How Bill Ervolino makes coffee (though it's not usually all over the floor)

Last Saturday, two items I had recently ordered online arrived on my doorstep in a sad-looking cardboard box.

They were: one case of Gatorade (assorted flavors and colors) and one small, red plastic container of Folgers Breakfast Blend coffee.

(A subsequent text said that my large, yellow plastic container of Cafe Bustelo would arrive on the following day.)

Opening this sad-looking cardboard box, which had way too much tape holding it together, I could see that my case of Gatorade was in pristine condition. But, it had apparently crushed the small, red plastic container of coffee during the trip. (A small, red plastic container of coffee which, as far as I know, had never hurt anyone.)

About one quarter of the coffee was still in the plastic container. The rest was…everywhere.

Ugh.

In outer space, no one hears you scream.

But, I wasn’t in outer space, so a few people heard.

As for what I screamed, let’s just say that it was loud and unpleasant and scared the dog.

Believe it or not, this was not the only coffee-related tragedy of 2024 to break my heart, ruin my day and destroy my faith in humanity.

In late March, I was making a pot of coffee in my trusty, glass French press.

It was an otherwise lovely morning. The sun was out. Birds were chirping. And I, too, was humming a happy tune.

I should note that I had been using this particular press for about a year. My first attempts at making coffee in it were unsuccessful. But, I eventually learned how to do it perfectly. I also learned how to CLEAN it perfectly.

If you’ve ever used a French press, you know what I’m talking about. One errant coffee particle can unleash a tsunami of boiling hot liquid onto your countertops.

This happened to me a few times in 2023. I pressed down the plunger, slowly but surely, and a plume of hot coffee shot from the spout.

But this was child’s play compared to that lovely morning in March.

I had boiled my water, added my three little scoops of coffee — I generally mix the Folgers and the Cafe Bustelo — and had just begun pressing down the plunger when I realized that boiling water was coming out of the bottom.

Confused, I pressed down a bit more and my beautiful French press exploded.

“I’d like one kaboom-a-ccino, please.”

I screamed — again — although I had a good excuse this time, covered as I was with scalding hot coffee and broken glass.

WHAT HAPPENED??

I backed away from the counter to survey the carnage — and figure out who to blame for it.

Was it my fault?

Was it France’s fault?

There are enough wars going on. I didn’t want to start another one.

I eventually decided that this was way too complicated to figure out at 8 o’clock in the morning, before I had any coffee.

I was also reminded: Wait a second! I used to buy Eight O’Clock coffee all the time. Why did I switch? Did my store stop selling it?

Again, this was way too much to think about without my morning Joe. So, after hastily cleaning up the disaster, I went into my kitchen pantry and found the unopened Cuisinart four-cup coffeemaker that I had purchased months earlier and kept in the closet in case of an emergency.

As my pooch watched from the other side of the room, I removed the coffeemaker from the box, set it up and told her, “This is an emergency.”

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Minutes later, I was on the sofa, sipping my java and wondering if I should get a new French press or not.

I know lots of people and hardly any of them use the same type of coffeemaker. One, the relative of a friend of a friend, seemed upset with me a few months ago, when she showed me the sparkling new Keurig “coffee station” in her kitchen — which, I innocently told her, looks exactly like the coffee station in the front office of my brother’s auto body shop.

(Well, it does.)

At least four friends told me they have gotten new coffee pots, machines and “systems” this year and that made me sad. Does nothing last anymore?

My mother used the same coffee pot for 45 years and when she died, my father refused to part with it.

“This pot,” he told me, “is made from surgical stainless steel!”

Surgical?

Naturally, I was impressed. You never know when you may get locked in the house and have to perform an emergency appendectomy.

Like Mom, he refused to let me get him something shiny and new.

After he died, I donated it and a bunch of his other kitchen stuff to AMVETS.

But, I worried. Would I be cursed for parting with a treasured family heirloom?

I’ve been enduring coffee tragedies ever since. So, yeah, probably.

This article originally appeared on NorthJersey.com: When to replace your coffee maker? They don't seem to last: Ervolino