Coffee Fiction

Every morning before I begin WORTHWHILE and PRODUCTIVE endeavors, there is coffee.  The making of coffee is the pause before the leap; a favorite ritual to ring in the day.  I use a French press: an elegant beaker gilded with modern steel and made useful by a black c-shaped handle.  The filter has to be reassembled each morning as I faithfully wash it after each use.  After setting a pot of water on the stove, I turn my attention toward the beans.

Coffee beans have a powerful, velvety aroma so I inhale deeply before I tumble a half cupful of them into a grinder.  The penetrating whir of the grinder is an unfortunate necessity, but mercifully short. Rich brown gravel, loosely measured, is spooned into the press – 1 rounded tablespoon.  While I wait for the water to boil the day’s tasks conspire to intrude; an unintended consequence of the watched pot.  I struggle to preserve the mood but the pot screams just in time, neutralizing any conflict.

I pour bubbling water into the press, stir the coffee, and replace the filter with the plunger poised in the upright position.  Some more waiting.  I press on the plunger.  I make coffee.

In a little cup with a little cream, a cream-cloud churns slowly and overtakes the new coffee, turning it pale brown.  Adding a dash of sugar makes it done.  The first sip is always the most gratifying because it quenches my anticipation.  Subsequent sips echo the promise of the first.   When I finish, I begin.


About tinspring

Blogger, marketer, social media enthusiast, wife, mother, friend, secret geek - not always in that order.
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One Response to Coffee Fiction

  1. Pingback: Coffee Nonfiction | Garlic Trampoline

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