just a coffee blend

Donut Store Blend

Gone the way

of the phone booth

and station wagon,

the morning tradition

is dunked, or otherwise

reduced to an essence

added to the grind,

a kind of tribute.

Time-travel across

the politically correct,

wrap one in wax paper,

dribble jelly for old times' sake,

the icing so sweet

it makes your teeth hurt.

tk/February 2012

Listen to R.A.D. Stainforth's sweet reading ... guaranteed to make you dribble jelly ...

Visit his great blog Black Dogs.

Join The Mag creative writing group. 
image: Epic Mahoney

press pots, vices, happiness

It started last week, when I was thinking about hurricane Irene, the possible flooding, those who would be without power.  My mind took off on a rabbit trail.  How would all those Manhattanites survive without their cuppas? I remembered that French press coffee making method.  It doesn't require electricity, does it?

Every Friday, like clockwork, I pop into my local Gee-Dub (Goodwill Store) for a quick browse. What did I find, side by side, doppelgangers in the dishware?  Two perfectly new French presses marked $3 each, in green wax china marker, looking all lonely and wishing for the kitchen at Willow Manor.  I had to. Besides, I had already been thinking about French press coffee.  It was fate.

That afternoon, I tossed some freshly ground coffee into one of the cute little glass and chrome pots, added boiling water, waited a few minutes, then slowly pressed the grounds to the bottom.  Heaven; and even more so, since I had given up coffee several years ago, to cure my insomnia.  To make a long story short, I am now drinking coffee again.  It makes me happy.  I'm sleeping fine.  I love coffee.  It was silly to give it up.

"People always think that happiness is a faraway thing,"

 thought Francie, "something complicated and hard to get.

  Yet, what little things can make it up; 

a place of shelter when it rains - 

a cup of strong hot coffee when you're blue; 

a cigarette for contentment; 

a book to read when you're alone - 

just to be with someone you love. 

 Those things make happiness."

  

Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

a special cuppa

Coffee in styrofoam is against my religion.

Betsy Cañas Garmon

my sprigware cup and saucer

It's not my imagination. Coffee and tea actually do taste better when sipped from something lovely. A few years ago, I switched from coffee to tea, and contrary to my preconceived notion, it didn't kill me. My bits of insomnia are now nearly non-existent, but I do sorely miss my java. I had to celebrate this weekend and have a nice strong cuppa, with real cream, in my pretty new vintage cup! My dear friends, Kary and Teddy, sent it to me, as part of her one year blogoversary celebration giveaway over at My Farmhouse Kitchen. Pop over and pay her a visit. Tell them Willow sent you. Grab a wonderful recipe or two, while you're there.

sprigware collection
from Country Living

Isn't it just too charming? Kary tells me its called "sprigware", I term I was unfamiliar with, so naturally, I headed to Google. I didn't find much on the subject, but I did learn that much china in early America was imported from Great Britain. "Sprigging" is a technique used in the manufacture of pottery, where ornaments are moulded or stamped separately, and then attached, or "sprigged" to the body of the piece with slip. Sprigging was used extensivley in Staffordshire. From what I can tell this lovely little sprigware cup and saucer dates from the mid-1800's.

That cup of coffee was extra heavenly. My will power remained intact, and I just had one cup. Kary was kind enough to tuck in a few packages of Starbucks delicious madeleines as an added treat. She must have picked up on the wavelength of my goal to make the best madeleines in the Midwest. I have a delicious new recipe for madeleines from Margaret, and her beautiful blog, The Earthly Paradise. Now all I need is the pan. So, stay tuned.

coffee, bullvinkle and me

I miss my Java. Okay, I admit it, on special occasions, like yesterday, Easter morning, I treat myself to a cup. The days of my morning potfulls are gone. A year or so ago, I went cold turkey off the bean. You know, it wasn't nearly as difficult as I thought. I braced for all kinds of nasty withdrawal symptoms; headaches, dragging around in a zombie-like state. But, no, I sailed into tea drinking seas quite smoothly, I'm proud to say, and I'm sleeping again, like a baby.

Don't get me wrong. Tea can't even be compared to The Cuppo. I would refer to it as "cuppa", but that would be considered female, wouldn't it? Coffee is definitely masculine in my book, full of brawn and gusto. Maybe I should call it "Javo", as well? Tea, on the other hand, is delicately feminine. I like tea, but it isn't a qualified replacement for coffee. I realize how much I miss coffee, after I have a cup. That rich, dark, glorious jolt sends me to the stars, or actually, to be more specific, it sends me to Bullwinkle.

Since I rarely drink it, the grand fix of caffeine makes me jazzed. The theme song from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show (that would be "Bullvinkle" to Boris and Natasha) spins fast in my head. So, while I'm in temporary heaven, with the aroma and flavor, the jolt makes me fly like a supersonic squirrel. Not to worry. I visit Bullwinkle J. Moose and his friends, in Moosylvania, where it's good to the last drop, only occasionally, like on Ground Hog's Day and Easter.