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When a coffee snob gets her comeuppance

 


After years of living in Seattle, it is no surprise that I developed a taste for exotic coffee. Certainly more exotic than everyday Folgers. I'm not rigid about my coffee. I'll drink any kind of coffee as long as it is hot. Coffee at the diner, coffee with friends, coffee while traveling; I'll drink it without complaint.

But, I confess, behind the closed doors of my own home, I am a coffee snob. Each morning I grind my designer coffee beans fresh. I carefully bring water not quite to the boil. I measure an exact heap of ground coffee into the pre-heated glass jar of my French press, pour t...



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