ageniusscientisttotellyouwhattodo

I’m trying to conserve my money since I don’t really have any to conserve. I ran out of coffee this morning and went to get

Who's idea was it to put coffee into a tin?

some more. I’ve heard that it is a family trait never to spare on coffee as every cent you put into coffee you get three times back; but being some what broke I decided to spare two dollars and buy some very cheap coffee. It came in a tin. I used a can opener. The coffee was in the tin. It is pre-ground. I put a pot of water on the stove, and prepared the french-press with eight level tablespoons of the pre-ground coffee out of the tin and waited for the water to boil. I have a very specific method when using the french press: the eight tablespoons is not exact – the ‘precise’ volume of coffee I add is seven level tablespoons and one heavily mounded; I then bring the water to a rolling boil and pull it off the stove and, while counting to 21 at a moderate pace, sworl the water; at the count of 21 I add only enough water to turn the grounds in to a muddy mixture pouring the water in with my right and sworlling with my left (the left handed sworl was a technique I had to develop, being right handed, as the immediacy is imperative: time is of the essence); once the muddy mixture in the bottom is homogenous I pour the rest of the water in down the glass of the press and not directly onto the grounds – this reduces the ascendancy of the bouquet, which permits the flavors to remain in the coffee. At this point it is easy to see how the coffee has turned out based on the color of the creme (the darker the better, if it appears pale something has gone wrong). I proceeded with this coffee as I have done enough times for it to be as autonomic as the palpitations of my heart. The creme was not pale, nor were the bubbles large, but, in a peculiar way, it lacked the aesthetic I know to look for (and it will bother me until I am better able to depict the errant vision of this creme). The coffee sat and steeped for roughly 70 seconds (I put little value in the steeping time of the coffee – I never depress the plunger in the french press beyond the level of the fluid, so it has as much time to saturate as it takes me to drink it). I poured the coffee into the cup. I rested the cup on my lower lip briefly as I inhaled deeply through my nose and mouth to initiate the experience. The aroma was like seeing the great plains stretch out so flat in all directions but for one eruptment jutting up as if God grabbed one of the Rockys and dropped it in the middle of Montana. It was odd. I couldn’t place it. Slurping the coffee it ran over my palate and as it reached the back of my tongue  it became metallic. On the alveolar it enhanced into distinction. Copper. There was a gritty sensation in my mouth after I let the coffee slip past the glottis to authenticate sucking on pennies.