Yesterday the mood took me and I went hunting for some new coffee making appartatus. I didn’t get a replacement glass for my french press which was my original intention, but I did pick up a stove-top espresso maker and have spotted where to get the necessary component for my fallen Bodum, which shall be acquired at some point in the near future.
It was a bit of a mission tracking this piece of equipment down, but just when I had given up I bumped into a work colleague who pointed me in the direction of Habitat who could thankfully satisfy my needs. I walked home via the supermarket and picked up some fine-ground italian coffee to go with my new toy:
I eagerly read the included instructions, washed and filled the moka and went ahead with making my first, sacrificial, batch of espresso. The smell of the fresh coffee was fantastic and I was a bit disheartened with having to pour it down the sink, but I wasted no time getting setup for another run and wasn’t disappointed with the results.
The process gave me a mug(!) of rich, black, steaming espresso which I drank as fast as I could. I could feel the muscles in my jaws tighten, my stomach got a bit queasy and all I could think was “this is great, I need more!” I resisted the desire for another spin on the roundabout and needless to say, I didn’t feel entirely sleepy when it was time for me to get into bed.
Today I have went through the ritual no less than 4 times and counting my saturday afternoon routine of a quadruple shot americano at Starbucks with the troops, my espresso shot count is easily in the high twenties. And all I can think of is having more.
Beware the “little man with a mustache.”