Sexy Appliances
After limping along for a couple of months, my old coffee maker finally had to be put out to pasture. And I was very sad about it.
A coffee maker has always been a vital component in my pursuit of happiness, morning coherence and a good caffeine buzz. Not to mention saving the lives of people I would kill if I didn't have coffee.
It used to be that all I required of a coffee maker was that it make coffee, and the cheap ones were just as good as the expensive ones. I see no need to pursue caffeinated perfection. Is it hot, does it taste like something in the coffee family, does it have caffeine? Then I'm good. You're talking to the person who once, in desperation, drank instant coffee made with luke warm tap water.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a great cup of joe, but I don't need Starbucks quality coffee at home. Actually, I don't even like Starbucks coffee. Sure, I like their fancy Frankensteins of mocha frappucino/cappuccino covered in an orgy of whipped cream, but for a simple cup of coffee goodness? Cracker Barrel has my vote for best hot coffee, and McDonald's (shudder) has my vote on iced coffee -- I'm not ashamed to say it.
But I was talking about my coffee maker.
Something has happened in recent years that I think has to do with an upgrade in personal consumerism tied to the moderately comfortable income bracket of a middle-aged adult. Or maybe it comes from simply having a credit card. I may not always be able to afford it, but I itch to buy from the middle of the available product continuum: not the most expensive, but not the cheapest either.
Except when it comes to refrigerators. I confess: I have developed a fridge fetish. I have never had a brand new refrigerator, and I want one the way I used to want a Porsche. Every time i'm in a big box store, I feel compelled to go look at the refrigerators.
Last week I was in Best Buy, and I actually bypassed the computer section, where I normally go to drool over the latest Macs, to stand staring at a stainless steel side-by-side French door titan of refrigerator godliness with filtered ice and water in the door, programmable temperatures and slide-out trays.
Rex, having finished his computer business, found me hugging it and purring.
"I don't think that would even fit in your kitchen," he said.
"I don't care," I murmured, rubbing my face against the gleaming stainless steel. "I could put it in the living room."
Can you imagine having a $2500 refrigerator? I can. I'd sleep with it.
Back to the death of my coffee maker.
My last coffee maker was special. It didn't just make coffee. It had a water filtration system, adjustable brew strength and an auto shutoff. I loved that auto shut off. I never again had to worry as I pulled out of the driveway, "Did I turn off the coffee maker?"
But more than any of these features for which I adored my coffee maker... it was RED.
I don't mean the cheap plastic red of Fischer Price toys either. I mean a gleaming deep metallic red, like a glittering candy apple. Like a Ferrari. It was simply the sexiest coffee maker I had ever seen. It was sleek and modern, and red. I could have bought a cheaper model, but I had to have that one.
It's given me lots of great coffee and visual pleasure for a couple of years now, but a few months ago, it had a nervous breakdown and sent steaming coffee and wet grounds running down the counter front. I cleaned it out, checked all the levers for clogs and operational integrity, and made another pot. No more problems. I was relieved because I did not want a new coffee maker.
Until two days ago. This time, cleaning made no difference, and the incontinence had spread to the bottom of the coffee maker, leaving a big puddle. I ended up straining the coffee that actually made it into the carafe through a paper towel, and mopping the rest of it off the floor and counter. (I will tell you that hot coffee does a bang-up job as a floor cleaner. Now I have a clean spot, so I guess I'll have to steam clean the rest of it.)
So, off to Walmart. Which I hate in the first place, but I wanted the largest variety of coffee makers to choose from.
My heart sank as I stood there looking at the rows of butt-ugly coffee makers. They all looked cheap and plastic and boring, even the most expensive ones, which were of course stainless steel but with none of the refrigerator appeal. But I needed coffee. Whatever I bought had to have the auto shut-off, because by now I will never remember to turn off a coffee pot ever again. In disgust I bought a $19.99 Black and Decker.
But I couldn't bring myself to unpack it. Putting that thing in my kitchen would be an insult to the memory of my beautiful dead coffee maker. I left it in the trunk of my car, and the next day, I pulled into Target. Surely, Target would have something sexier. That's why we go to Target, after all: for style. To pay a little more for something because it looks better than what you can get at Walmart.
Lo and behold.... they had a coffee maker that was a combo of matte black, stainless steel and candy apple red. It was a Mr. Coffee, and I suddenly wondered what possessed me to buy the Black and Decker. I mean, really. Just because a company can make a decent cordless drill, it doesn't mean they know coffee beans about a cup of java. Mr. Coffee, on the other hand... well, the name says it all.
First I had to clean the kitchen. Don't snicker. I just did. You can't put a brand new sexy kitchen appliance on a messy counter next to a messy sink.
