Die Diskussion über den richtig guten Kaffee startet in meiner erweiterten Familie immer wieder von Neuem. Da kann man sich zum Beispiel darüber unterhalten, wie oft man die Kaffeemaschine reinigen müsse und wer das tue, damit die Qualität des Kaffees optimal sei. Oder man diskutiert, welche Nespresso-Kapsel-Farbe den besten Kaffee hergebe. Der Streit Bohnen vs. Kapseln kommt auch zu keinem Ende. Oder dass die Anschaffung einer Nespresso-Maschine den Kaffeekonsum enorm gesteigert habe, obwohl man sie ursprünglich gekauft hat, weil man grad mal einen Kaffee pro Tag geniesse. Oder ganz grundsätzlich, welcher Kaffee denn überhaupt der Beste sei.
Hier eine kleine Übersicht über das von mir bevorzugte Schwarzgetränk.
- Ich bevorzuge Kolbenkaffee.
- Ich trinke ihn mit Kaffeerahm (Fettgehalt 15 %). Gibt’s keinen, trinke ich Espresso (in Italien, Portugal) oder nehme Cappuccino (in Deutschland, Frankreich, Schweden). Wenn ich dem Kaffee nicht traue, trinke ich Cappuccino oder Milchkaffee.
- Ein Kaffee in der Schweiz kostet rund Franken 4.20.
- In Nordamerika. Da trinke ich coffee aus übergrossen Mugs in grossen Mengen.
- Aromatisierter coffee, zum Beispiel Hazelnut, schmeckt mir sehr.
- Die Papierbecher sind eine Verschwendung. Wenn es geht, trage ich immer einen Becher zum Wiederauffüllen mit mir.
- Damit man sich die Finger nicht verbrennt, gibts Kartonmanchetten. Auch die verwende ich immer wieder.
- Tim Hortens ist mein Freund. Er ist in Canada immer da, wenn man ihn braucht. Dazu ein Boston Cream.
- Ich will fairen und Bio Kaffee kaufen, denn der hat die beste Umweltbilanz. Die Art des Anbaus schlägt dabei am meisten ins Gewicht.
Wir haben eine neue Kaffeemaschine, die einen superguten Kaffee macht. Bei der Auswahl der Kaffeemaschine wurde ich überstimmt.
And here a true story why I drink coffee from huge mugs in North America. And I love it!
Coffee in Antigonish
When my husband and I came to Nova Scotia the first time, I realised how much he loved his coffee in the morning. “And not just coffee, but Italian espresso, black and tasty and with its particular foam”, he explained.
It was impossible to get espresso in the sticks of Nova Scotia, where we spent most of our vacation several years ago. Although there was an espresso machine in the cottage, the coffee we could buy in the grocery store in Caledonia was grinded too coarsely. Therefore, it wasn’t espresso at all what my husband had to drink.
As the time went by, Andy got more and more desperate. He really missed his espresso. Whenever we went to a place, for example Peggy’s Cove, Annapolis Royal or Halifax, it was neither the scenery nor the city life he was interested in the most. So he would say, “it is a nice place, you can get an espresso.” Or, “no it wasn’t that spectacular there. They didn’t have espresso.”
Me, on the other hand, was totally happy and wasn’t distracted by banalities, such as the perfect beverage. I enjoyed the waterfront in Digby, the walking tour in the Kejimkujik National Park and the restaurants in Liverpool and Bridgewater, and I had no problem to adapt to the large mugs of coffee refilled as often I whished.
On our trip to Cape Breton, we stopped in Antigonish. “I’ve never seen as many beautiful women in one place my whole life”, my father-in-law had said before we left. We wanted to prove him right. Andy got lucky because there were indeed some really gorgeous women an the streets, and he got even luckier when he detected a nice coffee shop that offered espresso. He stopped looking for the beauties immediately distracted by a few letters on the window: e s p r e s s o. It seemed to be the end of his longing, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
I didn’t have to wait for my coffee for more than a few minutes whereas my husband’s patience was proved once again while we sat at the tiny table outside. He went to the washroom investigating what was going on. “She is doing something, and actually there is a coffee machine”, he reported nervously when he came back.
Eventually, the girl brought the espresso. My husband relaxed visibly, but only until he saw that the liquid in the cup wasn’t black and foamy and steaming. It looked grey and cold. His disappointment turned into anger and forced him to drink the liquid although it looked disgusting. “Why did you do this? It must have been really horrible”, I asked, but he was not open to any discussion when he paid the bill and left abruptly. He was upset and aloof so we didn’t talk in the car for a while. “It was so terrible, I can still taste it and I feel sick”, he finally said.
I took my chance to tell him what I thought had happened in the coffee shop. It was probably the first time the poor girl had to turn on the espresso machine, which furthermore wasn’t used for a long time because everybody ordered coffee in a large mug. She didn’t have a clue how to handle it. I could imagine how desperately she tried to fix an espresso for her costumer and how glad she was when finally s o m e t h i n g dropped into the cup. I am sure it was the rinsing water.
Euch allen ein schönes Wochenende!