you’ve heard of the espresso wigging out when the humidity goes up, no? a sudden grinder adjustment usually suffices. but this blog knows of a bane much worse, a sudden and adverse malady for which your grinder can offer no fix — the eyes of professional barista persons, hovering around the home bar while you try to serve a string of 15 capps to a living room gaggle.
*sigh* no, no. it’s not their fault this blog can’t hold its shot-to-shot consistency together under a seasoned gaze. or that they happened to visit as the thursday group was coalescing in the bloghouse. nor is it the crowd’s fault, though usually we have to fry an ear straining close to the grouphead to hear the gurgling hiss of our pre-shot water flush over the hub-bub. nor was it really the korate’s fault, though it’s been throwing daily curves. it wasn’t even the fault of danielle’s custom rippled tamper face.
the carping answer: it was (d) all of the above. the truthier version: parties are distracting fun, the korate’s acting finicky and serving a crowd while under scrutiny intimidates the sparky out of this blog. and so there was a roasty capp and then a hot lemon tonic for spro — not the korate’s prime attributes, you could say. determined to do better, and with little time to spare, we began to grind with the gnashing of our teeth, tamp with a clenched fist and pull scalding shots directly through our parted fingers.
penance. yet another way in which home junkie-ism in the hinterlands is like an austere monastic existence.