…No joking matter…
Two mornings ago, I went to make coffee only to make the crushing realization that our coffee maker had suddenly broken. I mean – just like that – it up and left us. It was devastating and shocking… and just days after I publicly proclaimed my happy-to-be-addicted-to-coffee way of living… which I suppose qualifies it for an annulment…
Anyway… I chatted with a friend this morning as I prepared my replacement beverage, and spotting the tag hanging out of my cup, she asked “Oh – are you still on tea?” I sighed, reported my heartbreak and she responded with “oh it must be a sign”. I was too annoyed to pick up on her sarcasm (plus her dad and husband are both pastors, so I’m never really sure if she’s inadvertently passing along a message from God…), so I changed the subject.
Tonight, unable to withstand the thought of even one more minute passing without coffee, I gave in to my urge and mentally committed to my French Press, which is one of the best ways in which to prepare coffee. I LOVE coffee made from the French Press; I think there is nothing like the amazing array of flavors released when coffee is prepared in this manner, and given the choice, would choose this method of preparation over any other…. when I’m not the one responsible for cleaning the press.
This is not the case in my home.
I have literally left grounds in my press for days – hoping that someone would take the hint and decide to clean it for me. No such luck (and by the way – these things are even more unpleasant to clean when they have sat for days!). Inevitably, I always wind up with the responsibility of cleaning the beast. How do people cope with all the grounds after making their coffee? I constantly find myself wrestling with the options:
1. Do the best you can and don’t stress about remaining grounds, and try not to wonder how long it will take for bacteria to begin to fester in said aged grounds
2. Do the best you can and then rinse the press under the water, gleefully watching the remaining grounds merrily make their way down the drain, whilst both trying not to wonder how long it will take for under-the-kitchen-sink plumbing to get clogged and also what one’s husband might say to one regarding her clear lack of regard for plumbing sensitivity while he attempts to de-clog it
All of this was circulating in my mind as I prepared what I knew would be an amazing return of rich coffee, probably worth the cleaning nightmare, given my overwhelming craving. As I waited for the steeping to complete, I turned to my computer when suddenly I heard
With a sinking heart, I spun around and had my momentarily worst fears realized: my French press had broken; shattered glass, hot coffee-ish water and piping hot coffee grounds were streaming everywhere – under every canister, the mixer, down the cupboards, onto the floor, under my paper towel holder (which I realized was empty – DARN!) and under an array of candy-filled plastic packages. I stared – devastated. Not only had my backup option also decided to abandon our contract – but it had also left me with what was certain to be countless wiping and rewipings of coffee grounds and sticky residue. Eventually I was able to beckon myself to action, grabbed nine towels (literally) from the drawer, sopped up the mess, nursed a cut from a shard of glass attempting to make itself invisible and resolved to buy a coffee maker first thing in the morning. Then all of a sudden, I heard my friend’s (uninvited) words from earlier in the day echoing in my head… “Must be a sign”. Sighing with the seeming moral predicament in which I suddenly found myself, I mournfully laid the broken press to rest atop of a bed of trash, and gave up on any further attempt to clean.
Afraid now to use our stovetop espresso maker for fear of what calamity could result, I presently sit on the sofa, typing this post, coffee-less and miserable; wrought with indecision, eating dark chocolate peanut butter cups, with a stomach ache, counting down the hours until I need to get out of bed, go into the cold, dark driveway, start my car and go workout to burn off the calories I’ve just consumed.
Summer, please come.