By 7:30 am I still hadn’t had a drop of coffee. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Goose egg. You may ask yourself, “How could such a lovely, brilliant baker lady who, bless her saintly heart, wakes at 3am…how could she not have had coffee?” Well, since you said such nice things about me, I’ll tell you. The freakin’ espresso machine was broken.
Which really doesn’t logically follow, since I usually brew a pot of coffee for the kitchen first thing in the morning. So by 4:30 I’m cranking on black rocket juice and if I’m lucky, by 5:30 I’m knee deep in caffeine jitters and sweats. I usually try to get any intricate piping done before I hit the java quake zone. But Ray was opening barista this morning. And I decided to wait for him so that he might make his delicate flower of a wife a silken cappuccino. He does this in the morning with absolutely no prodding. In fact, this morning when he came back into the kitchen I just assumed that he’d come to my lair to deliver my morning cup. But he came back cursing, empty handed and searching for the phone.
I got a mug from the dish rack and went out front to defibrillate my drowsy soul with black coffee since there would be no milky goodness coming my way this morning. But the line out the door and the panicked faces of our customers scared the bejesus out of me. So I’m hiding in the kitchen, waiting for a break in the storm to try my luck again at getting some coffee. Any coffee.
By tomorrow, everything will be set to rights. We’ll have espresso and calm in our little kingdom. It usually takes a call to our friend Jay to get things sorted. But in the meantime, I have to catch up. I’ve lost a few solid hours of coffee drinking time. So excuse me while I fill up my empty tank. This could take a while.