An impromptu visit to the home of friends on this chilly first weekend of autumn.  Just a quick few days out of the unrelenting heat of Southwest Florida. Awakening earlier than the rest of the house, before the solitude erupts with frenzied activity this morning.  I’m going to sit by the huge, bay windows in the kitchen with a cup of hot coffee and gaze out at this incredible terraced yard, the gardens now showing signs of the night chill that turns flowers into darkening clumps that fall to the ground with even the gentlest touch.  I rumble through the beautifully appointed kitchen trying to locate the coffee maker.  Much to my despair, as I peruse the dazzling array of kitchen ware, very Williams Sonoma mind you, I cannot locate anything resembling a simple coffee brewing apparatus.  Of course, the obligatory Espresso / Cappuccino machine at the ready should I desire to foam the milk that will blanket my high octane.  My friend’s kitchen is a wonderful melding of two culinary philosophies and styles, chic moderne, and rustic Mediterranean.  Behind the gorgeous maple cabinetry with it’s glistening chrome and black hardware handles, live the hand crafted cups, plates, and bowls upon which many scrumptious Italian meals have filled not only my expanding belly but my soul as well.

My predicament this a.m. is simple, the first light of day is beginning to peer through the tangle of woods that encircle this remarkable property and I need coffee, NOW.  Where is the coffee maker?  As I continue my quest, I look for a familiar name, Braun, Krups, anything, I’ll settle for Hamilton Beach, I just want a cup of coffee.  I think of myself as a resourceful woman.  My many years of solo camping will come in handy this morning, as I devise a plan that will produce my greatly desired morning nectar. When deep in the woods on my camping excursions, I would boil water on my mini, ultralight camp stove and pour the hot water over coffee grounds.  The grounds would steep almost like a tea bag, transforming plain old water into what I affectionately refer to as “Northwood’s nectar”, camp coffee. Many incredible sunrises have been ushered in, with a hot, steaming cup of coffee drawn to eager lips, by hands molded around a tin cup for reassuring warmth.  Making coffee this way is a simple process, and with the absence of a real coffee pot, I shall adapt to my environs.  With a quick turn of a knob, the burning yellow flame of the restaurant style gas stove ignites under the teakettle. Now where do they keep the coffee?  Not only has the coffee maker hidden itself from me this silent morning, but also how could this coffee indulged household be out of coffee?  Impossible I tell you!  To my great surprise, I discover four glass canisters of various sizes, buckled shut to keep the freshness in. Why would you have not one, but four canisters filled with coffee?  I told you they were indulged, at least with coffee.  Investigating further, I remove the lids one at a time and discover to my horror, flavored coffee.  Now I’m no coffee snob, but I am a coffee purist. Purist I said. I want my coffee to taste and smell like coffee.  The aromas emanating from those canisters were almost too much to bear at such an early hour.  Raspberry coffee? I think not.  Each noseful of flavored coffee made me sink with disappointment.  Any regular, good old-fashioned Chock full of Nuts?  Maxwell House perhaps? My friends, the homeowners, although reasonable people, seem to partake of the flavored stuff on a regular basis. Far be it from me to be judgmental.  To each her own. Coffee purist, that’s me.  Here’s a simple test, well actually a barometer of coffee purism.  Do you prefer Starbuck’s coffee, so strong it will put hair on your chest?  Or do you like Dunkin’ Donuts, smooth, and drinkable? (No hair here).

Which is it? Come on fess up.  Better yet, tell me, do you enjoy flavored blends like Hazelnut, or Irish Cream? Cup o’ Joe for me.  What does your coffee consumption say about you?  My thesis is people may be attempting to live a more amenable and upscale existence through the foods they consume and most certainly by the beverages they drink.

So here they are, the flavored coffees, each in their respective canisters, perched atop the glistening counter. My quest has led me to the “foofy” coffee, now where’s the real stuff?  This kitchen, with its’ nod toward the modern, possess a pantry, and a big one at that, a walk in pantry, the size of my bedroom.  It feels so homey, provisions overflowing, stocked full on the shelves.  A family of four could eat comfortably for a month on the food in that pantry.  One shelf alone is devoted to pasta, this is an Italian household after all.  I thought I knew my pasta, but there were shapes and sizes that even I, “Chefus Maximus” wasn’t aware of. But that’s another story.  Back to the pantry and my hunt for regular, unflavored coffee to start my morning.  Having scoped out the of various foods and staples on the pantry shelves, I noticed way in the back, peeking out from behind a bag of Stella Doro biscotti, what appears to be Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.  There it was in its foil bag, colorful and bright, like a package all wrapped up on Christmas morning.  And boy, was I ready to open it! Grabbing that foil pouch off the pantry shelf like a one armed bandit, I dashed to the kitchen counter and tore it open. The familiar smell of freshly ground coffee was wafting through the air.  Can you smell it?  The teakettle was boiling feverishly, almost ready to spew forth with a piercing whistle that surely would have roused even the sleepiest of heads. Three heaping spoons of ground coffee into a small pot quickly washed over with boiling water. It’s working! Looks like coffee!  By this point I’m giddy with excitement. I pour the steeping grounds through a mini strainer and into a cup, waiting patiently. I feel a sense of empowerment, having mastered the elements!  Man’s destiny is to subdue the earth, and all that is contained therein. I have made coffee.

All is still and quiet in the house as I make my way over to the kitchen chair made more comfy by the many house-guests that have graced it before me.  The twirls of steam rise from the cup of potent nectar as I gaze out at my friends’ backyard.  There is a hush in this moment, enjoying a cup of coffee, my morning coffee. Now where’s the newspaper?