Thursday, September 8, 2016

The Three Dog Night Defense

The setting: a court room. A man sits slumped in the witness chair. The prosecution begins:

You say this 'Jeremiah' was a...(dramatic pause followed by disbelieving look towards the jury) a BULLFROG??? 

-yes. He was a good friend of mine.

Really? A good friend. Just how good a friend was he,sir, if -and I quote- 
(Looks down at sheet of paper and reads) 'I never understood a single word he said'. 
Yet, (lays paper down on bench, softens look briefly as shakes head) yet, still, you drank his wine....
Was it 'mighty fine'? Was it? (Slaps hand on bench in front of witness) Was it in fact might fine wine?! 

(Defendant draws himself up to full height, stands, faces jury)
Yes! I did it for the boys! And the girls! And all those fishies in the deep blue sea! 
Yes! (Looks imploringly at audience spreads open palms out in sweeping motion) I did it for you and me!
(The audience erupts in shouts and wild 70's electric organ music as bailiff drags defendant from room)

Prosecution stacks papers, throws them into briefcase clicking it shut as she says:
Yes, he always had some mighty fine wine....

(Inspired by a derogatory comment over my decision to taunt my husband with a line from the Three Dog Night song ONE last night as we fought over the bed sheet.)
Apologies to Hoytt Axton. Although I could totally see him playing the judge in this scenario. 

Friday, September 2, 2016

I mean, It Has Method Right in the Name...

I admit it.

I am not as hip and cool as I once thought.
But I am trying.
I have pushed through my comfort zone to give something new, foreign, slightly dangerous a try.

You see, after much prodding and taunting by some younger, hipstery co-workers, I finally given the Pour Over Coffee Method a try. 
The curve of the carafe. The scent of the brew. How totally sensual...
I have long been a Mr. Coffee Pre-Programable Drip Coffee Maker woman. From my first four cup pot, hidden discreetly on the allowable mini-fridge in my dorm room to the fancy new ten cup carafe-slash-single serve pod pot my family gave me for Christmas last year, I have always been a drip coffee maker. 
While not an actual 'Mr. Coffee', I feel Joe approves.
Sure, I strayed from time to time.
Back in the 80's my parents gave me a tiny espresso maker.
After visiting my NYC brother in the 90's I gave the French Press a go.
Yet I always returned to my beloved Mr. Coffee Pre-Programable Drip Coffee Maker.

Mr. Coffee is convenient. Set it and forget it until you get up in the morning to the earthy, heady scent of freshly brewed beans. (I can say beans as, since my espresso period, I have always ground my own beans.)
Mr. Coffee is familiar. My Mom used one. So did my Grandma.
Although when we camped, my Mom used a tiny percolator pot set directly over the camp fire and on special family events Grandma would drag out the hefty 35 cup percolator. It was fun to watch the coffee pop up into the glass bulb in the center of the lid and even more fun to wash the stem and metal basket. If you pushed those babies down into the dishwater with the correct pressure and angle and probably torque, you could send tiny bubbles flying all over the kitchen.
Most importantly, Mr. Coffee is safe. There was NO direct access to boiling water. Sure, this results in a barely tepid cup of coffee, once the tap water has heated up and dripped through the grounds and filter into the pot which sits on a heated burner. But seriously, how else can you get that authentic burnt coffee diner smell?
Most recently I have taken to pouring the freshly dripped coffee into a thermal carafe. Thus leaving not one but TWO pots of stale coffee stains to wash when I get home from work.

I feel it was a cruel twist of fate that, as I strolled through the coffee maker aisle at Target, wistfully staring at the Ninja Coffee Bar System, that I noted one lone pour-over pot with a red clearance sticker. It was as if Joe Garagiola himself were standing in front of me, bathed in heavenly light. Only it wasn't Joe Garagiola, he was hunched over the Mr. Coffees with his heavenly head in his hands.
Nope, it was more like an Indie Band bass player with a man bun, excessive yet well-groomed facial hair, and a local brewhaus t-shirt, staring at his I-phone arranging a ride from Uber, bathed in the heavenly glow of an organic, fair trade dark roast.

There was no judgement as I checked out with my fancy new coffee pot. I stopped at the in-store Starbucks and bought a bag of 'limited edition, single source, hand roasted' beans and hurried home, crafting my reason for buying yet ANOTHER coffee pot.
Rob just shook his head.
He does not drink coffee.

And now I am converted.
The coffee is smooth, although it does take a little longer to prepare in the mornings.
I am working at convincing myself that the process of warming the carafe, grinding the beans to a the perfect medium – between coarse French Press and super fine Turkish, waiting for the water to boil then slowly pouring said water of said medium ground beans is making me mindful of my activities and more appreciative of my mornings.

As opposed to making me late for work...

But it's totes worth it.
For Realz.
My coffee pot collection from left, Turkish Ibrick, Bunn Espresso with built in frother, Bodum French Press, Birletti espresso pot. I feel my very international in my caffeine hobby.

Check out the featured post on the right for a story of how COFFEE has gotten me into trouble. One of many. Not the last...