Barista

The best thing about my husband’s retirement is the coffee. Although most kitchen functions still remain inscrutable mysteries to him, he has become a fantastic barista.

Before retirement, he would frequently stop on the drive home from work for a latte or espresso. His critiques would go something like – too much milk, too bitter, over-roasted beans.

My husband saw retirement as an opportunity for learning how to make the perfect cup of coffee. Being a minimalist, he only invested in a $29.99 Mr. Coffee espresso maker. “You are only getting an eagle for the extra $200.” He believes that skill and quality beans make good coffee, not big buck equipment.

After much grinding, steaming, frothing and taste testing, a perfect cup of coffee has emerged. And every morning he gets up and produces this masterpiece for me to take on my morning commute. Lucky me!

Except one morning last month, when tragedy did strike. As I was pulling out of our driveway, I saw in the rear view mirror my coffee mug sailing down the road behind me spewing coffee. You guessed it – I put the precious brew on the roof of my car as I loaded my school gear and then took off.

No coffee that morning; I couldn’t lower myself to Starbucks.

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