gadgetry in motion

For Christmas, Stuart and I received two pieces of kitchen gadgetry that a lot of people probably can’t imagine living without – a Krups grinder and a rabbit-style corkscrew. Mind, I asked for these things, and my awesome sister-in-law happily obliged us with them. Even though I’d been living happily without them, bumbling along with my vaccuum-packed Bustelo and Stuart’s lightweight and well-designed waiter’s friend corkscrew, I thought I’d reach for the stars from my non-epicurean gutter.
A word in defense of Bustelo – it’s strong fucking coffee. And that’s the sort of people I come from. The sort of people who, damnit, if they’re going to drink coffee, you’d better be able to beat back the Hun with it. So Bustelo, vaccuum-packed cheapness though it may be, embodies everything about espresso-roast, dark-as-hell-and-not-gonna-take-your-shit coffee that I love about coffee. Plus, hello? Five bucks a pound? I’m not arguing. I measure out at least a tablespoon per cup in our conical drip machine. I want ounce-for-ounce weaponry.
But I’ve been swayed by the dark side of finery. At some very posh friends’ house (hi, Mark and Steph!), they brewed up a post-dinner pot with some fresh-ground beans and I was tempted, oh yes. It was so redolent! So earthy! So other words I don’t usually bother to use when talking about my coffee! And since I no longer actually drink the stuff to wake up in the morning – having long ago switched to the gentler but more fortifying arms of tea – I figured it was time to dabble in the arts of fresh-grinding that once-weekly weekend cuppa brew. I mean, if it’s going to be a weekend treat or a post-work delight, shouldn’t it be words like that? If I don’t need it to knock me down, brush me off again, and pat me on the butt in the mornings, what’s wrong with doubling the amount of dollar-per-pound I’m willing to pay? Plus, have you smelled fresh-ground coffee beans?
And ooooh, boy, is it nice. The smell! The oily gorgeousness of the beans! We picked up some Starbucks Colombian (shut UP, I like Starbucks and my reasons why are a whole other post) and so far, I like it. There’s a lot more subtlety to the taste, and I dosed it with only a teaspoon of sugar. I stubbornly refuse to stop stocking Bustelo in my cabinets, though. It’s either out of a well-earned sense of loyalty, or it’s because I can’t really be bothered to diligently brush clean the Krups every time. Your pick.
High off the redolence of the grind, I pulled over the bottle of Shiraz earmarked for dinner. I felt a little dirty picking past the faithful waiter’s friend to pull out the monstrosity of the rabbit. I mean, were the French actually going to come flying through the door, guns of condescension drawn that I was using a corkscrew worth twice the price of the bottle? I wouldn’t put it past the Alliance Francais for being a cover op of that sort. If I don’t know more about wine except “yummy” and “not yummy”, what am I doing with a corkscrew with so much oozing sophistication that it actually seems like it can reasonably replicate a Van Gogh with some quiet time and yellow paint?
Gripping it to the neck of my humble Shiraz, even the first few seconds of the operation were fraught with the feeling like any minute now, this bottle and this contraption are going to slip out of my hand and shatter all over the floor and then the corkscrew will look at me condescendingly, YES IT WILL. But damn girl! Flip! goes the screw into the cork. Flip! out comes the cork. FLIP! off comes the cork from the screw. Could it really BE any easier? Et, as those connoisseurs across the pond say, voila. Wine open and breathing while I sip more of my earthy complex coffee.
Thus endeth my weekend adventures in epicurean pickiness. No telling what tomorrow might bring into my kitchen.