Sigh. This morning, new coffee. No grounds, no puddles. Life is good.... as long as there's coffee.
A coffee maker has always been a vital component in my pursuit of happiness, morning coherence and a good caffeine buzz. Not to mention saving the lives of people I would kill if I didn't have coffee.
It used to be that all I required of a coffee maker was that it make coffee, and the cheap ones were just as good as the expensive ones. I see no need to pursue caffeinated perfection. Is it hot, does it taste like something in the coffee family, does it have caffeine? Then I'm good. You're talking to the person who once, in desperation, drank instant coffee made with luke warm tap water.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a great cup of joe, but I don't need Starbucks quality coffee at home. Actually, I don't even like Starbucks coffee. Sure, I like their fancy Frankensteins of mocha frappucino/cappuccino covered in an orgy of whipped cream, but for a simple cup of coffee goodness? Cracker Barrel has my vote for best hot coffee, and McDonald's (shudder) has my vote on iced coffee -- I'm not ashamed to say it.
But I was talking about my coffee maker.
Something has happened in recent years that I think has to do with an upgrade in personal consumerism tied to the moderately comfortable income bracket of a middle-aged adult. Or maybe it comes from simply having a credit card. I may not always be able to afford it, but I itch to buy from the middle of the available product continuum: not the most expensive, but not the cheapest either.
Except when it comes to refrigerators. I confess: I have developed a fridge fetish. I have never had a brand new refrigerator, and I want one the way I used to want a Porsche. Every time i'm in a big box store, I feel compelled to go look at the refrigerators.
Last week I was in Best Buy, and I actually bypassed the computer section, where I normally go to drool over the latest Macs, to stand staring at a stainless steel side-by-side French door titan of refrigerator godliness with filtered ice and water in the door, programmable temperatures and slide-out trays.
Rex, having finished his computer business, found me hugging it and purring.
"I don't think that would even fit in your kitchen," he said.
"I don't care," I murmured, rubbing my face against the gleaming stainless steel. "I could put it in the living room."
Can you imagine having a $2500 refrigerator? I can. I'd sleep with it.
Back to the death of my coffee maker.
My last coffee maker was special. It didn't just make coffee. It had a water filtration system, adjustable brew strength and an auto shutoff. I loved that auto shut off. I never again had to worry as I pulled out of the driveway, "Did I turn off the coffee maker?"
But more than any of these features for which I adored my coffee maker... it was RED.
I don't mean the cheap plastic red of Fischer Price toys either. I mean a gleaming deep metallic red, like a glittering candy apple. Like a Ferrari. It was simply the sexiest coffee maker I had ever seen. It was sleek and modern, and red. I could have bought a cheaper model, but I had to have that one.
It's given me lots of great coffee and visual pleasure for a couple of years now, but a few months ago, it had a nervous breakdown and sent steaming coffee and wet grounds running down the counter front. I cleaned it out, checked all the levers for clogs and operational integrity, and made another pot. No more problems. I was relieved because I did not want a new coffee maker.
Until two days ago. This time, cleaning made no difference, and the incontinence had spread to the bottom of the coffee maker, leaving a big puddle. I ended up straining the coffee that actually made it into the carafe through a paper towel, and mopping the rest of it off the floor and counter. (I will tell you that hot coffee does a bang-up job as a floor cleaner. Now I have a clean spot, so I guess I'll have to steam clean the rest of it.)
So, off to Walmart. Which I hate in the first place, but I wanted the largest variety of coffee makers to choose from.
My heart sank as I stood there looking at the rows of butt-ugly coffee makers. They all looked cheap and plastic and boring, even the most expensive ones, which were of course stainless steel but with none of the refrigerator appeal. But I needed coffee. Whatever I bought had to have the auto shut-off, because by now I will never remember to turn off a coffee pot ever again. In disgust I bought a $19.99 Black and Decker.
But I couldn't bring myself to unpack it. Putting that thing in my kitchen would be an insult to the memory of my beautiful dead coffee maker. I left it in the trunk of my car, and the next day, I pulled into Target. Surely, Target would have something sexier. That's why we go to Target, after all: for style. To pay a little more for something because it looks better than what you can get at Walmart.
Lo and behold.... they had a coffee maker that was a combo of matte black, stainless steel and candy apple red. It was a Mr. Coffee, and I suddenly wondered what possessed me to buy the Black and Decker. I mean, really. Just because a company can make a decent cordless drill, it doesn't mean they know coffee beans about a cup of java. Mr. Coffee, on the other hand... well, the name says it all.
First I had to clean the kitchen. Don't snicker. I just did. You can't put a brand new sexy kitchen appliance on a messy counter next to a messy sink.
Sigh. This morning, new coffee. No grounds, no puddles. Life is good.... as long as there's coffee.
