And part of the joy of blogging is the endless coffees, no?
STOP ME IF I’VE
told you … there I was, quietly pecking away at the keyboard when the wee bubble of thought in the back of the miasma is that is an over-heated and overactive wannabe mind finally reached the surface and went BLOOP into my attention.
Hadn’t I … didn’t I? Put the coffee on recently—like about too long ago?
Let me not digress—other than the occasional lattés in town, I stay away from coffee machines. The nearest this old poseur comes to mechanised coffee is a percolator.
My home-brew of choice comes courtesy of the notorious French Press (did the Americans ever call it a ‘Liberty’ press?) (In a national fit of pique their so called French fries were renamed ‘liberty fries’ — the gustatorial equivalent of picking up your bat, ball, and glove and bimbling off home in a fit of petulance when they wouldn’t make you captain) … but I digress:
But now it looks like this—
—which I think is quite artistic. Accidental art? Spontaneous enough to be an unconscious abstract?
Or not—to me it looks more like a petulant Daffy Duck.
Anyway, I now know to never again leave my moka unattended (yes, I do have another one.) (Not so very long ago I had two …)
LUCKILY FOR ME
The Spouse was out at the time. And I discovered with great delight that the aluminium had dribbled down through the coils of the element without becoming one with them. Even more better, no damage to the stove at all. The major leftover parts of the pot went out the window to cool off, but once I’d separated it I kept the above to serve in the office (of and as) a paperweight.
And as a practical aide memoire: to remind me that blogging is serious fun but coffee is best drunk, rather than wasted as aluminium flavoured burnt steam …
I knew I always preferred French Press—
now getting used to cold treacly coffee …