Coffee is my drug of choice. I acquired the addiction when I was 18 and just had my tonsils out. Hot liquids soothed my throat. Theretofore I had only the occasional cup and failed to understand all the excitement. It was served too hot for anything but sipping so wasn’t a thirst quencher. I didn’t taste very good. Like other drugs it required persistence to achieve dependency.
I don’t like either cream or sugar. I take my coffee black, medium strength, no sugar, and piping hot. You can keep your flavored coffee and those weird beverages people line up for a Starbucks.
This morning I made coffee as always—same amount of water, same four heaping scoops of coffee. About 10 minutes later I poured my first cup and marveled at how bad it was. It was little better than weak tea. Yesterday it was so strong it might as well have come from Starbucks and cost $3.50 and no free refills. Tomorrow, if I’m lucky, it’ll be somewhere in the tolerable middle.
I can’t explain this. Something supernatural must be to blame. I get the same variations even if I buy a new pot like a carpenter blaming his tools. It is not my fault. Even I can fill a pot to the top and count to four. Admittedly it is usually about 5 AM and the need to satisfy my addiction is compelling. Still, a full pot of water and four scoops of coffee is hard to screw up.
I’m open to explanations, but be aware I’m a skeptic. I’ve also puzzled over socks that disappear in the dryer and no one has yet satisfactorily explained that.
Young Grandpa Keith