Coffee Week — Tuesday

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While attending university in Antigonish, I stayed with my grandparents. My grandmother had founded a little restaurant across the street called the Cottage Store that served the local students. But, when I was there, the store was run by my uncle as my grandmother was older and bound to a wheelchair because of bad hips and ulcerated legs. So I stayed with her, cooked meals and kept her company while enjoying college life.

She had an oil range in the kitchen upon which she always kept a percolator full of coffee. As the day wore on she’d just add water to the pot. When she turned the range off at night, the pot was left to cool.

Come morning, as was her routine, she’d light the range, poor off the old coffee into a glass and prepare a fresh brew. Then sitting back and gazing out the window at a life she didn’t participate in anymore, she’d chug that cold, burnt and gritty glass of mud.

Every day.

I like to drink cold leftover pressed coffee too.

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