This is my grandmother’s percolator. Before our K-Cups, corner Starbucks and coffeemakers, this was how you got your cuppa joe. I have no idea how old it is. I’m now brewing my second pot of coffee in it. I know est ist mitternacht.
My mom doesn’t do coffee so this was just sitting on the stove. I have many memories of grandma’s pot bubbling as she made her mornning brew. Typically, she drank it out of a bone china teacup. I don’t know why. That cup is in my cabinet.
The coffee is delicious. I don’t know whether it’s nostalgia, the old metal, the brown sugar I’ve been using lately or the stains of a thousand brews that will never come off the inside. It’s delicious.
I’ll take good care of your coffee pot, Grandma.
Aside: I have a stovetop percolator, a manual typewriter from the ’30s and I dress like Mr. Belvidere. Next stop: penny-farthing?