Huh.
Eddie drinks 2-3 pots of 8-o'clock in a week's time. Gordon drinks none at all.
Coming of age with all of my disposable income spent attempting to feed, clothe, and educate 3 kids on a steamfitter's hourly wage gave me a keen appreciation for free things. There was a Bunn coffee maker boiling down some complementary Folgers in every supply house and in every breakroom I frequented when I was young 'n studly.
And so, I too drank my 2 to 3 pots, albeit in a day's time rather than a week.
My circumstances changed when I hung out my own shingle, but not my coffee intake. I was told by a youngster back then that some people are coffee snobs, but I was a coffee junkie. Nice coffee was Folgers, rather than Maxwell House.
Though I lack the requisite tats and nose-rings-- my wife got me a snooty 'spresso machine a few years ago for Father's Day. I was unsure of what to make of the device, but it seemed straightforward enough. My first attempt covered the entire room, myself, and some of the ceiling with what looked like chewing tobacco spit.
Undeterred, I pressed (you see what I did there? Don't try this at home, kids) on until I became something of a shop-head barista. "My coffee" is a double espresso using not-very-expensive French-roast on a fine grind (think powdered sugar) with about 1/8 cup of half-and-half worked into the crema. I've moderated my habit, but still drink about 3 of these a day (I had worked myself back to 1, but where's the fun in that?).
40 years of this has been horrible for me (and my cortisol levels), but here I stand, I can do no other. I tried to be el Gordo of the Earl Gray, but found myself truly hating my life, and myself for living it without coffee. I stopped riding my bike and got fat too.
I'm gonna' blame the coffee.
Regardless, I'm blown away. I bow my head and back slowly away in humble admiration of Ed's coffee making machine. This is a coffee making device completely devoid of any limp-wristed, manscaped, metro-sexual pretences. It is to "blond-roast" pencil-neck coffee afficiantos as PBR is to micro-brew. It's a throwback. It's utility is unquestioned.
"Perfection of the form", indeed.
It makes coffee for manly men, without any aspirations or allusions to culture or even to civility. It harkens back to a more Spartan eon when a hairy chest (and back) was something to be proud of. It fairly shouts, "get off my lawn, punk" at the hemp-filtered pour-over cone of the sensitive millennial male.
Alas, I've gone all soft in the middle, and have difficulty imagining life without "my precious" espresso machine. But I can admire a man who uses such a device, and acknowledge the superiority of it.
Well done, sir. Well done.