Okay. I drink a lot of coffee. In recent years I’ve cut back…some. We’re still a two-pot-a-day household but now the afternoon pot is only eight cups instead of the twelve my mornings require.
In my humble opinion, the coffee we make at home is the best anywhere. We have a Cuisinart Grind-N-Brew coffeemaker and only use Eight O’Clock coffee beans. I put the beans and water in at night, push the button, and at exactly six o’clock the next morning, the sound of the beans grinding wakes us up. The second pot goes on as soon as I get home from work–earlier on weekends.
Years ago, I put cream and sugar in my coffee. That stopped when my coworkers would use creamer and sugar but refused to bring any in to the office. Now I drink it black and strong. I like our coffee so much that I’m hardly able to drink coffee made elsewhere. It’s a curse. When we travel we take our own coffee, a small grinder, and a coffeemaker.
We don’t, however, take our coffee cups. When I was growing up, I remember Mom and Dad arguing about coffee cups. We had a maybe four of the white ceramic cups they both preferred. Dad routinely took them to work with him. I remember his car always smelled like spilled coffee and cigarettes. Mom bitched because he wasn’t very good at remembering to bring them home which forced her to drink her coffee from an inferior mug.
As I was emptying the dishwasher today, I realized that my partner and I are equally particular about our coffee mugs. I prefer the brighter colors from our assortment of Fiestaware–yellow, red, and orange–in that order. I can use light or navy blue if necessary, but grumble if I’m forced to drink from the maroon mug or one of the numerous turquoise mugs in our collection.
My partner uses a nearly spherical crockery-type mug (with a flat bottom of course) first, then a chipped up white coffee cup from his youth with the Bearenstain Bears on it, and if necessary, one of two turquoise Fiestaware mugs we have that annoy me because they are just a tiny bit taller than the rest and have over-sized handles on them.
Dad didn’t have a to-go coffee cup. I have two that hold at least two and maybe three full cups of coffee. They’re identical, and I’ve had them since at least 1990. Once upon a time, they had some kind of logo on them that long ago came off in the dishwasher. One of them accompanies me to the office every day. It didn’t take my partner long to learn to leave my damn to-go cups alone.
I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Now my partner has his own to-go cups. Fortunately, we have enough coffee mugs that they’re not a source of conflict here in…
My Glass House