THE PERFECT CUP OF COFFEE
My husband has a new coffee pot. It is beautiful, red and black, shiny, the carafe has a little silver hat to wear when it is perking coffee. In the middle of its gleaming redness is a small clock that tells the time and shines out like a lighthouse beacon. It is just the most splendid thing we have ever had that made coffee. The last coffee pot we purchased did not turn itself off. We were such fire hazards that there should be a law that prevents retailers from taking money from us for a pot that won’t shut itself off.
The only thing I have ever seen bigger and shinier than this pot belonged to my son-in-law, the commander. He has a regular shrine to the coffee gods in his kitchen. It warms milk and whistles Dixie, mine doesn’t. If you don’t drink a lot of coffee, not a regular addict, then you are particular about how yours tastes. I didn’t drink it for years because I thought it smelled better than it tasted. So now I have become a convert. I have two cups a day. The coffee has so much stuff added to it, it becomes dessert. It has to be as light as a tan crayola, it has to be sweet not bitter, and it should have a robust interesting flavor.
A two cup a day drinker is not actually an addict. We are more hobbyists and very critical if perfection is not achieved in our individual cups. I may never be an addict, but my day is better when I have a couple of jolts of tan crayola.