Let's start with coffee...
This morning I got up and found, to my disappointment, that I was nearly out of coffee. The coffee filter on the Braun usually takes 4-5 spoonfuls. I only had enough coffee for 2-3 spoonfuls. Weak coffee. I prefer strong coffee to weak coffee, but weak coffee is better than no coffee at all, so, well...some days you take your coffee any way you can.
I used to work with this German woman at SFO. Ilze. She was about 50, and spoke proper English with a soft lilt and a slight accent. I always found it hard to engage Ilze in conversation. She never said much. She was a bit misanthropic. Pleasantries, that was about it for her. One day I caught her near the coffee machine, as she was making coffee, and asked her how she made her coffee. "You know, everyone seems to have their own way," I said. Actually, I had a hidden motive. Several other employees had complained about how strong Ilze made the coffee, when she made it, and I wanted to see what her technique was.
"Well," she began, almost defensively, "I like my coffee to taste like coffee." She hastily scooped five heaping spoonfuls of coffee into the dry paper filter. I nodded in agreement. Coffee that tastes like coffee sounded swell to me. Someone who plays fast and loose with the coffee scoop is not someone to fuck around with or argue with--especially before they've had their first cup. That's a hard and fast axiom in my Book of Life. "Some people here make it weak," she whispered. That was the most she had ever said to me. She let her coffee do the rest of the talking for her.
You can always judge how strong a cup of coffee is by noting the color of the bubbles floating at the top of the cup. Clear bubbles--not so strong. Brown bubbles--strong. Ilze made coffee that had orange bubbles floating on the at the top of the cup. Orange. Take a sip and you thought your head would explode. Coffee with a capital "C". Coffee that tasted like coffee.
This morning's coffee had clear bubbles. It did not taste much like coffee.
I used to work with this German woman at SFO. Ilze. She was about 50, and spoke proper English with a soft lilt and a slight accent. I always found it hard to engage Ilze in conversation. She never said much. She was a bit misanthropic. Pleasantries, that was about it for her. One day I caught her near the coffee machine, as she was making coffee, and asked her how she made her coffee. "You know, everyone seems to have their own way," I said. Actually, I had a hidden motive. Several other employees had complained about how strong Ilze made the coffee, when she made it, and I wanted to see what her technique was.
"Well," she began, almost defensively, "I like my coffee to taste like coffee." She hastily scooped five heaping spoonfuls of coffee into the dry paper filter. I nodded in agreement. Coffee that tastes like coffee sounded swell to me. Someone who plays fast and loose with the coffee scoop is not someone to fuck around with or argue with--especially before they've had their first cup. That's a hard and fast axiom in my Book of Life. "Some people here make it weak," she whispered. That was the most she had ever said to me. She let her coffee do the rest of the talking for her.
You can always judge how strong a cup of coffee is by noting the color of the bubbles floating at the top of the cup. Clear bubbles--not so strong. Brown bubbles--strong. Ilze made coffee that had orange bubbles floating on the at the top of the cup. Orange. Take a sip and you thought your head would explode. Coffee with a capital "C". Coffee that tasted like coffee.
This morning's coffee had clear bubbles. It did not taste much like coffee.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home