Brew Me Up a Cup

Coffee: You either love it or hate it. Personally I love it, and my tastes are very simple. My coffee does not need to be steamed, or latte'd to be adequate for my tastes. No, my coffee needs simply to be freshly ground, all American, imported Guatemalan Folgers beans. The kind John Wayne would drink. Black as midnight, hot as hell, pure swill...pure heaven!

While I've always loved coffee, I didn't really develop a true love for coffee until I became one of those annoying teenage dweebs who hangs out at the local Flying J late at night, every night, having long hourly sessions of senseless chatter with best friends, all the while consuming cup after cup of hot refillable coffee.

Even then it wasn't until I joined the Army that my love for coffee truly 'matured'. I still ended up slumming around at some local diner for untold hours with friends, consuming everflowing streams of hot ebony liquid, that much stayed the same. But there was something about the presence of coffee itself that changed in those years of service to the military.

Coffee had now become more than just something to drink to wake you up in the morning, or a late night beverage to pass time: coffee became culture!

It was everywhere you went, at work, at the chow hall, and regardless everybody had a damn cup in their hand. You would always end up drinking it at work, whether it was 20 degrees below zero or 150 degrees Fahrenheit. You just needed to have coffee, it kept you going. It was lifeblood.

Because coffee had become culture to me, having it at work and the occasional late night sessions just wasn't enough, I had to upgrade. One day i decided to buy a coffee pot so that I could enjoy the sweet nectar of the bean in the comfort of my 12x12 room. I don't remember who I bought it from, but it was the simplest of machines. A small, white coffee pot that could brew a maximum of two cups at a time. It was magnificent.

Now that I had this amazing little contraption I could have coffee any damn time I wanted! After I got done working out every morning with my fellow soldiers, I could brew up a cup. Every time I would sit down to write and needed a non-alcoholic stimulant, I could brew up a cup. Have a few friends over to watch some serious non pornographic film and discuss afterwards, brew up a cup.

That coffee pot got some serious mileage on it.

Now this coffee pot didn't just brew coffee though, it brewed the best damn coffee known to man. I don't know what it was about that damn coffee pot, but it got the job done and it got it done right. Every time, two cups, right to the brim, exactly. Fantastic.

After I got out of the military I brought it home with me to continue brewing the most satisfactory (two) cups of coffee known to man, and brew them it did. I got so used to this magnificent little machine that I could almost time to when it would complete the brewing process. It was almost like we were one.

I would show you a picture of this fabulous coffee birthing machine if it weren't for one sad, sad fact: it died.

The damn thing just up and quit on me one day. It literally started spewing coffee out of the bottom of itself, like it just couldn't take anymore. All I could do was just stand there, stare at it, and let my mouth hang open in sadness. I knew fully well what was taking place before me, the death of a friend, a lifelong companion...I just couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it.

How many gallons of coffee had I brewed with this little machine? How many friends had I sat down and shared a cup of joe with because of this little guy? How many years did we have together? All of it gone, in an instant, all because of time.

Eventually I went off to get a new coffee pot, one that was bigger and could brew more than just two cups of coffee at a time. There were other brewers available that were exactly the same as the one that I had prior, but it just felt wrong to try and repeat the magic that we had. I knew that it wouldn't be the same.

I still reminisce about the good old days of brewing just two cups o' coffee with my percolator, I can never seem to get them out of my head and just leave them in the past. The coffee I have today just doesn't seem to taste the same.

I don't think it ever will.

So it's a Fact: I'm living proof that man can definitely learn to love machine.