Father’s Day Cups of Coffee
Father’s Day started with an early morning wake up from our 14-month-old. I was trying to let my husband sleep in, but he was up earlier than he or I wanted.
Like most mornings, this morning revolved around coffee.
After rolling out of bed, my husband came in the kitchen and asked the proverbial question. “Did you guys make me any coffee?”
We hadn’t, but after an already hectic morning, it was definitely needed.
Although C does not yet drink coffee, he still likes to help me make a good French-pressed cup of Joe.
On our recent trip back to Seattle, we bought a bag of beans from Seattle Coffee Works. They were called “Molly’s Blend,” named after SCW’s first coffee roaster, and sourced from Panama and Guatemala. The beans smelled very mild, and I was excited to try them and C was excited to help.
Before we did anything, C grabbed the bag and asked if he could smell the beans. This is an important part of any coffee-making experience, so of course I let him. “They smell good, Mama,” he said, “like chocolate.”
He then grabbed his learning tower and I plugged in the grinder.
Once I poured the beans in, C did the crucial job of pushing the button. He loves pushing it and making the loud sound, which I only love if the loud sound results in coffee. C even told his baby sister and his daddy to cover their ears.
After we ground the beans, I got the French press and read that we needed to mix the coffee and let it rest before pressing down on the plunger. C knows that’s one of his jobs, so he grabbed a spoon for mixing.
Once we had all the coffee ready, we pressed down together, squishing all the grinds to the bottom of the press.
C ran to find his dad and told him we had made a delicious cup of coffee.
The coffee worked out great, but as is true with any cooking with kids experience, you can’t really predict a child’s mood. Our original plan that morning was to make coffee and the French Toast Bake we made for Mother’s Day. I had the ingredients ready and expected as much enthusiasm as C had for Mother’s Day, but when I asked my helper to come rip some bread, he told me I should do it myself and he really needed to go play.
“It will be delicious, Mama,” he told me. And it was.
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