Some days are just bizarre, Mi! And they are not helped by spilled coffee.
This morning started well enough. I woke up, ablutioned, then opened the front door to bring in the milk bag. Put the new one in and took the old one out of the fridge. Grabbed the bag of bhindi and turned on the lights in the kitchen and the little room. Winked at the deities there, urging them to keep a good eye on us all, and waltzed into the kitchen.
By the way, we were away for a week and do you know what that filter did? It had a whole week off to chill and it simply refused to percolate! Can you imagine? We waited and waited yesterday but nary a drop in the lower chamber of the filter. I was so upset. Do you remember how we used to playfully talk about our filter being the … um … filter for judging visitors? If our filter percolated properly, the visitor was a-okay. If not, well, be wary.
Anyway, the quirky thing refused to output the coffee decoction. I churned the powder in the top chamber with a knife, hoping that would encourage the drip, drip, drip, but no. Nothing. Consequently, we ended up having the previous day’s decoction which was great by the way.
So back to this morning–I decided that rather than battle with the filter, which was still reluctant to release, I took out the moka pot, the expresso as you liked to call it. I figured the coffee wouldn’t have a chance to resist brewing.
As the milk heated, and the water boiled on the other burner, the moka pot rose and shone.
While I waited, I peeled the almonds and divvied up the walnuts into three portions. Drank the methi seeds water and chewed the seeds. Then, since I had another five minutes I thought I’d chop the bhindi and set it to cook. You know I usually turn the flame down low and by the time I enjoy my coffee, it cooks perfectly.
All well so far? Yes. Ish.
I finished chopping the bhindi and heard Sury humming. Happily peeking into the moka pot and inhaling the magic, I smiled as I set the pan with the bhindi on the burner. Added the spices and masalas. I just thought I would give it a toss before lighting the burner. No sooner than I flipped the ladle than disaster struck.
The moka pot, which was already precariously perched on the third burner, tipped and fell, splashing coffee everywhere you could imagine. On the counter, on the utensils in the sink, around it, on the floor.
Nice thick coffee. Spilled coffee, though. No use to anyone.
Sury was quick to assure me it was okay and that we had coffee sachets anyway.
But I was so very mad at myself because just a minute before, I thought I should take the moka pot off the gas and set it on the counter. The slight movement in the pan had caused it to topple and fall. I was so very sad.
I quickly cleaned up the place. Emptied the coffee grounds from the moka pot. Washed it. Refilled it and set it to brew again.
I was determined to have good coffee and a mere spill wasn’t going to stop me.
Sure I was on the verge of tears but I sucked it up and moved on. I refused to cry over the spilled coffee.
Ten minutes later, we were sedately sipping our coffee in your room. Moka pot to the rescue!
The bhindi was gently cooking.
And all was seemingly well with the–nay, my–world. At least for now.
Reminded me of how I am Ms. Butterfingers on some days–and everything I pick up slides and falls!
As I now look around, sneaking a look at the clock showing ten minutes to one, I see a big pile of laundry to be folded; roti to be made for lunch and a bunch of other things on my list, even as I wonder how I am going to work in ten minutes to run and shower before we go out at 3.
Some days, eh?
