I have a friend who bought a fancy coffee-making machine after taking early retirement, at a cost of £1,200.
You pop a pod in, select what you want from a touch-screen digital display and, hey presto, out comes your preferred beverage. He and his wife like their coffee.
My own preference is rather more humble, largely confined to digging out a teaspoon of granulated, plonking it into a mug and adding milk. The odd cafetiere makes a (very, very) rare appearance. Spending £1 on a brew in McDonald’s grates.
But I do have a coffee machine. It arrived with the girlfriend 12 years ago and has never been used in that time. I don’t know where, how or when she acquired it – she doesn’t even drink coffee.
She’s away for the week, so I’m having a bit of a tidy up in the kitchen. And there this thing sits in all its dusty glory on a surface that ideally needs clearing.
Taking a closer look for the first time in more than a decade, it has a small metal bar with a knob on the end that moves about 6cm horizontally, and at least three mote control functions controlled by other knobs. It has two glass containers, presumably at least one for coffee.
One of the knobs has “steam” written alongside a grade that looks reminiscent of a bathroom shower heat measurement. Steam? What steam?
The machine has a good brand-name but, unlike my friend with his fancy-pants coffee caterer, I have no idea how to make this one work. There appear to be no instructions.
However, I plan to give it a go tomorrow. It’s that word, “steam”, that worries me.
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