When my old coffee maker finally died, after years of faithful service, Cherie gently suggested replacing it with a French press. She’s been suggesting that for years. But as long as the old machine was chugging along just fine, I didn’t see any need to switch, even if it meant continuing to buy coffee filters.
Change doesn’t come easy to me. I’m sort of naturally disposed to keeping familiar things they way they are. I’m not adventurous.
But I reluctantly agreed to give it a try, after Cherie brought one home saying she could return it if I didn’t want it.
Morning number one I grumbled through the process, half-asleep–boil water in tea kettle, pour over grounds, let steep, depress plunger, pour and drink coffee. The result was a fine cup of coffee, but it seemed more trouble than I was used to.
Day 2 I didn’t have to think about it much. I let the coffee steep a little less, so it was hotter.
Day 3 it was my new morning routine. Seemed effortless.
So now I’m a fan of the press. No more electric coffee makers and disposable coffee filters for me.
On a completely unrelated subject, yesterday was the 35th anniversary of the murder of John Lennon, a day I will always remember. My thoughts on that, from five years ago: This Bird Has Flown.