We always breakfast with the biographer… The biographer is a coffee nut and I use this fact to bond with him. “Oh Robusta,” I say dramatically when I know he's listening, “You inferior bean.” When we pass in the hall I fling my arm back and say things like “Am I strung out or what!” and “Time for another caffeine fix, methinks!” I am not allowed coffee because of my nerves, but the biographer doesn't know this.
“Our Love Could Spoil Dinner” — Emily Berry
Typing this as I sip my once-a-day after-lunch cup of coffee (last of the Honduras beans, I think). I grind the beans as I go. No machine recommendation, I'm afraid. Sorry. I use a simple French coffee press.
Wonder if anyone else agrees with me that in the UK just about the best place for a decent coffee is the Caffè Nero chain? They're not great, but they're ok.
That poem is the only one I know that is (partly) about coffee…