. The Alphard drops us off in front of a place called Sejuk Coffee Studio, which on the outside looks like a small, slightly run-down building. But once we walk inside, I go, “Whoa.”

The place is one of those magical buildings where the insideis a lot bigger than the outside looks. Inside, Sejuk Coffee Studio is a completely modern-looking space that reminds me more ofa swanky art gallery in LA than a café. I’m realizing that a lot of places in Indonesia are like this: unassuming and sad-looking on the outside, disarmingly stunning on the inside.

“Good choice,” Kiki says to George. “I’ve been wanting to check out this place since they started working together with 5758 Coffee Lab.”

“Same.”

“Excuse me, not to be rude, but why are we here?” Eleanor says. “Coffee is so overrated.”

“They also have chocolate drinks,” George says, smiling down at his little sister. “They roast their own cocoa beans too.”

Eleanor grunts, mollified but not entirely happy.

“And we’re here not just for breakfast and coffee, but to have a quick lesson in how to do latte art,” he says, turning to me too.

Eleanor’s mouth drops open. “Ooh! Can we learn to make those foam teddy bears and stuff?”

George looks up at the barista who’s come out from behind the counter to greet us. “Yes, of course,” the barista says. “Hi, guys, my name’s Lukmi. It’s great to finally meet all of you. Come round here, I’ve got everything ready for you.”

Lukmi leads us through the beautiful café and to the bar, where as promised, there are various cups and pourers laid out in anticipation for our lesson. I’m not normally passionate about coffee, but it’s impossible to not get carried away by the whole vibe of the place. It’s so obvious how much pride they take in it. Lukmi tells us about how throughout history, coffee has becomeyet another colonized commodity, and how at one point, it got so bad that those who grew the beans couldn’t afford to drink the fruits of their labor.

“The problem with the huge, multinational coffee companies,” Lukmi says, “is that they buy their beans from everywhere—Indonesia, Colombia, Brazil and so on. And then they mixed them up, so you couldn’t even tell which is what coffee.” He saysmixedlike it’s a bad word, which I guess in this case it is. “They’d import the beans to their processing plants, and then export them back to Indonesia and sell it to us at a hundred times the original price. It took a lot of time, effort, and policy change to make sure Indonesian farmers are protected. Actually, George, your family’s company was one of the ones that pushed hard for changes to be made to the industry.”

George nods. “Yeah, my dad was the one who spearheaded that project.”

His smile is so full of pride that I find myself smiling slightly myself. It’s next to impossible not to.

“He’s a real fan of independent coffee shops like this one,” George says to me. “I got my love of coffee from him.” His smile wanes a little. “My dad said he got it from my mom, who was obsessed with coffee. Her favorite was Toraja coffee.”

“Ah, she had good taste then, your mother,” Lukmi says. “Toraja is naturally sweet and spicy. We buy ours straight from Sulawesi and process the beans ourselves.”

I had no idea how fraught the coffee industry is. Listening to Lukmi talk about their heritage—my heritage—I’m torn betweenpride and shame. Pride that I am connected by blood to this rich, complex culture that has so passionately fought for the rights of its people. Shame because I’d been so ignorant. How many times have I gone to Starbucks and ordered a tall latte without considering the effects the corporate giant has on farmers all over the world? Who knew I would learn so much about Indonesia through coffee?

“We only brew local coffees here,” Lukmi says, “and trust me when I say Indonesia’s got the best coffee in the world. We swept the awards at the 2019 Agence pour la Valorisation des Produits Agricoles in France.”

“That’s amazing,” I say, and realize that I do mean it. I truly am amazed. I recall the coffee I’d had in Kopi-Kopi and how rich in flavor it had been compared with my usual latte.

Smiling, Lukmi starts the coffee grinder and makes us each a kopi susu with Toraja beans—a plain coffee with milk sourced from a local dairy farm. I take a cautious sip, unsure what to expect—usually I load my lattes with sugar—and oh…wow. This drink.

“My god,” I whisper to Kiki, who’s taking a deep inhale of hers like she’s trying to infuse her lungs with the rich, deep fragrance.

“I know,” she says. She takes a sip and closes her eyes, savoring the taste.

I’m no coffee connoisseur, but even I recognize how complex this coffee is. It doesn’t need any sugar. It would be a shame to cover up this incredible taste with any sweetener. In fact, thethought of anyone adding anything else to this cup of coffee annoys me, and I realize now why people get so heated up about their coffee.