
I just finished a bag of this, and it was just outstanding — delicious fruit that really comes through. It’s nice to live near a really good coffee roaster.

If I could upload the taste for you, I would…
I just finished a bag of this, and it was just outstanding — delicious fruit that really comes through. It’s nice to live near a really good coffee roaster.
If I could upload the taste for you, I would…
I should have cleaned my espresso machine this weekend. I normally do without fail every other weekend, but I got wrapped up in this Hackathon and failed to prioritize it. Result: my espresso this week doesn’t taste as good as usual. It’s not that big a deal, but it builds up, and as stale flavors increase in the coffee it becomes more and more noticeable — and makes me more and more annoyed with myself for not following my usual routine.
My dad used to quote famous pianist Artur Rubinstein on this — it went something like
If I miss a day of practice, I know it.
If I miss two days, the critics know it.
If I miss three days, my audience knows it
(Turns out this was probably either Franz Liszt or Anton Rubinstein, hilariously, and is nowhere attributed to Artur Rubinstein who was not related to Anton. Dad was not one to let silly facts get in the way of a good story.)
Anyway something similar applies to the coffee machine: The longer I go past the regular cleaning date, the more people can tell the coffee has nasty stale overtones.
Unsurprisingly, I am going to use this as a metaphor for life. People require regular maintenance, cleaning, and refreshing. If they don’t get it their work becomes stale and unpalatable. I’m pretty good about remembering to provide this kind of thing for the folks who work for me, but not so good about providing it for myself. Not that I don’t take plenty of vacations (I am famous for this), but between them I have a bad habit of just never stopping.
There are so many things to do, and so little time to do them in…
Let us celebrate together the wonder of good espresso.
It also of course provides a wonderful nerd outlet for yours truly. Way cheaper than dinking around with old cars, plus it tastes better.
It is absurdly self-indulgent of me to have one of these things in my house. They are quite expensive and usually found in real cafes. Kim finds it baffling that I insist on having such a giant monstrosity in our relatively small apartment, and I confess to having had a bit of buyer’s remorse when I first unpacked it and realized it was going to completely dominate the kitchen.
BUT: A 17-gram dose of espresso comes out of this magnificent wonder in 2.5-3 seconds, depending on the coffee and how I have it set. It is absolutely, unfailingly consistent, and allows the fine adjustments required to get a delicious espresso every time. Even Kim appreciates it when I make her cortado in the morning. I will admit to being proud that I have reached a stage of my life when I can afford such a lovely thing and use it to make something delightful.
Of course, when I move to Europe, I’ll need to buy a 220v version… hmm…
Film at 11, right? Like, oh great, another blog about how it’s hard to lose weight. Next up, whingeing about people who whinge about things.
Seriously though, this business of trying to look less pudgy while still holding down a productive job and living one’s life is not at all trivial. Not drinking helps, of course, but then where does that leave you — sitting at home wishing you were having a glass of wine?
I think honestly the toughest thing about it is the time scale. Eating is immediate — it is something I do, right now, that relieves hunger. It is absolutely essential, and a pleasure, and my whole life is more or less organized around it. (Well, and also coffee, but that is a different story.) The steps required to be in decent physical shape and not too heavy, on the other hand, are most certainly not immediate. I’m going to go sit on a rowing machine in a few minutes and work myself into a lather for an hour or so, and that is not going to have any immediate effect on me other than making me sweaty. I’ll only notice the effect a couple of weeks from now when it’s easier to walk up steps.
To make matters worse, the rowing — beneficial as it is to my physical condition and my attitude — does not help one bit with the weight, not on a timescale I care about anyway (longer than three months). Not one iota. Nor, to be honest, does switching out carbs for protein or eating more fat or less fat or going vegan or any of the other things one tries. No, the fat just stays there until you make a “lifestyle change” that changes the condition it depends on.
Which, sadly, means I’m going to have to keep on with the not drinking. Clearly, if there is any kind of deity, its principal business is to mock me by first putting wine on the earth and then making it bad for me to drink it…