When I was a child, someone told me that a pot of coffee requires three scoops of coffee for every twelve cups.
That is a false doctrine. Thus, it is written in the professional coffee makers’ handbook, “Thou shalt not make thy coffee see-through. Coffee must be as dark as a starless night in the farthest regions of the Earth.”
The least amount of coffee acceptable is four heaping scoops per every half a pot. At least. Anything less than that is just dirty water, even though it’s more economical.
When I started drinking coffee at the ripe old age of two, I would ingest the liquid with a spoon. Grandma would pour the coffee, and I would grab a spoon out of the silverware drawer beside the sink and slurp spoonfuls of coffee from the steaming mug.
Grandma would not only pour me a full cup of the caffeinated beverage, but she would add cream and sugar to it because that’s the only proper way to send a Grandchild home, apparently. Full of caffeine and white granulated energy dust. It’s almost as if she had something against my parents.
I was around eleven years old when I started making a 12-cup pot of coffee every day. We usually had some leftovers, and I considered that to be somewhat wasteful. So, instead of making less, I endeavored to drink the whole 12 cups on my own.
I did just that. I drank every drop. Well, almost.
As I poured the remaining remnants of coffee onto the counter beside the mug because I couldn’t stop shaking, I called for my mother. She couldn’t believe what I had done.
My whole body was shaking, and I couldn’t stop my mind from racing. I could feel my heartbeat in my pinkie toes.
Coffee hangovers are not for the faint of heart. Literally.
That was the day I fully realized the power that the tiny bits of ground-up coffee beans held.
It was also the only time I’ve ever jumped over a double-wide trailer in a single bound.
to the best part of waking up,
– Caleb
caneymountainblog.com 