Despite all evidence to the contrary, I am not a coffee drinker. That’s right: All this rabid energy is completely natural. Scary, eh?
Thing is, as I don’t indulge in the stuff, I also don’t have a clue about how to make it. That became abundantly clear once my parents came back to the island, as they are presently staying with me. My bestie and housemate, Lynne, along with our friend Carol, are steeped in coffee culture. My eyes glaze over when they start talking about different beans; how best to prepare them; The Great Filter Debate etc. French presses, grinders, and frothers, oh my! Whatever happened to the good old days of instant coffee? One can, one spoon, one cup. Add hot water. Boom!
Once, when Lynne was out of the house, a friend dropped by for a chat.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” I asked.
“Oh, I’d love a cup of coffee!” they replied.
Eek!
I guessed at the amount of grounds to put in the filter and pressed what I hoped were the right buttons. I completely overestimated the measurements.
“You said a cup of treacle, yes?” I said, as I handed over a Muppets mug full of black tar.
Anyway, that’s just a peek into my history with coffee so you know what you’re dealing with.
When my parents’ airline tickets were confirmed, I went on the hunt for a small appliance. I couldn’t expect Lynne to French press everyone’s morning cuppas, so I needed something programmable with a carafe that would make life easy. Rather than buying new, I checked to see what secondhand machines were available on the market. I instantly found a Ninja Coffee Bar that appeared to have all the features I wanted, plus it also had a stainless steel carafe that would keep the contents hot for a few hours, and a built-in filter – it was perfect.
Chuffed with myself for finding a deal on an item with all the bells and whistles, I carted it home and set it up on the kitchen counter, along with containers of sugar and a bag of recommended ground coffee.
By the time Mum and Dad were in situ, I was an expert with the Ninja. I’d pour the grounds into the basket at night, set the timer, and as I happily slumbered, my parents were able to help themselves to a piping hot morning beverage. All was well with the world.
I’d make more coffee throughout the day, taking advantage of the handy ‘drip stop’ feature that allowed one to get a cup mid-brew without liquid going everywhere. Was there nothing this machine couldn’t do?
I found out a week later.
There I was, going happily along, brewing like a fiend, when one morning the ‘drip stop’ light came on, even though I hadn’t engaged the lever. Hmmm… maybe it was stuck. No worries; like new lights on my car dash, I’d just ignore it until it became a problem… which it did, immediately.
When the light was on, the coffee wouldn’t budge. No bueno.
I pulled the lever back and forth a couple of times, and the light finally went off. We were back in business. Maybe it was just a glitch.
Of course not, because it’s my life. As the days passed, so it misbehaved more and more. I moved the carafe around; opened the filter basket and closed it; tried to wipe every last bit of moisture off the gubbins; and basically begged it out loud to stop messing about.
Three weeks into my ownership, it was beeping about 80% of the time. Even when the light dimmed and I thought I could catch it unawares with a sneaky cycle of making coffee, it would become wise to my game and cut me off about three tablespoons of liquid in.
Unable to bear the idea of throwing it away, I turned to Google to see if others had encountered the same problem. Like spotting an obvious UFO in the sky, I saw that I was not alone. Many posters bemoaned the ‘drip stop’ light and were asking the hive for solutions. One particularly helpful person had posted about a small arm inside the filter basket that had a wee magnet atop it. According to them, this just needed to be replaced or made stronger in order for it to properly connect with its mate in the main apparatus.
Out came the screwdriver, and by the light of a kitchen lamp, I took apart the basket. The magnet looked okay, but there was a lot of moisture around everything, so I gave it a good clean, dried it completely, smashed a small magnet I had to smithereens with a hammer, glued it on top of the arm, and put everything back together. Once the entire appliance had been reassembled, there was no light coming up. Yay me!
That particular euphoria lasted 24 hours. By the next day, the $%#&@ beeping was back.
This time, I brought out the big guns. I went to a local home store and purchased a set of magnets so strong, that if I’d walked past anything metal with them in hand, I’d have been yanked towards it like a scene from a ‘Tom and Jerry’ cartoon. As soon as I got to the house, I started running them all along the surface of the coffeemaker, keeping a beady eye on the ‘drip stop’ light. I had nearly given up, when the light suddenly went off. I took the magnets away, it came back on. I put them back in the same place, it went off. Hot dog! I knew if I persevered and spent stupid money on magnets, it would all pay off in the end. I carefully taped them in the exact spot that had worked. The light went off.
Five minutes later, the light came back on and stayed on, no matter what I did.
Lynne, hearing down the phone that I was on the brink of a nervous breakdown or GSAH (grievous small appliance harm), suggested that I get out the Keurig that she had hidden away in the cupboard. We had forgotten all about it.
“Mum, Dad – don’t worry. I’ll have coffee to you soon,” I barked, shoving the Ninja aside to make room for its replacement. We already had the pods in the house, so I just had to put water in the receptacle and I was good to go.
With great flourish, I pressed the power button on the Keurig. The volume was unexpected and concerning. I couldn’t hear the television two feet away. Were we making coffee or was a helicopter landing on the roof? How had these contraptions done so well in the market when you had to choose between them or conversation? There was a thrumming, followed by a gurgling, followed by… nothing, accompanied by a deafening humming. The cup beneath the spout remained empty, save a drip of water and one, single, solitary ground. Mocking me.
I turned off the power so we could all hear ourselves think, and went to call Lynne, who had telepathically sensed that she might need to take over and was walking in the door. She gently removed me from the vicinity of the Keurig, took a close look at the workings, and before I could reach for my collection of magnets, announced that she simply needed to clear the path for the water which was slightly blocked. Having lost all faith in such remedies, I stood back sceptical, while at the same time browsing local online sites for a new coffeemaker. Y’know; something with a warranty.
Well, Lynne ‘MacGyver’ Firth, with a paper clip, a Q-tip and a small flashlight, managed to clear the obstruction. When she powered up the Keurig, it basically purred at her. The water heated up, the blue light blinked invitingly, and before we knew it, there was a steaming 10-ounce cup of Joe ready for a customer.
I was annoyed and relieved, all at the same time. At least I could now try to fix the Ninja at my leisure and my job as a family barista was saved.
As you can imagine, the above experience did nothing to improve my interest in coffee, but boy, did I need a chamomile tea afterwards.
Right; where did we put the teamaker?
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