On the Importance of Coffee
Grumble, rumble, yaaaawwwn. I look at the clock and see that I've overslept, despite having the talk show blaring into my ear disparate views of the day's political themes. I stumble through washing and dressing and wander downstairs, feeling like Dolly Parton's song, 9 to 5, "Tumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen,/Pour myself a cup of ambition/yawnin', stretchin, tryin' to come to life."
In the kitchen, first I feed the cats, then I get the coffeemaker ready to sing out the morning and turn on the computer and get my breakfast. After sitting a few minutes at the computer, eating my yoghurt and nuts, something is off. It's too quiet. I look around. It's the coffeemaker; it's not making any noise. Uh. Oh. I turn it off and I turn it on. Nothing, zero, zilch. The hotplate remains cold and the gurgling of water is non-existent. I've lost another coffeemaker.
Ever since my yellow Moulinex gave up the ghost some years ago, I've gone through coffeemakers as if they were disposable contact lenses. Every single one I've bought worked for a few months or a year, and then it was time to refill the prescription for morning coffee. My daughter will say I have a problem if I need coffee every single day, but it's true that the loss of my daily morning routine is upsetting. If I were not at home in the morning, I would look for coffee, and if I had was water, I'd be okay with it. But I am at home, and I drink a cup of coffee every morning with my breakfast. Do not take away my coffee.
I get out a saucepan and put some coffee in it and some water and set it on the fire. My husband told me when the last coffeemaker died, that his mother used to make coffee by boiling it. So I try to do so. I don't know if I boiled it long enough, but I turn off the fire when I think it might be done. I let it rest a little, to let the grounds travel to the bottom. I get a paper filter open on the top of my cup. I pour little by little, but it takes a loooong time to pass through the filter. If I continue to do it this way, I'll have my cup of coffee ready by lunch. I throw out the paper and try to pour without shaking up the grounds. More lands on the kitchen counter than in the cup. When I reach the appropriate amount, I stop, add milk, and drink. I don't know how my mother-in-law used to do it, but it's obviously not the way I just did it.
As I spit out coffee grounds, I decide to go to the nearest appliance store and buy a coffeemaker, without haste. I haven't the time this afternoon, and I'm not going to go through this purgatory tomorrow morning, again. So, after I return home with the cat from the vet's appointment, I sail out to choose my morning savior. I enter the appliance store, check out the shelf with the coffeemakers, decide on two, and ask which is best. The one with the better name and the bigger price has a three year guarantee, but the cheaper one gets the coffee hotter. I go with the cheaper; if coffee isn't hot, the milk will make it cold. Cold coffee in the coming winter mornings (if winter ever shows) just doesn't hit the spot.
So now the new pot is settled on its counter. Let's see how long this one lasts.
In the kitchen, first I feed the cats, then I get the coffeemaker ready to sing out the morning and turn on the computer and get my breakfast. After sitting a few minutes at the computer, eating my yoghurt and nuts, something is off. It's too quiet. I look around. It's the coffeemaker; it's not making any noise. Uh. Oh. I turn it off and I turn it on. Nothing, zero, zilch. The hotplate remains cold and the gurgling of water is non-existent. I've lost another coffeemaker.
Ever since my yellow Moulinex gave up the ghost some years ago, I've gone through coffeemakers as if they were disposable contact lenses. Every single one I've bought worked for a few months or a year, and then it was time to refill the prescription for morning coffee. My daughter will say I have a problem if I need coffee every single day, but it's true that the loss of my daily morning routine is upsetting. If I were not at home in the morning, I would look for coffee, and if I had was water, I'd be okay with it. But I am at home, and I drink a cup of coffee every morning with my breakfast. Do not take away my coffee.
I get out a saucepan and put some coffee in it and some water and set it on the fire. My husband told me when the last coffeemaker died, that his mother used to make coffee by boiling it. So I try to do so. I don't know if I boiled it long enough, but I turn off the fire when I think it might be done. I let it rest a little, to let the grounds travel to the bottom. I get a paper filter open on the top of my cup. I pour little by little, but it takes a loooong time to pass through the filter. If I continue to do it this way, I'll have my cup of coffee ready by lunch. I throw out the paper and try to pour without shaking up the grounds. More lands on the kitchen counter than in the cup. When I reach the appropriate amount, I stop, add milk, and drink. I don't know how my mother-in-law used to do it, but it's obviously not the way I just did it.
As I spit out coffee grounds, I decide to go to the nearest appliance store and buy a coffeemaker, without haste. I haven't the time this afternoon, and I'm not going to go through this purgatory tomorrow morning, again. So, after I return home with the cat from the vet's appointment, I sail out to choose my morning savior. I enter the appliance store, check out the shelf with the coffeemakers, decide on two, and ask which is best. The one with the better name and the bigger price has a three year guarantee, but the cheaper one gets the coffee hotter. I go with the cheaper; if coffee isn't hot, the milk will make it cold. Cold coffee in the coming winter mornings (if winter ever shows) just doesn't hit the spot.
So now the new pot is settled on its counter. Let's see how long this one lasts.
In Japan my spouse decided to buy one of those fancy Nespresso machines. I can't decide if I like it or not. It's a pain to buy the capsules (and I can't compost them). On the other hand we do have nice walks to go and fetch the coffee at the special store. I think when we are back in France I will just go back to using the little Italian coffeepot...
ReplyDeleteFriends of ours have one of those capsule machines, but my husband says he doesn't like the coffee they produce. They're also kind of expensive, as well as the capsules, so we stick with the Mr. Coffee type. Though I might buy an Italian coffeepot as a backup!
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