The Well-Trained Daughter

Jeff’s dream come true. Someone to make coffee for him. All is right with the world. It’s not enough that his coffee maker measures AND grinds the beans for him. It requires little more than filling the tank with water up to the number 12. (Yes, 12, for one person. Jeff’s coffee cups are super sized.) Why am I not the one to fulfill his dreams, you ask? Have I ever mentioned that he is picky about his joe? Long, long ago I heard the grinder grind and the familiar sound of the brewing and decided I wanted a cup of coffee. I got my favorite mug and pulled out the carafe knowing it would stop brewing when I did. At that moment a large hand came out of nowhere and stopped me. I heard my husband say, “Don’t!” With fear and trembling I said, “The coffee stops brewing when I pull this out, right? I didn’t spill any.” With Starbucks apron authority he answered, “Yes, but you're pulling the heart out of the coffee when you interrupt the brewing.” Excuse me? The what?? I wasn’t the least impressed with his barista mumbo-jumbo, but I never did it again. Ever.

Not only is the timing of pouring critical but the caffeine intensity and particular roast are of the utmost importance. If you have ever had a cup of coffee at our house, you know why you can smell it when you get out of your car in the cul de sac. No candle or air freshener on the planet has a chance of fulfilling its mission, because what can overpower the smell of freshly ground and brewed coffee at the concentration of Jeff’s liking (need)? Let’s just say his coffee has a life of its own. Nuclear powered. Toxic. Decaf is not welcome here. He gets it from Costco, where they roast the beans “in house”. Columbian Supremo. Any other kind or flavor “defiles” his coffee maker causing “everything to taste different”. Every few Christmases, he will brew some foreign holiday blend followed by a cleansing ritual that seems to last clear until Valentine’s Day.

Simply put, he’s a coffee snob. He makes 2 pots a day at home and who knows how many at the office. I have to give him credit because the last coffee maker, as fancy as it was, was a huge deal to maintain. He even ordered an extra set of internal parts to make it easier on himself to facilitate this “habit”. (Isn’t that a nice word for addiction? Or should I call it a “headache preventative?”) Therefore, my thought has always been, why try to make the coffee? It’s way too complicated and I am way too insecure. Surely I would never get it just right. Right? This, of course, has worked out nicely to propel a great excuse to be hands-off the java production.

So while I have indulged in those excuses (pretty good ones, I might add), Jeff has been counting the months until Julia was old enough to learn the secrets of this daily discipline. He pumped her up for weeks until she thought this was what she was born to do—make coffee for her Daddy. And in a sense, I guess she was. She absolutely loves doing it for him and he has someone to make his coffee.