The Java Chronicles

Our kitchen in the house that we will keep and rent out…before the removal of my coveted espresso machine and doserless espresso grinder. Do you see the handsome pair in the back on the counter?

Yesterday, I really hit a wall despite the great news that the sellers agreed to extend our closing a few days to accommodate our loan acceptance “waiting” period. Those who know me are aware of a very important fact: absent total desperation, I don’t do drip coffee. As a child, when “Starbuck” was still just a character in an American Renaissance novel, my dad (known to most as the “Wiz” or “Dr. Wiz” for reasons that are not pertinent to this blog entry), had his espresso machines flown in from Italy followed by visits from the electrician to change out some components and the plug and the plumber to pipe in the water.  Freshly roasted beans were FedExed in from the state of Washington as local roasters hadn’t yet popped up around our dusty Arizona desert town. Needless to say, I haven’t owned a drip coffee machine until last week when my husband bought one for our future renters. My Italian made commercial grade espresso machine, with its shiny stainless steel body and superb E-61 group head, was packed up with my utterly stylish and sleek Italian made doserless espresso grinder a couple of days ago, and it has been a veritable struggle for me since.  We had the machine on an auto timer so that it pre-heated for at least 30 minutes before we woke up each morning and I visited with Chelsea weekly at the local coffee roaster, Passport Coffee & Tea, to pick up our fresh stock of beans. After my nightly slumber, I awoke to what I believed to be my espresso maker awaiting my arrival.  But, I walked into the kitchen and there it was….the Cuisinart. With its bulbous glass carafe and dull plastic exterior, it looked like an alien…a total affront to what is common and decent in a real kitchen. How could I live this way?  I couldn’t do it again.  I hopped in the Uber to go to work (since we are now down to one shared vehicle) and reluctantly offered to buy the Uber driver whatever he wanted to take me through the Starbucks drive-through.  He did it. I paid and my Uber drive cost double than it should have. It was bittersweet. And it will start all over again each morning until our departure.

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