My dad drank coffee like a fish drinks water (do fish really drink water?). He would start our old percolator first thing in the morning, fill his cup and his thermos and drink it on the way to work. As soon as he arrived at work he would make another pot and he kept ’em coming until he left for the day.
I remember him being very angry with me when I started drinking coffee at age 18. I’m not sure why since I was drinking very little coffee with my cream and sugar. Maybe that is why…I wasn’t drinking it right. He always drank it black–blacker than a thousand midnights down in a cypress swamp.
Over the years I have managed to not only drink it black, but I love a straight espresso.
Hold your applause, please.
I know the difference between a drip coffee pot, a french press and a percolator. I myself own no fewer than 4 coffee makers.
But I’m not addicted. I could quit and I would quit, but I’m no quitter.
One of the best gifts Mr. Full Cup ever gave to me was my first Mr. Coffee espresso maker. A great gift made even better when you realize he hates coffee. Which made it even funnier when at Culvers one night when we had to ask a few times if the decaf coffee was almost done because we were still waiting. When it finally was done, they brought two cups to the table.
The second best gift he gave me was my coffee grinder. I will never go back to pre-ground coffee again. Well as soon as the pre-ground coffee I have stashed around the house is gone. It’s not that I don’t like Folgers and other pre-ground coffee, I just don’t like them. They are ground centuries before they ever get packaged and sent to the stores.
Now, just so you know, the gifts mentioned above are only first and second because that is the order he gave them. I use my coffee grinder far more than I used my first Mr. Coffee Espresso machine. In fact, I donated the original espresso maker when Mr. FullCup gave me a combination coffee pot/espresso maker.
If it’s true that “a pictures worth a thousand words”, I should seriously shush right now.
But how fun would that be?
You know there is something seriously wrong with someone who knows for two days, 2 DAYS, she is out of milk and can’t remember to go to the store and get some. Seriously, there is something very wrong about that. So God made me crave a mocha on this blustery cold Autumn day. (Doesn’t Autumn sound so much better than Fall? So much more sophisticated? I digress…again.) In case you were wondering it is incredibly difficult, nigh on to impossible to make a mocha without milk.
The only thing that could make this day more perfect, is a maid, and a cook. But I’ll settle for a good cup of coffee.
Yup. That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout!