Heaven in a bag

It is hotter, said my husband.

If this is the highest compliment you can offer your morning cup of joe, my friends, then you probably should just walk away, towards a nice cup of Earl Grey or something.

Here's the thing: coffee and I have this completely co-dependent relationship.  Co-dependent in that IT depends on me to drink it, and I depend on IT to complete me. Yes.  Coffee, you complete me.

We've been experimenting the last year or so - for a while we were brewing coffee in one of those sweet little Italian stovetop espresso makers, and steaming our own milk in a separate saucepan.  The theater and drama of said preparation was remarkable [for example, the time Torbjorn put it on to boil with no water. Cue fumes from melted plastic handle for days.]  After that episode, we were obliged to switch to regular drip-method coffee, and I have explored Trader Joe's vast array of different coffee beans which you can grind yourself in the store.   I tend to stick to the fair trade and organic varieties (try reading Animal Vegetable Miracle and not feeling that compulsion), and have found a few that we like just fine.

Then, brewed nirvana presented itself on our doorstep.  A little bakery opened up in our town, a little joint called Atwater's.  They sell phenomenal bread, lovely homemade soups, and scones that my children will stomp each other to obtain.  The bread is really their 'thing.'  But their coffee. Oh! THEIR COFFEE.  They serve - and sell - Counter Culture Coffee, which, if I had a bag here I could tell you more about.   But I will say this:  drinking that inky goodness brings to mind notes of chocolate, cherries and a little tar and angels and heaven and Oh My.  

We finished our most recent purchase of Heaven in a Bag yesterday morning.  And let me just tell you, HiaB does not come cheap - you don't just stock up on 14 bags of the stuff.  We found ourselves without any ground coffee at all today. 

Instant.  Instant coffee is what laid in our bare cupboard.  (My husband may or may not have called me Old Mother Hubbard.)   We bit the bullet, boiled the water, and brewed up the liquids necessary to Get Mommy Thinking. 

Well, it is hotter,  he said, grimacing. 

I'll be at Atwaters first thing in the morning.  I do believe they open at 5.