One coffee company found it inadvisable for quite some time to say anything more substantive about its product than that it was "mountain grown."  (What other kinds of coffee are there?  Swamp grown?  Prairie grown?)

In what amounted to a series of miniature psychodramas, a young woman, feeling helpless about her inability to please her husband with her coffee, finally received comfort, guidance, and initiation into the womanly art of good coffee making from a lady whose only identified relationship was that she could not possibly be the protagonist's mother.

If the length of time this commercial was retained is any indication, it must have been quite successful at inducing young women to feel, simultaneously, "That's me," and "That's my coffee."