My first cup was bone cold when I finally rolled out of bed. Momma made us both coffee on her way to work. I was happy to finally finish it and make my second cup, expecting the cold weather we didn't seem to get. It's t-shirt weather out there today.
We use a French press and are a little snobbish about coffee. It's one of those things where once I finally tasted truly good coffee, I couldn't go back. Now I'm further ruined by the press. We used it on occasion before, when we had a normal drip maker. Something in the lid of the carafe for the drip maker decided not to work, so we just started using the press all the time.
My first cup, cold, we've been there already. My second cup, I didn't set a timer and completely forgot about it. My coffee, which should have steeped for about six minutes sat waiting my return for about twenty.
That's my typical coffee story. Some days, every single cup is great. Some days, I manage to skirt quality coffee at every chance. But then I remember how good my bad coffee is compared to what most people call coffee.
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