"Yes, but those beans are useless without my electric coffee bean grinder.."
I've finally completed my transition into the bourgeoisie - for my 30th birthday last week, Meg bought me a Braun coffee grinder. That's right - I can now take the time to buy my very own coffee beans, grind the little bastards up into a potent powder, and brew it up to produce the freshest of all the caffiene delivery systems known to man.
I'm a bit of a coffee geek, and have been cafetiére-ing it for a good few years now, but never went as far as the whole self-grinding milarkey as I was never convinced that it could be that much better than the ground stuff you can buy everywhere. How wrong I was - right now I'm sipping a large mug of freshly ground goodness that defies all comparison with the stuff I've made before (thanks to Anna and Bobbie, who have supplied some massive bags of marvellous organic coffee beans to start me off).
Back when we were in San Francisco in March, we were staying in a quirky B&B on Union Street, which allegedly had a wifi spot but it refused to play ball with my Macbook (I know, I sound like the biggest arse in the world here, really I'm not) so we had to head to the next block to a indie cafe place that sported wifi and superb, freshly-ground stuff that kept me buzzing through our overnight flight back to London. I think it was that that started my mind wandering down the gourmet coffee obsessive route, to be honest. I've found I can't drink milky Starbucks coffee any more (apart from their brewed stuff which is actually fairly decent) and my morning hit - which I am useless without, unfortunately - generally comes in the form of a massive Americano from the friendly Polish ladies in the canteen. I've become somewhat infamous in morning meetings for never been seen without one. A coffee, that is - not a Polish lady. My relationship with the haphazard yet cheery serving wenches of White City is of a purely transactional nature.