Singing My Censure
It may come as a surprise to some, but yours truly can be a bit obsessive at times.
Even if it doesn't show here, I'm pretty good with words and meanings. So, my obsession is usually disguised
as passion. Oh, now there is a nice word. Passion can't be bad can it? It's a fine line, I believe between
psycho and saint and I've crossed that line more then a few times.
I am Jack's obsession. If you haven't noticed yet, I'm a bit obsessed with coffee.
Sure, part of it is my daily need for a caffeine fix, and unlike heroine, I get to drink my drug of choice
with sugar and cream. The other part of course is my exuberant need for perfection and being far from perfect,
I pursue perfection in my people and things.
I am Jack's imperfection. If one where to look at these things, one might conclude
Jack is truly bent. Oh, you'd be right, but my bend involves things outside the PG realm. I must temper my
assessment of my psychology by adding that I do like to exaggerate. Which of course brings me to my current
dilemma, my broken coffee maker. This I do not exaggerate.
I'm Jack's pride of ownership. When dealing with coffee, one of the key factors is
temperature, and to get temperature we recommend a properly made coffee maker. I follow my own rules, cause
really who else will? My coffee maker was a cut above, it made hot water, good coffee, and came in black.
Sleek and spacey, I obsessed (lightly) over it's cleanness and functionality and I made sure I took care of it.
I'm Jack's disappointment. My coffee maker broke. The heating element burned out for
some reason and of course the 1 year warrantee was out by 3 months. I was pretty put out by this situation,
because I've seen crap-ass coffee makers, that made shit coffee, last forever. To make matter worse, I really
need my coffee in the morning.
For three day's I lived on coffee shop coffee. I would wake and look passed my groggy
head and puffy eyes. I'd make due until I could pass by a Tim Horton's or some such to get me a cup of brew,
which always cured my head ache. I took it easy, trying not to focus much on the lack of bean and concentrate
instead on things that needed doing.
After some financial deliberations, I chose to get the heating element replaced,
instead of replacing the entire machine. It was half the cost of buying the whole coffee maker, so it made
sense to me. I got it back in due course, and it's back to making good coffee. Now though, I'm not so sure
of its longevity.
I am Jack's ranting brain. You can probably tell I'm peeved, I'm just wondering if
I'll do anything about it. I'm thinking about complaining really loud, see if I can get something free out
of my frustration. I'm thinking about bad mouthing the brand for its current quality, but I could be an
isolated incident. I'm thinking about chalking it up to bad luck. The options are endless, but probably the
best option would be to complain. If nothing else, it may be another voice in the choir of dissatisfaction.
Melitta Estate Blend
I think I spend way to much time at the super market. Whether it's to replenish my
coffee supply, in the form of a 1Kilo bag of Eight O'clock regular blend, or to squeeze some melons, I'm
waltzing through the isles on a regular basis. It only seems proper to make it productive, which brings me
to the object of this weeks review. Melita Estate Blend coffee.
What you get is a tall tin with plastic cap. This model sports an extra 100grams,
and easy open lid and a freshness valve. I dig the extra coffee, cause this tin ain't cheap, but I am cheap.
I like the easy open lid, cause I'm lazy too, and the can opener was broken. I'm not so sure about the freshness
valve though. As if the extra coffee wasn't good enough, they throw in a plastic scoop.
I'm Jack's first impressions. The easy open lid is a piece of foil stretched over on end
of the tin. You lift a tab and give it a yank, much like a pudding container. My nose told me it wasn't all to
fresh, though I have a feeling that Freshness Valve was letting all the freshness out! It was a fine grind and
alright for drip coffee makers. Bodum users look elsewhere.
I've actually been drinking this for the last week or two, in place of my usual beans.
It says right on the front 100% Arabica. On the side it tells me it's a blend from the finest estates in Columbia,
Costa Rica, Guatemala, and Brazil. Over all, this coffee has little to dislike, but the best I can say is that it
is inoffensive, and that isn't much praise.
It is smooth tasting, and has earthy tones, but little character. I kept using an extra
scoop, but at that point it started moving into sour territory. For the price though, which is comparable to the
likes of Nabob, and Maxwell House, it does seem a touch more enjoyable. I would most definitely drink this over
Maxwell House, but if memory serves me right, there is one flavour of Nabob I preferred to this Melita Blend.
Melita also offers these Estate Blends in African and South American flavours. In the end though,
what your getting is second rate beans, and second rate coffee. Melita should at least be applauded for there
efforts. These Estate Blend get you part of the way there, but it's still no substitute for proper beans and
proper coffee.
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Clearing The Blockage
Jill's been fighting with a writing block for about six years now. The muse has left the
building without leaving a forwarding address. When you've been writing for as long as Jill has, it's a pretty
sad thing indeed. It's rather like losing an arm, or an ear, or some other valuable body part. But damnit, Jill
was determined to break through this block, so where did she go? A café, of course! Where the hell else do wanna
be writers with big pretensions go?
She tucked her Wonder Woman notebook under her arm, uncapped her trusty ballpoint, and
secured a corner table at her local coffee house. This demolition of the six year writing block took about forty
five minutes and three cups of very strong Noisette blend. Jill firmly believes it was the coffee that lubricated
the mental bricks allowing them to be pried one at a time from her psyche.
Page after page became filled with loose and messy handwriting that could easily have been
penned by a monkey on a sugar binge. Jill approached this mental unplugging in much the same way she approaches
everything else: She obsesses about it for about two weeks, then suddenly leaps right in when she least suspects
it. It was a physical relief to feel the pen moving across the page, even if she was writing nothing but crap.
But that, as Stewart Smalley says, is ok. Because nothing need come of it.
Jill won't suddenly write the great Canadian novel, or an enduring sonnet, or a wickedly
insightful article of arresting and memorable proportions. No, for the nonce, Jill will most likely continue to
write crap. But at least it's over. At least the great wall has come down, and Jill is again free to be the
egotistical self centred whiny brat that she has always been. On paper, too.
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