A proud moment during my post-divorce bachelor period was when I bought a Keurig coffee maker. I was living under a very restrictive budget but had just completed the most difficult part because of tax reasons. Once my accountant gave me the green light, a small bit of cash again began to flow directly to me instead of the government. It wasn’t enough to change my circumstances in any meaningful way, but it was a sufficient and adequate amount where I could at least pretend that I had a taste of the good life.
“Taste” and “Good” here are subject to interpretation and definition. I knew full well that K-cups are not by definition “coffee” by any gourmet standard. But I’m also someone who has absolutely no problems with running into a 7-11, an AM/PM, or especially those frighteningly fascinating highway truck stops such as Pilot or Flying-J, and drink what can only be described as battery acid. Doesn’t taste good? Eh, so add that sugary, flavored cream that they offer and be done with it. You’re awake now at least, aren’t you? And it only cost you $1.20. Get over yourself.
Absolute true coffee to me, and I know rigid connoisseurs out there will no doubt furrow their brows in utter derision when reading this, can only come from a percolated pot. Sorry for this, but I have too many beautiful recollections of growing up in my Midwestern home and watching the coffee jump up to the pot’s glass cover while sounding the “glub, glub, glub” of its brewing cycle. A very good memory of nostalgic aroma
K-cups, I understand, are a comparative abomination to any aficionado no matter what your exacting brewing method is. But they are awfully convenient, and when first introduced, as with any new-fangled invention, I thought they were the bee’s knees.
Such was the low point of my life at that time in terms of adventure that I excitedly arrived at the office the following day, and told my co-workers all about my thrilling new purchase. One person, a pesky progressive type who heretofore had often impressed me with her crunchy-granola vibe, completely harshed my mellow by letting me know that K-cups are environmentally unsound. She went on to tell me that I could buy do-it-yourself, reusable cups that are much more responsible.
Oh. Well, THAT certainly takes all the joy out of the convenience. Kill the whales, I say.
However, another co-worker excitedly told me that she too was a recent convert. We breathlessly talked about the different coffee varieties and brands offered. She told me about tea and cocoa too. I had found a kindred Keurig fan, and we immediately made plans to split purchases to save money (Hi, H). What a life I was having– I was free, single, paying alimony, and drinking easy-to-make coffee. What could be better? Well, maybe having an actual life. Which in due course I finally got when I married Gorgeous.
In addition to all the adjustments couples make when they begin cohabitation (i.e. she likes several blankets at night, I like one only), my wife and I soon discovered that we each have profound and differing coffee preferences. Or as she plainly put it: “You like bad coffee.”
“How,” I was rhetorically asked, “can coffee possibly be any good when it’s being brewed through this cheap plastic cup?
The nice thing about rhetorical questions is that most don’t require a response, especially when the postulation is likely to be correct. Best to stay silent.
When Gorgeous moved in with me, she brought a huge Saeco espresso machine, a French press, a Baratza Encore grinder, and a Bonavita coffee maker. My bachelor pad kitchen suddenly converted over from my carefully crafted Target brand ambience to a Sur La Table chic that belied anything I would have attempted or even tried to figure out on my own. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
The Keurig was put in a closet and then kept safely in a packing box prior moving to Oregon. Once we settled in Portland, Gorgeous discovered that coffee there is considered to be as holy as Pinot Noir and long beards. Soon she was tasting from all the local roasters, in particular one called Stumptown, which was a favorite in our neighborhood and throughout the area. She was in seventh heaven.
I found most of the coffees there over-priced. Clearly it was all going over my head or at least my stomach. But such is the passion for coffee in the upper northwest that I found myself putting on a trench coat, a drooping hat over the eyes, and would walk into a mini-mart just to get an inexpensive cup. The clerk always assumed I wanted the Penthouse magazine, but I really just needed to buy my cup and then quickly leave.
When we arrived in Florida, Gorgeous was disappointed to discover that at least in our small hamlet, there are no decent coffee shops other than Starbucks. We’ve found one that’s passable, but it apparently still doesn’t have the right taste. She feels that she has been to the mountain top, and I have now taken her to a place where ordinary rules, caffeine-wise that is. I must get her soon to Miami where I know she’ll fall in love with the Cuban roasters.
To mitigate her loss, and also as a test of my budgetary patience, Stumptown packages arrive at our home from the Rose City on a regular basis. Stumptown mugs, also purchased from afar, sit in our cupboard with unspoken rules about their usage. Only when I’m feeling especially frisky and diabolical do I dare use one.
The Keurig has somehow made its way back out on our very crowded kitchen counter along with all the other fancy brewing devices. It sits in the “ghetto” area, in a corner near the garbage disposal switch and the bottle of Ajax dish soap. I again have K-cups available for my use, but they are placed in a high cupboard away from eye-level. I don’t use it that much, but I still find it helpful to have on those occasions when I only want a cup for myself, and I’m not in the mood to thumb through the 17 page instruction booklet I would need to use the other machines.
Mediocrity and me get along quite fine, thank you very much. But if you come over to visit, we’ll make sure to brew you the good stuff.