He blames his love of the stuff on a good friend of his mother's, "Aunt" Rosemary. A memory of visiting at Aunt Rosemary's house when he was about five years old stands out in his mind. The ladies were having a chat over coffee, and he asked if he could please have a cup. (I've always suspected he was a precocious little bugger.) Aunt Rosemary dutifully poured him a cup of milk and added a dollop of her good, strong coffee.
This perked coffee has turned out to be of such excellent quality that he decided we really should have a bigger percolator pot that would brew more cups at a time, in order to serve company. So he found this old
I just love the looks of this coffeepot . . . so sturdy, so 1950s, so forever!
Even though I'm not a true, pure, coffee drinker (both my parents were big-time java lovers and often said they wondered if my brother and I had both been switched in the hospital at the time of our respective births because neither of us ever cared for the stuff), I do like my homemade latte most every morning. My little, cheapo espresso machine provides that one luscious cup of foamy milk laced with a little coffee flavoring which is just fine for me. But I sure do delight in the smell of
Ah, yes, it truly is the little things in life. Or perhaps it's not such a little thing when you enjoy coffee the way my husband does. Take time to smell the roses? Absolutely. But don't forget the percolating coffee, too.