Instant coffee is not good.

There are literally zero intelligently placed outlets in my bedroom. None.

It’s like whoever built this place was all: “OH what’s that? You want a lamp next to your bed? An alarm clock on your dresser? Electrical access near your desk that houses a computer, lamp and one billion chargers? NO.”

As a result of this cruel construction worker’s practical joke, I have all these MF surge protectors strung across the room with stupid ugly cords shooting out in all directions. It makes me crazy. If there’s one thing I hate more than cat hair it’s… nothing. But if there’s one thing I hate almost as much as cat hair it’s visible cords. Why is not the entire world wireless by now? Tell me this.

When I’m about to start menstruating going crazy I inevitably snap and start cleaning and throwing things away and exhibiting a lot of otherwise compulsive behaviors. It’s great. This month, aside from cleaning the apartment–fresh out of the shower, wearing a towel because the matter was too rage-inducing to allow time for dressing–I also went to town on those stupid cords.

Tah dah.

I know. I just lined up a bunch of frames along the baseboard to hide the surge protectors. I know. Yes, this is the best I can do. My hormones have failed me.

The moral of this story is: If you don’t like something, change it. OR… Fake it til you make it. OR… Hiding your problems behind pictures is a healthy way to cope. (Deeper Facebook social commentary! Who caught it??)

It occurs to me now (at midnight with my alarm set for 5am and this ridiculous post in existence) that I did not have coffee today. As it turns out, instant coffee is not even a little bit good.

Ikea timer... not helping.

Ah, coffee. I can’t think of a food more powerfully unifying and aggressively divisive as this humble bean.

It’s a reassuring constant that no matter where you go in the world, coffee will be there, intricately woven into the social, agricultural and political fabric that defines a country and its people. Coffee is universal in its presence in cups across the globe but unique in its preparation from country to country, household to household and person to person.

Even in my short and sheltered life, I have somehow managed to carelessly flit about at least a dozen countries, and in each one coffee was a big deal but in very different ways.

I sipped cafe con leche during merienda at tiny streetside tables in Spain. Espresso in cramped cafes crowded with businessmen in Italy. Instant Nespresso in a hammock in Nicaragua. Cappuccinos on my way to class in Chile. And, uh, tea in the United Kingdom.

Coffeeeeee

Here in the States, our coffee culture has gotten straight up out of hand. It’s all triple-venti-sugar-free-skinny-soy-caramel-macchiato-no-whip-extra-hot, and it is ridiculous. When I hear someone order coffee extra hot, I want to smack them. I’m sorry if this is you but… seriously? What does that even mean?

Me? I like espresso with one cube of sugar. Black coffee with a splash of soy milk (iced or hot… and a standard degree of heat will suffice, thank you). And if I’m feeling feisty… a soy latte.

The point of this rant about coffee is that I’ve been using a French press at home for the last couple years and I have never felt like I’ve really perfected the art.

I know what you’re thinking, “What the hell? The title of this post implied that she had the secret to perfect French press coffee. I cry foul!”

I know. I’m sorry. I don’t have the answer. I mean, I know that the grounds should be coarse. That the water should be poured just before boiling. That it should steep for about five minutes for a nice, robust brew. That the coffee should be poured into the milk and not the other way around. Nevertheless, I’ve never been impressed by my coffee brewing skills.

So. Whose got the insider scoop on what it takes to make a perfect cup of French press coffee?

Again, I know what you’re thinking. “Google it, you idiot.” But I did. And everyone says to do it differently. So if you’ve got a method you swear by, do tell.

In the meantime, I’m gonna take down my third cup of mediocre coffee this morning. Onward and upward.

Mint chocolate iced coffee

The idea for this drink sprang from my nasty little habit of chugging my iced coffee in the car on the way to wherever I am late to, post-tooth brushing.

Drinking hot coffee with a hint of toothpaste aftertaste is gag-inducing. Maybe it’s just me, but iced coffee with a lingering minty aftertaste is pretty pleasing. So I decided to do it on purpose this time.

Oh, and wouldn’t you know it? I’m late right now and chugging this coffee post-tooth brushing. How appropriate.

Coffee... chai... choffee?

I like coffee. I like it a whole lot. Ever since Stew taught me that the best part of wakin’ up, in fact, is not Folgers, I have been hooked on the good stuff.

At times I will drink coffee black. These times include espresso at the end of a long and slow dinner or terrible office coffee when there is simply no other way to get through the day.

First thing in the morning, however, is not one of those times I will drink black coffee. It doesn’t make any sense but my rationalization is that I feel too dehydrated to drink coffee alone. As if somehow the splash of almond milk I add is in any way refreshing. It’s not. Plus, coffee is not a diuretic, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking it is.

Sadly, I’ve been out of almond milk the past two days and haven’t gotten around to making more. So… uh… I’ve been cutting my coffee with… chai.

Ehhhh

Chai in a box, yes. Don’t you judge me. It was the only thing short of pickle juice I could think to pour into a drink. I think this was a wiser choice, yes?