(Inspired by this post on Swiss Lark)
We recently hosted a little brunch for some very good friends. In the spirit of full disclosure, we often host these friends over for breakfast on Sundays. They’re normally low-key affairs — pancakes and coffee, sometimes some eggs — and we not only rarely have the food ready by the time they arrive, we are often still wearing our pajamas.
Well, this recent breakfast affair was for a special occasion, so I amplified our usual menu: cornmeal encrusted French toast, fruit salad, hash browns, and blinker cocktails. And I graciously accepted my friend’s offer of a homemade quiche. She makes phenomenal quiches. Always divine. Always from scratch. But I digress.
When our friends knocked on the door, the table was set and all the food was ready. And of course, we had coffee. Lots of it. After the first French press worth, I noticed we needed another one, so I ground more beans, poured them into our opaque press. Then, when I poured hot water into the press, coffee started to erupt like a volcano. I thought that’s odd but assumed I must have poured the water faster than usual. Then, when it was time to push down the plunger, I couldn’t get it to go down all the way. Apparently, Mr. Mad Cow also noticed we needed more coffee, and unbeknownst to me, put the requisite amount into the press. Long story short, we had coffee, souped-up to double strength. The Franken-brew was barely drinkable. We salvaged the situation by boiling up more water and making americanos.
(French Press photo by Christy)