all the hype. AND, dammit, actually surpasses my expectations.
I DON’T WANT
to come across as free advertising for a commercial product. No way. But if that’s how you want to take an honest unsolicited unrewarded review, feel free to go for it …
(No, not yet—keep reading)
I’ve spent a lifetime trying for the perfect brew. I’ve used all forms of devices, I’ve percolated, festered in pots, simmered on stovetops, dripped, cona-ed, dribbled, filtered through layers … everything.
In the end—
—I resigned myself to bimbling in to town and sitting at the feet of cheerful baristas (baristae? Damme to hell if the English language ain’t complicated) (oh, not English? Thank the heavens for that!) several times a week.
“Mr Argus, Sir!”
(Little Ollivia, being emphatic—how nice.)
“Yes, sweet Child?”
“You’re rambling again~!”
Oh. Yes. I spent the fortune (that most men of my age spend on booze) on coffee, and was mostly almost satisfied. The professionals could gurgle out a good drop, true, but that was from complex machinery and in town. At home I was almost desperate—
“Get to the point!”
Oh. Yes. But I am … pedantic little bat, it’s like having two wives—
“Sir! Don’t make me come over there~!”
To set the scene (if she’ll let me) in town there was one coffee place that served a superlative brew. Owned and run by a German family, who sold up and moved to other fields but their legacy lives on. I think he (German guy) trained and qualified as a top chef and was forever testing his experiments on moi and The Spous—
—and anyway one of the staff also now has his own place, is still wonderful coffee, and laughed when I told him how I made coffee at home. And sold me a gadget of dubious appearance but excellent reputation. In brief, I bought the necessaries and eventually (last week) tried it out …
Just like all the others, not.
The coffee was superb. To die for. And immediately, just like that, obsoleted/redundified a lifetime’s collection of gadgets and methods.
“Mr Argus, Sir?”
(Oh no … wot now?)
“Aren’t you going to name it? You know, tell ’em what it is?”
“Can’t, Ma’am. To name the Aeropress might be construed by some as unethical in an uncommercial blog—”
“They may hate you otherwise, Sir—”
“Kismet, Child. And now please excuse me … time for a gorgeous morning coffee. Don’t wait up.”