It's the mid-21st century, and real coffee is scarce.
From Naked in Death by J.D. Robb (Nora Roberts)
"Now then." Roarke slid in beside her, reached for a decanter. "Would you like a brandy to fight off the chill?"
"No." She felt the warmth of the car sweep up from her feet and was afraid she'd begin to shiver in reaction.
"Ah. On duty. Coffee perhaps."
Gold winked at his wrist as he pressed his choice for two coffees on the AutoChef built into the side panel. "Cream?"
"A woman after my own heart." Moments later, he opened the protective door and offered her a china cup in a delicate saucer. "We have more of a selection on the plane," he said, then settled back with his coffee.
"I bet." The steam rising from her cup smelled like heaven. Eve took a tentative sip -- and nearly moaned.
It was real. No simulation made from vegetable concentrate so usual since the depletion of the rain forests in the late twentieth. This was the real thing, ground from rich Columbian beans, singing with caffeine.
Source: morguefile.com; Photographer: rsbc
She sipped again, and could have wept.
"Problem?" He enjoyed her reaction immensely, the flutter of the lashes, the faint flush, the darkening of the eyes -- a similar response, he noted, to a woman purring under a man's hands.
"Do you know how long it's been since I had real coffee?"
He smiled. "No."
"Neither do I." Unashamed, she closed her eyes as she lifted the cup again. "You'll have to excuse me, this is a private moment. We'll talk on the plane."