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'I made it iced for you.'

One cup of hot coffee, two iced. The cups' designs were similar to those on display—perhaps they'd made them themselves. The woman who'd been at the wheel downed the coffee like it was beer. Her battle with the clay had looked pretty arduous, though Jungmin had only caught a glimpse. Having expelled a significant proportion of her body's water content through sweat, even the deep brown coffee looked refreshing. The coffee the owner had been so proud of was undeniably delicious. Though nothing special to look at, a distinct taste wrapped itself around Jungmin's tongue. She breathed in the aroma, and she could tell the beans weren't from a chain. Throughout her seven years in broadcasting, all-nighters had been the norm, so she was naturally well-acquainted with the coffee giants. She calmly took another sip and thought hard, but nothing particular came to mind. After all, since quitting, Jungmin had done nothing but sleep for months on end, and so there'd been no need to drink coffee—it seemed her taste buds had dulled, too.

'It's delicious. Really. May I ask where the beans are from?'

'Actually, I'm not sure myself. They're ones I was gifted. I reckon they're probably from Yirgacheffe...'

Jungmin wondered what the secret to the coffee's taste was.

The owner watched Jungmin tilt her head and continued, 'The reason our coffee tastes good, even when we make it with mediocre beans, is because of the cups. These are robust ceramics fired in a kiln at 1,250 degrees. If you serve coffee in a jade celadon cup, it tastes better. And the sweet coffee I mentioned earlier, you have to drink it out of glossy white porcelain. Maybe because it conjures up the image of sugar, but it's more delicious that way.'

The younger woman weighed in to add credence to the 'secret coffee recipe'. 'I didn't believe it at first either. I thought it was a placebo effect, like when Wonhyo-daesa drank dirty rainwater from a skull thinking it was a cup. But it's oddly different. The flavour, rather than the taste. I majored in Chemistry, so I can't leave this kind of curiosity unsatisfied. I did a bit of research, and it seems that there's a chemical interaction that takes place between the surface of the ceramic and the components of the coffee. After all, they say pottery breathes, right?'

'That's fascinating.'

As improbable as it may have seemed, the two women's words were strangely persuasive. Maybe rather than beans, there really is a secret inside this vessel, Jungmin thought, as she gripped the cup tight in two hands. Though it was of course full of ice, she was sure she could feel the 1,250-degree heat. She tried for the first time to picture a temperature higher than 1,000 degrees. Instead of heat, a warmth travelled through the blood vessels in her palm right to her arteries. Unlike the instant refreshment of the air conditioner, it now felt like a warmth had burrowed deep into her bones, releasing her tension. A body melting hopelessly away. The cold can't overcome warmth. She'd think of this coffee again. To be precise, she'd think of the flavour rather than the taste, just like the younger woman had said.

'Is the pottery back there for sale by any chance?'

'Of course. Feel free to take a look. Mugs and teacups like these are on the left-hand side.'

Unlike the extortionately priced ceramics in department stores you'd find arranged neatly one by one, these had rough appearances. They were crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder, some piled up in stacks. Jungmin was concerned they might get chipped, but the setting felt familiar, like an ordinary family's kitchen cupboard. When she looked at a pure white cup, it naturally brought to mind a caramel macchiato. A cup with a jade and white ombre pattern made her think of milky tea. There was one with a jet-black glaze, which made her want to go out right away and buy some Excellent Ice Cream to make affogato. This was probably all down to the effect of the cup's 'image' the owner had spoken of. Writer Jungmin was quick to acquire this kind of imaginative skill. One by one, she picked up the cups with care, held them in two hands and felt the heat fill her palms. She wondered about the temperature inside the kiln, where these cups would have been until not long before. Just a moment ago she'd been sweating buckets, cursing summer. Her contradictory urge to look for something hotter than the weather was amusing.

'I'm a coffee lover myself. I had to pull all-nighters regularly because of my job. It'd be nice to have a cup like this.'

'In that case, rather than buying, why not have a go at firing one yourself?'

The woman spoke in a similar tone and speed to when she'd suggested Jungmin stay for a coffee. She seemed have mastered how to speak without making the other person uncomfortable.

'I'm useless with my hands. And terrible at anything to do with art. I won't be any good.'

'Don't you worry about that. The lady next to you is one of our members, and she came in without any experience with craft whatsoever either. But now her work's good enough to sell at the Seoul Living Design Fair. If there's something you want to put in a container, that's a good enough reason to start.'

Something you want to put in a container. Jungmin thought of the caramel macchiato, milk tea and affogato that'd come to mind just before. There were definitely other things she could put in a container, too. Warm and robust ceramics fired in a 1,250-degree kiln. Into these, surely, you could put even formless things with no smell nor weight.