To cram everything in in the last three months before moving here, I started drinking coffee.
I really needed a pick-me-up to snap out of the heat-induced slug behavior I've been reduced to. I pulled out "The Greca" and some coffee I'd picked up the day before with visions of liquid-life-energy in my head. The process of making Dominican coffee had been explained to me and I felt confident (always do!) I could do it on my own.
(Note: I've never made coffee in my life. Not with an electronic coffee-maker and certainly not with "The Greca." I lived in the Pacific Northwest for crying out loud. Home of Starbucks, Stumptown and Seattle's Best. Want coffee? Walk to the corner with your debit card.)
I assembled my materials.
I think this is how it works...
Filter on, screw it together.
And put it on the stove to get her started.
Six minutes later, Josh walked out of the kitchen where he'd been washing dishes (gem of a man, I know).
"So, the coffee is supposed to bubble out the top, right?" he asked, calm.
My eyes darted toward the kitchen, a bit eager, "Is it ready?""Not exactly," he hates to be the bearer of bad news.
Our little greca has a very old seal on it and was happily leaking coffee out its sides.
"Well, you want some Starbucks?" Josh smiled.
"Yes, please. An iced mocha," I answered a bit too honestly.
"Okay, give me $800. I'll be back tomorrow."