My day has three key points, with similar breaks in between.
‘Oh great, it’s breakfast. I’ll fix some coffee to start my day.’
‘Almost time for bed, think I’ll fix me another coffee.’
Cafes, drive-throughs, church, work: it’s become an all-day process. Coffee is either with me or waiting for me. At home, to say that I’m a minimalist, I’m also a coffee-hoarder. I didn’t even know there was such a thing, until I started organizing the kitchen in my new apartment.
The first step is admitting (I say this while taking another sip). I had my own little intervention, as I laid everything out in the open: I counted an Expresso machine, an old-fashion-dripping-pot, a Frenchpress, an electric kettle, a coffee grinder, an Areopress, a Keurig, 50 K-Cups, creamers (powder ones, liquid ones), fresh beans, filters, half bags of old coffee grounds, caramel flavored Latte foam—and the list keeps going.
A year ago, my friend mentioned that, one day, we should open up our own coffee shop, and it’s as if I’ve been preparing the inventory for it ever since.
Every month is a blank canvas