A cup of coffee

I have a dreadful confession to make:...

I don't actually like coffee.

Which is perhaps why I've never finished writing a book, why my writing/working/career have all tended to drift around chaotically rather than moving forward in an efficient, organized... no, that's probably just me, isn't it.

I was particularly ruthless in disposing last month of a large bag of especially high-quality coffee kindly given to me by Johann, my Columbian PhD student – I gave it to Michelle and her husband, and they were obviously delighted. As for me, I knew I'd never drink it.

However, my new acupuncturist/diet consultant has told me: no tea, but coffee is all right. Which seems, admittedly, to stylistically go against a whole cluster of sandal-wearing-cultural tenets, but all right, those are my orders.

I was looking online for a single-cup coffee maker – not terribly easy; a stylish little one had bad reviews, and the local department stores mostly had coffee makers that would give me anywhere from six to eighteen cups of coffee. A ridiculous waste, of course.

So I was delighted to find a single-cup maker in the specialty kitchen shop – clunkier than the stylish model, but it makes a full-sized cup of coffee, and is gratifyingly cheap.

I must also admit to liking flavored coffees (cries of 'No, no!' and 'Shame!' from the balcony, sneers from the orchestra seats). This is perhaps similar to my liking for sweet wines and liqueurs (rotten fruit thrown from the second balcony, audience members leaving in droves). So I made a cup of something that claims it is flavored with Bailey's Irish Cream (technical crew turning the hall lights off and on in protest), and it is actually quite good... smooth, really nice. Tastes brewed, not instant, not unpleasant...

Hmm: I could get used to this.

Comments

[Liz King]

I only like coffee because it reminds me of coffee ice cream, which I REALLY like.

[Cathy]

I will get some of that animal poo coffee for you for xmas... if we can share a cup
xxx