Your sleek black coffee machine is trying to kill you (and other morning betrayals)
How our beloved espresso rituals became poison and what you can do about it; because coffee shouldn’t come with a side of cancer.
Until this week, the highlight of my mornings involved three things, beans, buttons and bliss. Every day began with the sacred ritual of grinding my freshly roasted single-origin beans, adjusting the espresso machine with the precision of a neurosurgeon and pulling a shot so smooth it could negotiate Middle East peace talks. It was a moment of calm. A caffeine-laced cathedral of peace. A rare pocket of joy that made waking up in 2025 just about bearable.
But now? Now I find myself staring at my sleek black coffee machine as if it’s trying to kill me. Because, apparently, it might be.
Yes, the man who once survived high-dose chemotherapy, radiotherapy and a bone marrow transplant, is now under threat from… a coffee machine. Specifically, the sort made with black plastic. The ones proudly advertised as ‘stylish’ and ‘space-saving’, but which are now being outed as secret assassins lurking on your kitchen counter like an assassin disguised as a barista.
According to scientists, who I assume no longer drink anything other than filtered rainwater and organic milk, black plastic coffee machines may contain a delightful chemical cocktail of carbon black, brominated flame retardants and organophosphate flame retardants. The kind of ingredients that sound less like something you’d want near your latte and more like something you’d expect to find leaking from an oil tanker off the coast of Norfolk.
These substances, we’re told, are “endocrine disruptors”. Which is science-speak for, they sneak into your body, fiddle with your hormones, mess up your cells and potentially throw a cancer party in your thyroid, breasts or lungs. One study even found they were present in the blood, breast milk and urine of nearly every single American tested. That’s not a trace amount. That’s less “Oh, maybe there’s a bit of BPA here” and more “Congratulations, you’re now 14% plastic.”
This revelation is quite frankly an outrage. We were promised many things in life… lies on cereal boxes, potholes as a permanent road feature and endless contradictory health advice. But we were never warned that the very thing helping us survive a Monday morning might also be sending us to an early grave.
What makes this even worse is that it’s not even the coffee itself. If drinking six double espressos a day gave me cancer, I’d nod and accept it with the same grim resignation I have for train delays or cold toast. But no. It’s the machine. The thing making the coffee. The thing I lovingly descale every two weeks while whispering sweet nothings to it like it’s a pet hamster on life support.
This of course, raises several questions. Should I throw out my machine? Should I go back to using an old-school Italian moka pot that sounds like a boiling kettle having an argument with a trumpet? Should I just start chewing coffee beans like a stressed squirrel?
Apparently, the experts say we should opt for stainless steel or glass-based machines, avoid overheating the plastic ones and clean them religiously. Because, you know if there’s one thing I want to do at 5:43am before I’ve even achieved full consciousness, it’s dismantle and sterilise my espresso maker like I’m prepping for open-heart surgery.
But the real tragedy here isn’t the science. It’s the betrayal. That quiet corner of joy… The one place in the morning not tainted by war, government U-turns or yet another email from a PR person suggesting I review a new camera that smells like lavender; has been corrupted.
So what now? Must we all return to instant coffee in beige mugs while reminiscing about a time when machines didn’t give us tumours with our crema?
No, I refuse to be beaten by a plastic box with an inferiority complex. I’ll switch to stainless steel. I’ll sacrifice the sleek black curves of my beloved espresso machine for something that looks like it belongs in a 1970s Soviet submarine. Because dear reader, while I may be many things, a cancer survivor, a columnist, a man whose croissants are larger than most throw pillows; I am not someone who will be killed off by a kitchen appliance.
So here’s your empowered nudge… ditch the dodgy black plastic. Reclaim your mornings. Enjoy your coffee; but don’t let your machine brew more than just espresso. Let’s leave cancer-causing chemicals out of our cups and keep the pleasure in our pour-over.
And if that means waving goodbye to my current machine? So be it. I’ve had worse breakups. Like when my beloved Fujifilm camera died.
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Just a quick heads-up; tomorrow’s my penultimate column here. I’d say brace yourself… but you should probably also sit down and pour a stiff drink.
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Chris Geiger, Author of The Cancer Survivors Club.
Daily Dose of Disbelief!
Bsky: @chrisgeiger.com
Bsky: @thecancersurvivorsclub.com
Bsky: @dailydoseofdisbelief.com
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