So yesterday I saw the bottom of the coffee tin. The ten-pound bag of beans ground, scooped, brewed, tossed on the compost pile, leaving just a rattle of broken beans at the bottom and no trip to TJs or Costco on the horizon.
No problem, says I to myself.
I called my husband at work after brewing a half-pot with the last of the beans. I asked him not to pick up coffee beans but to bring home a few scoops of coffee from the office. Just to get me through until I go to town.
Fantastic! Three pots' worth of grounds came home in a zipper lock bag. (Did my husband re-use this bag? I never would have thought so, but....)
This morning I scooped out enough for a delicious pot of coffee. Filter. Water. On button. Pour my cream and sugar in the cup and anticipate the morning. (Read: tap foot impatiently for first cup to brew.) It's taking too long. Open the lid to check on progress. I do this every morning it seems. Compulsive much?
The grounds were satisfyingly steamy and damp, the coffee dripping into the pot with an aroma I like to think I detected early was... different. Not that I'm a coffee snob (snork). So I opened the lid again for further inspection. And what did I spy? First I thought that offending little lump to be an unground coffee bean.
However. It proved to be a piece of dog kibble. Unmistakable.
Coffee snob signing out, people. Whilst drinking tea and making my grocery list.