As you may have read in my last post, I have been pressing my coffee lately.
As much as I would like to say it's because I'm an effing coffee snob and that's the only way I will drink my effing coffee...I would be lying. Because my morning laziness misses the ol' Mr. Coffee Drip I used to have.
No, this return to the medieval brewing style was born out of necessity. The wife broke the glass coffee pot and my buddy dropped off the French press the very next day. So, once again, laziness effing wins. But this is why I drink the black nectar we simply refer to as coffee...for a pick me up. Not because I'm an effing pansy, because I'm effing old and life has beat me down.
So, having a Half italian wife, she tends to act twice as Italian as most full-blooded ones, she has brought home the Italian Roast coffee this week.
It is well roasted with a nice sheen on the bean before it's ground and damn is it a strong pot of press when it's done.
All in all I give it a four-and-an-effing-half cups out of a possible 5.
