sueeeus

I had a catchier title, but it escapes me.

In the not so distant past, I’ve pined for an espresso machine. Then life provided its normal array of twists and turns, so in the clutches of despair, despondency, depression, and self-absorption,interest of health and well-being, I went ahead and ordered a machine. I will say that retail therapy has, in my life, proven well-effective. There is a sweet euphoria that overcomes oneself when one puts forth some of that hard-earned green to treat oneself to something scrumptious. And to think, an act such as this recirculates said green and keeps the economy thriving. Woot, as they say.

I pestered the UPS tracking site like a child counting down the days until Christmas. Finally! It arrived. In such a ginormous box. Once the first box was opened, I discovered another box. Which held yet another box. A box within a box.

Finally. The machine. And it’s a beauty. So sleek. So substantial. Even though the coffee snobs and coffee geeks (those are actual web sites, I’m serious) tend to say that it’s not on a par with a real machine because of the plastic body, etc etc etc, I beg to differ because a) all the important parts are the same as the higher-end models that sport the metal housing and b) well, there is no b) but I was on a roll.

The cost-conscious part of me fully embraces the plastic housing, because it saves dollars, hundreds, mind you. I can live with a plastic housing, thank you very much. Of course, if I were bursting from the seams with mad money or if I had a kindly wealthy benefactor, I would love to have a full metal solid hunk of professional Italian splendor the likes that could whip out countless fabulous drinks one after another to the delight of friends and family. But generally, I have nobody but myself to impress*, so really, there’s no call for such a thing. And why, oh why, do these machines cost a king’s ransom to begin with? Why? I could say that I could justify the expense by showing the savings in Starbucks cappuccinos over a year, but the thing is, I can never see spending $3+ on one single beverage, so I never, evertreat myself to an espresso drink at a coffee shop. I just don’t. Even though I love, love, love cappuccino. (I have, however, ordered normal drip coffee and added heaps and loads of half and half, which is oh, so decadent, and at least $2 cheaper.) Grande drip in a vente cup, please. For the shame of it!

And now? Now I am obsessed with reaching that barista nirvana of micro-foam. Because I want my cappuccino to be beautiful, as well as sumptuous and scrumptious. I’m not there yet. The steam wand has its idiosyncrasies.

Yes, it’s a king-sized cappuccino. Not a latte. Not a cafe au lait. Not a macchiato. Cappuccino. My love. Is it not a thing of beauty? (I cheated and used the tip of the thermometer to scroll the design in the foam.) Yes, I used a thermometer to find that perfect temperature at which the milk gains sweetness and warmth, but shy of a scald. Can we say obsession?

But as with all love affairs, there is a bitterness that follows. The beast aroused. Gut wrenching side splitting body doubling cramps. Lactose intolerance. The sudden infusion of milk on a daily basis has left me questioning the wisdom of this purchase. I am mindset to overcome the body’s intolerance of that bovine nectar. Practice makes perfect, so they say. Enough, and I will suffer no more. That is the theory. And I don’t want this affair to end.

*Actually, my sister came to visit the day the machine arrived, and I was embarrassed to unveil and admit that I had spent so much on a kitchen gadget. My megalomania has a humble side.