Eastside Road, September 6, 2011 —
A SLICE OF TOAST with honey and a couple of cafés au lait for breakfast; a couple of glasses of Prosecco and a handful of nuts and olives, a tiny bit of cheese for supper.
This is as good a day as any to mention that our coffee is of our own roast. I've been doing this since Christmas, when Thérèse gave me an electric popcorn roaster of the right type for the coffee detail — she'd been doing it for some time. Like her, I order my beans from Sweet Maria. These days I roast a third-of-a-cup at a time, three roastings at a time; that'll last three or four days. I roast it to what they call a Vienna roast, considerably lighter than the typical espresso roast. A double shot of this from our Faemina, with about a quarter cup of nonfat milk, steamed to a gentle foam, makes the morning cup — bol, in fact; we bought two nice coffee bowls in Brittany, probably thirty-five years ago. Two of the morning cups makes a breakfast. Three, if I'm feeling self-indulgent.
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