Joltin' Joe
As much as some things in life change there are so many others that remain a constant. Like my french coffee press. Every morning my routine is the same. I shuffle down the stairs, wading through cats and rabbits, heading right for the electric tea kettle to boil the water for the coffee press.
While waiting I am still half dozing,shelling out disgusting canned meat by products to the cats. Once I have the coffee brewed and in my mug, I sit by the window and watch the squirrels eat the peanuts I tossed out for them while the cats sit around me, licking the leftover disgusting meat by products, off their whiskers.
It hit me today that my french coffee press has been the center of my every day morning routine for 15 years. I love my press so much that it even goes with me on vacation. I cannot abide electric machine brewed coffee while I am in a residence. I don't know why it tastes OK to me if we are out in a restaurant or coffee house but at home~it has to be pressed. Part of the issue of brewed coffee is the strength. If I drink coffee it has to be strong and taste like coffee. Most people brew it too weak for me to enjoy.
I was introduced to the french press from a woman who owned the farmhouse I rented an apartment in. My apartment was my first independent residence after I had left my husband. It was the perfect place to begin a new life. I had my three horses boarded there and my apartment was the small servant quarters that was over the kitchen of the north wing of the house. My back windows looked out over the courtyard and barn and the side windows over the rolling pastures. From my front room I could watch the sun rise and from my bedroom I could watch the sun set. My whole apartment consisted of two tiny rooms and a bathroom. I shared the humongous kitchen with the family. What actually sold me on the apartment was the gorgeous hard wood floors,deep window sills and the bathroom. It had a huge, cast iron, claw foot tub. Perfection. I knew immediately I was home.
Part of my rent and board for the horses was reduced for doing barn work. The owner and I would wake at the crack of dawn. She would feed the horses,her husband turned them out and I would clean the stalls. We worked well as a team. At first I would sit in my room waiting for my Mister Coffee machine to brew my coffee. It took forever. After a week Nikki asked if I would prefer to use her bodum? She was a tea drinker in the morning but said she used the press for guests when she had dinner parties. Since I had never seen one before I was clueless on how it worked.As she showed me I saw that it was too simple. No filters to deal with. All you have to do is put the measured coffee grinds in to the glass carafe, pour boiled water over the grounds, wait three minutes and the plunge the screened handle down. What it produced was the best cup of coffee I had ever had. Why would anyone bother with messy filters,grimy hotplates and clumsy carafes? So the love affair began.
When I eventually moved on and rented a house on another farm, my first purchase for my new home was my own electric tea kettle and coffee press.
So,there you have it. Not much point to this blog other than I am reflecting on the fact that I have moved five different times,men have come and gone, and I now only own one crippled and unrideable horse, but my bodum and I still have each other.
Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio? Easy, he is on my kitchen counter doing it the French way.
While waiting I am still half dozing,shelling out disgusting canned meat by products to the cats. Once I have the coffee brewed and in my mug, I sit by the window and watch the squirrels eat the peanuts I tossed out for them while the cats sit around me, licking the leftover disgusting meat by products, off their whiskers.
It hit me today that my french coffee press has been the center of my every day morning routine for 15 years. I love my press so much that it even goes with me on vacation. I cannot abide electric machine brewed coffee while I am in a residence. I don't know why it tastes OK to me if we are out in a restaurant or coffee house but at home~it has to be pressed. Part of the issue of brewed coffee is the strength. If I drink coffee it has to be strong and taste like coffee. Most people brew it too weak for me to enjoy.
I was introduced to the french press from a woman who owned the farmhouse I rented an apartment in. My apartment was my first independent residence after I had left my husband. It was the perfect place to begin a new life. I had my three horses boarded there and my apartment was the small servant quarters that was over the kitchen of the north wing of the house. My back windows looked out over the courtyard and barn and the side windows over the rolling pastures. From my front room I could watch the sun rise and from my bedroom I could watch the sun set. My whole apartment consisted of two tiny rooms and a bathroom. I shared the humongous kitchen with the family. What actually sold me on the apartment was the gorgeous hard wood floors,deep window sills and the bathroom. It had a huge, cast iron, claw foot tub. Perfection. I knew immediately I was home.
Part of my rent and board for the horses was reduced for doing barn work. The owner and I would wake at the crack of dawn. She would feed the horses,her husband turned them out and I would clean the stalls. We worked well as a team. At first I would sit in my room waiting for my Mister Coffee machine to brew my coffee. It took forever. After a week Nikki asked if I would prefer to use her bodum? She was a tea drinker in the morning but said she used the press for guests when she had dinner parties. Since I had never seen one before I was clueless on how it worked.As she showed me I saw that it was too simple. No filters to deal with. All you have to do is put the measured coffee grinds in to the glass carafe, pour boiled water over the grounds, wait three minutes and the plunge the screened handle down. What it produced was the best cup of coffee I had ever had. Why would anyone bother with messy filters,grimy hotplates and clumsy carafes? So the love affair began.
When I eventually moved on and rented a house on another farm, my first purchase for my new home was my own electric tea kettle and coffee press.
So,there you have it. Not much point to this blog other than I am reflecting on the fact that I have moved five different times,men have come and gone, and I now only own one crippled and unrideable horse, but my bodum and I still have each other.
Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio? Easy, he is on my kitchen counter doing it the French way.
Comments
Problem with the press is that you need to drink the coffee immediately. It gets rank within twenty minutes,so in the case of multiple cups in a morning, a drip maker would be better.
;)