There stood my godchild, the innards of a 40 cup coffee percolator upside down in her hands, insisting she’d read the instructions to the coffee maker and it was just a big French press. Her mother, meanwhile, was filling the huge pot with water in which swirled finely ground Starbucks Christmas blend. Mom had a quizzical expression on her face. I was struck with the thought that the soon to arrive 70 guests were probably not planning on drinking campfire coffee.
So as Emily vainly tried to explain that you plugged in the coffee pot and let it steep forContinue reading →