I’ve become something of a coffee snob lately. I hate to say that; I’m already a writer living in Brooklyn (who just used a semicolon), how much more cliché can I get? But I spent most of my twenties going cheap when it came to coffee out of necessity, and it was beginning to really bum me out. Now, I’ve finally decided to make coffee one of my luxuries: At the top of 2024, I told myself that I would no longer be stingy when it comes to how I ingest caffeine.
There’s a romance to the ritual, and, until now, my coffee choices weren’t reflective of how much stock I place in the act of having a hot cup of java. There is nothing more sensual than a cup of scorching black coffee, no matter what time of the year—sorry, iced coffee warriors! But taste is just as important as convincing people that you’re an aloof, tasteful genius with a slight dependency on liquid stimulants. And taste was no longer worth sacrificing for a few more bucks in my bank account, which means no more Folgers, despite how much the company’s ’80s Christmas ad still makes me cry and the 2010s incest-y remake makes me howl with laughter.
Apart from my beloved new Breville Bambino espresso machine (accompanied by a separate cheapo bean grinder, because it’s all about high-low) and my probably-too-frequent cafe purchases, I’m constantly seeking out new modes of coffee consumption to continue riding this personal high. So, when the collaboration between Seth Rogen’s high-end ashtray and lifestyle brand Houseplant and the trendy, flash-frozen coffee brand Cometeer came across my desk, it felt like a free pass from God to continue my search for the most opulent, tawny bean out there. While I’m certainly impressed by the flavor and quality of Rogen’s collaboration line, the process of consuming the beverage itself leaves something to be desired.
The Houseplant x Cometeer collaboration is the former’s first foray into the coffee sphere. Houseplant launched in 2019 in Canada, where Rogen and the brand’s Canadian-American co-founder, screenwriter and frequent collaborator Evan Goldberg, hail from. The brand moved into the United States in 2021, and reduced its product offering from weed and weed paraphernalia to just the ashtrays, lighters, and a few other related items. If you think Seth Rogen knows nothing about coffee, think again. As a fellow lover of round-frame glasses and cozy sweaters, I want to say, “Just look at the guy!” but I know that won’t suffice for everyone.
“For Seth, coffee is a ritual: the complex aroma, the perfect mug,” the site’s product description reads. “For Evan, it’s life-giving fuel on a chaotic morning with kids.” Alright, maybe there isn’t a whole lot of coffee expertise being advertised here. But I’m inclined to trust anyone who understands that an earnest, starry-eyed affection for coffee will never be obnoxious for real Brew Bunnies and Caffeine Campaigners.
For those unfamiliar with the Cometeer’s whole thing—if you haven’t been inundated with the company’s ads on Instagram, consider yourself lucky (sorry, the algorithm is about to be on your ass after you read this post)—here’s how it all works. The brand mails you a collection of coffee capsules, about the same size and shape as your average Keurig K-Cup. The caffeinated contents are all flash-frozen for peak freshness and taste after their brew, and the coffee inside is concentrated, meaning that one frozen puck in the recommended six-to-eight ounces of water produces a caffeine amount commensurate with two cups of normal coffee. All you’re tasked with doing is opening the capsule, melting the contents from their frozen state, and enjoying it in a variety of different ways.
That’s about where my affection for the Cometeer capsules comes to a halt. I am not partial to this mode of consumption. It’s not that it’s complicated to understand; actually, it’s almost too easy, much in the way that bothers me about Keurig machines. To enjoy your coffee, I truly believe that you must keep the elegant practice of it intact. Not wanting to wait for the brew of a standard drip pot or pour-over is understandable, but that delay is precisely what makes the act of drinking the beverage so pleasant. I feel similarly about going out to a cafe for your cup of joe; you had to go somewhere for it, and there’s an anticipation in the act. In one relatively short amount of time, during your trip to the cafe, you experience anticipation, yearning, elation, fulfillment, and, of course, America’s ubiquitous art form: the monetary transaction.
But I’m being picky. Let me tell you a bit more about the actual product. The two flavors that are currently a part of the Houseplant and Cometeer collaboration are a dark and a medium roast. The dark, called “Bean There Done That,” has notes of dark chocolate, cashew, and baking spice. I can taste these layers, but they don’t pronounce themselves overtly over the dominating flavor: coffee. It’s your average cafe-quality roast, easily made at home, but nothing that I would write home about. Then there’s the medium roast, simply titled, “Get Roasted.” This flavor has notes of sweet tea, orange, and peach. How can I describe my reaction to this one? Well, you know how some people become so caught up in the heat of the moment during sex that they ask their partner to give them a little smack, and realize that it felt kind of good? That’s how I felt when Get Roasted clocked me with its mean right hook.
This roast is easily one of my favorites that I’ve ever had. I adore the natural, fruity flavor profile. That sweet tea and peach combination is no joke, and if you don’t like your coffee with a distinct flavor other than black mud, this one will not be for you. But, because I’m in my Being Really Damn Annoying About Coffee era, I have been forcing everyone I know to drink a cup of this roast when they come over to my apartment lately.
The convenience of Cometeer is nice in those kinds of situations, where you can present your friend with a cup of coffee almost as soon as you offer it. (Though I do believe that everyone in this world could do with less instant gratification, even my most beloved comrades!) But the method of making the coffee just isn’t as perfect as it’s touted to be, nor as revolutionary as the product’s many titles and awards suggest. Yes, the pods are fully recyclable—unlike Keurig cups, you don’t have to separate their contents, and can instead just toss the aluminum capsule in your recycling bin. That’s great. But to make anything other than a hot cup of coffee is a goddamn slog.
For a hot cup, all you’ve got to do is heat a little water for the coffee and run the aluminum capsule under lukewarm or hot water for 10-15 seconds to loosen the contents inside. Pour the hot water over the frozen capsule, and you’ve got a delicious, cafe-quality cup of coffee once the rest of the capsule has melted, which only takes a few more seconds. But attaining a good cup of iced coffee is a chore. To sufficiently melt the entire contents of the capsule, you’ve got to keep that puppy under hot—and I mean hot—water for far longer than 15 seconds. Lukewarm is not going to cut it. With iced coffee growing in popularity so much over the last few years, this just seems like an overcomplicated mode of caffeine consumption.
As much as I enjoyed the roasts themselves, I feel distanced from the Houseplant x Cometeer collab. And as someone who enjoys sipping on a nice, full mug of coffee (more than eight ounces, mind you), I wouldn’t continue to actively seek out this partnership—especially not at a price point of $64 per box of 32 individual capsules. Sure, that’s only $2 per cup, but that cost is only for the delivery subscription option. If you want to try a single box of this collaboration, you’ll fork over $84 plus tax and shipping.
The flavors of Rogen’s Houseplant coffee brand are delicious and unique, but not enough to throw down some serious cash on a coffee delivery system that’s just too complicated for the price. Sustainability is great, but you can run out to the store and buy a fully recyclable glass bottle of great-tasting coffee concentrate for no more than $10. Rogen’s tagline for this brand, “You’ve got to wake before you bake,” is cute and clever, but a shrewd tagline won’t comfort my checking account every time they snatch about $100 from me to get more of these brews.
When Houseplant coffee branches off to produce its own bagged beans, I will be a fervent customer. Until then, I’ll focus my newfound snobbery on perfecting the perfect latte, brewed with a built-in waiting period to make it appropriately gratifying.
