I really wanted to love my French press coffeemaker. Friends have raved about the coffee, about the ease. It seemed like such a trendy new way to make coffee. And I do like how it tastes. When I went on a writing retreat last summer and learned how to make it well (use water hotter than the directions indicate). I’ve used it in the evening to make a cup or two and I do enjoy it then. But in the morning? I’ve tried it for about the past month. It takes about 10 minutes to make: heat the water, steep the coffee…the clock ticks slowly on until it’s ready. But my regular coffeemaker has a timer so I can set it to start just before I get up, and the coffee is ready-to-drink when I get to the kitchen. An added bonus is that the smell of coffee first thing in the morning. So while I wanted to really love my French press, last night I plugged in the old coffeemaker again. I like the French press. Really I do. I’ll still use it. But I woke up this morning to already-made coffee., and sighed with happiness.
Quote of the month (or week).
Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits. ~ Carl Sandburg