Coffee and me


Coffee machine

I’ve bought a coffee machine. I know. The guy who drinks nothing but tea (and alcoholic beverages obviously) has bought a coffee machine.

Apparently this coffee machine does everything, apart from make tea. You name the coffee type, it does it. Latte, Flat White, Espresso, um, some others.

It comes with a recipe book of 40 beverages – all coffee.

My Dad introduced me to coffee at an early age. He always used to take a flask to work with him and on weekdays it could come home empty. The kitchen would fill with the smell of the coffee when he opened it to rinse it out.

On a Saturday Dad did a half day and would be home in time for lunch. Inevitably there’d be some coffee left in the flask.

It had been in there for about six hours and had bobbed about in the car for a good few miles to his work and back. There was always excitement when he arrived home at and there was still some left. Then it was between me and my slightly older brother to fight over who would get it. Looking back now I think he probably got more of it than me, but unlike the coffee, I’m not bitter.

Actually it was grey and warm and stewed and let me tell you, it tasted grey and warm and stewed. As it was the only coffee we were allowed to drink that’s what I thought coffee tasted like.

Later in life, when I had a proper coffee, I realised two things. Firstly, I wasn’t a big coffee lover and secondly, Dad’s coffee was disgusting. I think that’s why I turned to tea.

More recently I’ve grown to like coffee. I tend to drink it when I’m abroad – mainly because no other country knows how to make tea correctly.

I think I may grow to like it even more now I have this contraption and I’m prepared to try out the different ‘recipes’ in the book – which actually reads more like a collection of witch’s spells with its spices and syrups.

I may even try and recreate Dad’s coffee for old time sake. Not to drink, of course, but to give to my coffee stealing brother next time he comes round.


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