the mystery of coffee
Good coffee is such a wonderful thing. I've gotten into a pattern of making delicious lattes. Mainly because Catherine doesn't like the burned-tasting French and Italian roasts that are popular in the Starbucks era, I've recently been buying milder roasts. This is slightly silly because [a] Catherine really doesn't like coffee at all and doesn't drink it more than about once every 2 years or so, and [b] I do like those deeper roasts.
Anyway. Lattes.
I grind the beans very very finely, and then make just enough in the press to make one large mug; then add hot half-and-half to it. Absolutely beautiful.
I've often wondered how on earth it occurred to our Ethiopian and Arabic ancestors, when faced with this bush full of red berries, to: pick the berries, forget the fruit, keep the seed, burn the seed, crush it, and soak it in boiling water. Why not do that with any seed? Why do that with this one? Whatever the answer, it's lost in the mists of time, and all we're left with is one of the great gifts of civilization.
Anyway. Lattes.
I grind the beans very very finely, and then make just enough in the press to make one large mug; then add hot half-and-half to it. Absolutely beautiful.
I've often wondered how on earth it occurred to our Ethiopian and Arabic ancestors, when faced with this bush full of red berries, to: pick the berries, forget the fruit, keep the seed, burn the seed, crush it, and soak it in boiling water. Why not do that with any seed? Why do that with this one? Whatever the answer, it's lost in the mists of time, and all we're left with is one of the great gifts of civilization.
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