I’m sitting here drinking the perfect cup of coffee. My husband Ric, still over the moon with his new mega espresso maker, is keeping me well caffeinated. He has been pouring over the endless sources of coffee porn on the internet, perfecting his technique and it has paid off. We are becoming obsessed with our morning cappuccinos, mid-day lattes and evening wine choices (more about wine on another day).
As a result of Ric’s boundless thirst to learn everything there is to know about the bean, roasting, crema, the size of the bubble in the steamed milk (seriously) and the temperature and pressure of the steam, I believe I have become a spoiled, over-indulged coffee snob. While I’m really all about the taste, feel, texture and aroma of what passes by my lips, he is educating me on what to look for in the perfect cup of Joe. The truth is, he has raised the bar so high that a simple Starbuck’s latte now tastes like watered down warm milk with a hint of coffee. Not swill, but definitely not the satisfying sip that greets me every morning when Ric hands me my first cup of the day and I swoon…over the coffee, yes, but mostly over my handsome barista.
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