Dear French Press,
Have you been lonely up there with the crystal vase and the juice pithcer? I want to take a moment here to express to you that I do, I truly DO feel remorse. As much as I’ve read about zen and the present moment and there being no such thing as past and future-I know. I know
that you’ve felt it, and I wish I could say I felt your absence.
I don’t know what it was that turned me. Maybe it was an overnight hotel stay, where the in-room coffee packet was especially tasty. Perhaps I just felt too busy, too pressed for time to set the timer, to do a special coarse grind on my coffee beans. For a while there, when we were broke, I really was just making my way through a huge pile of 4-cup filter packs we’d picked up from various hotel rooms back when I was too good for drip coffee.
Today was just an accident, really. The kids were asleep and I ran out of drip grind. I made a snap decision to dust you off and make use of my hurricane stash of coffee, specially ground for camp-out coffee.
Oh, Frenchie! I’ve missed you so! Please forgive me. It wasn’t until I took the first sip of luscious beauty this morning that I realized how dirty, how muddy, how….beneath me the drip coffee truly is. When I first poured this morning, I thought “oh no! I forgot the cinnamon and the vanilla and the touch of sugar that I normally add to the grounds before brewing!” I was sure the brew would be too strong, too ….. coffee.
And then it hit me. I need those additives-the sugar, the cinnamon, the vanilla- I need them because drip coffee is shit.
Frenchie, I’ll never put you high up in a cabinet I can’t reach, ever again. I love you.
Oh holy motherfucking night, I hear you.