It's a caffinated world (and I'm just living in it)

My dad does not appreciate my coffee.
OK, it's a tad bit on the bold side.
I blame the Italians.
Already a coffee snob, I went to Italy, where they know coffee (according to historians: "Coffee was believed by some Christians to be the devil's drink. Pope Vincent III heard this and decided to taste it before he banished it. He enjoyed it so much he baptized it, saying 'coffee is so delicious it would be a pity to let the infidels have exclusive use of it.' ")
If I could (afford) it, I'd buy a real espresso machine.
And I'd start my day - every day - with real coffee.
As it is, I make my brew in the best coffee maker I can afford. The Hamilton Beach coffee reservoir.
Dad has an ancient Mr. Coffee.
"Jeez, this will grow hair on you balls," he said (and I had doused his cup with a lot of hot water).
Today I decided to go to Starbucks, and have the nice gals there fuck up an Americano for me (they did; I just don't know how you can fuck up espresso and hot water).
"You going out for coffee?" dad said.
"Yep."
"Use my cup in the car, get me a couple shots of Irish creme and fill the rest up with decaf," he said of the grocery store's deli coffee. "That'll be 50 cents."
Mine cost $2.78.
The horror, the horror.

1 comments:

Jason said...

Say man... When you get back you've got to drop by the shop for a coffe from my mom's new automatic espresso/coffee machine. It is a Swiss made thing (brand name Jura, I think) and it makes the best coffee I've ever tasted.