Every time I see the word “decaf” a little voice inside my head responds “fuck off.” I’m not even kidding.
Coffee is my last remaining vice and I have no intentions of ever giving it up. I drink it all day, every day and if it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.
That said, I denied being a coffee snob until my husband bought me this little beauty for my birthday almost two years ago:
We were two months into the pandemic lockdown and I was brewing a LOT of coffee. Like, several pots a day, because despite claiming to not be a coffee snob, I refused to drink coffee that had been sitting for a couple hours.
This glorious machine brews one cup at a time, grinding beans on demand. It is de-licious coffee and now that I’ve grown accustomed to perfect, on-demand brew, I have to own up to it: I am a coffee snob.
But you know what? I don’t drink, I don’t smoke. I quit doing drugs a long while back. So dropping a little hard earned cash on quality coffee feels totally justified. I mean, compare a nice bottle of wine to a pound of fancy beans – no contest. Coffee is cheaper, it doesn’t give me a hangover, and it’s acceptable to bring it to parent/teacher conferences.
If you ever need ideas for what to get me (did I mention my birthday is coming up…?) coffee is always a win.