It just occurred to me this very week (I'm a little slow with the practical issues) that, since I seem to have switched permanently from espresso macchiato to espresso con panna as my favored beverage, I had the potential to free my mornings permanently and forever from the tirrany of the St@rbucks barista.
No, I'm not proud of my slavish devotion to the evil empire...but I swear they put drugs in that coffee. I just can't quit you, St@rbucks!
I can, however, quit driving five blocks every morning, waiting in line, and paying six bucks for three post-consumer-waste-recycled cups of espresso with whipped cream.
I have the technology.
So out I marched yesterday and bought myself an espresso maker - the old-fashioned, Italian-made stovetop variety. I have no use for those big machines that take up counter space we don't have (Mike uses a regular coffeemaker) and to tell you the truth, stoking up those contraptions makes me weary. I've had at least six of them in my lifetime, and every single one of them ended up re-gifted. I don't have the patience. The stovetop kind, however, that's a different story. We already have a smaller one in the Eurovan for camping trips. These I can handle.
Turbinado sugar, a can of whipped cream, my favorite Vienna mug that I found at the thrift store, and of course the inescapable multi-green kombucha, and...presto! Breakfast.
Right here in the comfort of my own home. No, this isn't nearly dark enough for me - but hey, it's my first time. A little less water tomorrow, and I'll be happy as a...as a...