Iced coffee. I've heard approximately 4,193 people mention iced coffee this week, either on Google+, Twitter, Pinterest, Facebook, Good Morning America, and/or random conversations with strangers (as opposed to planned conversations with strangers, known as "solicitation" or "stalking" and slightly frowned upon). Even McDonald's is offering a version of the drink alongside their lattes and mochas and chicken nuggets and whatnot. Last year, I do not remember this phenomenon. This year, everyone drinks it and touts the delicious, chilled beauty of the concoction.
Even the awesome Pioneer Woman Ree Drummond herself shows up as Google's third option when one searches for "iced coffee." However, I am somewhat daunted by the act of making this chilled version as opposed to my regular morning brew. For example, the Pioneer Woman's process for the "Perfect Iced Coffee" involves somewhere near 28 steps and two days of preparation. You see, my morning coffee has three steps: pour water into coffee maker; measure coffee into coffee maker; push "delay" so it will make coffee the next morning. That's it. When I wake up, I can pour a hot cup of hazelnut breakfast blend into my favorite blue mug, add some raw sugar, a dash of almond milk, and start my day.
There are two main things I don't like about iced coffee:
- it's cold. After waiting 16 years of my life before I was even allowed to drink coffee ("you won't like it, it's for adults..."), I drank it for the next 12 years of my life hot. Like, deliciously steaming and hot. It's like giving a person a bowl of hot ice cream and saying it's the new craze - it just doesn't compute.
- no foam. One of my favorite parts about drinking coffee (especially lattes), is the first sip of hot foam at the top of the mug. It's delightful and, if done correctly, tastes exactly like a warm hug on your tongue....which sounded better in my head than it does written out, but I'm keeping it nonetheless.
Side note: I like frappuccinos. Why? Because I think of them as ice cream, not coffee. And ice cream should be cold, so it all makes sense.
It did not go well, leading me to wonder if I'll ever be one of those "Look at the wedding dress I just made over the weekend!" kind of seamstresses. I can't even thread a bobbin (wait, do you thread it, or spool it? I have no idea). I wanted to make a clutch, a simple, small purse clutch with ruched sides. I purchased a nice pattern from a local fabric store, selected the fabric I wanted, and set out all my supplies. John was gone on a business trip to Chicago, so I had an entire evening to myself. I turned on Netflix, selected the 1996 version of Jane Eyre, and went to work.
After 3 hours of cutting, pinning, ironing, and sewing, I ended up finishing out the bobbin 2/3rd's of the way into the project, thwarting my chances of completing the purse by dawn. I had no idea how to change/respool/fix/burn the bobbin, and no real desire to spend 30 minutes on YouTube trying to find someone who taped themselves doing it 20x faster than the human eye can see. So I called it quits and went to bed. That was it. No defiant call the next morning to "conquer this challenge!" or "finished what I started!" or "clean up after myself!"
Oh, nay. I made some coffee (hot, steaming, hazelnut breakfast blend coffee with almond milk) and read blogs on Google Reader. And made an account on Audible. Oh, and I think I did a load of laundry, too.