The better part of coffee, not surprisingly, is coffee. Granted, I also appreciate wrapping my hands around the warm cup, savoring the distinct flavor of fresh coffee, and, finally, feeling the internal pulse of warmth with each sip. I can even attest to enjoying the ritual of making coffee. Setting up the machine and ingredients, then brewing a generous carafe filled with hot coffee, provides me with a measure of something that snuggles nicely between comfort and satisfaction.
I am still “old school”
in my coffee making. I like brewing a whole pot with coffee I grind myself. I
even appreciate the guttural sounds of superheated water surging through the
machine and anticipate the final gasps it emits before silence calls me into
the kitchen to pour a fresh cup.
Yesterday, after
several minutes of listening to my coffee maker hissing, gasping, stamping its
feet, cursing in Hebrew, wheezing, and even whistling a little, it finally fell
silent, signaling completion. At that moment, I launched from my sofa and rushed
into the kitchen—only to discover a freshly brewed pot of hot, clear water.
I had neglected a key
ingredient: coffee.
For my curse word, I
employed English.
—Mitchell Hegman
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