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It’s a funny old thing, coffee.  When you’re young, it tastes like old men’s socks, although the exception to this is coffee and walnut cake, and then one day, right out of the blue, you have a cup of coffee and it tastes absolutely divine.

Why this is I have no idea, although I did once read that, as children we have a whole heap of taste buds that gradually disappear with age.  So it could be that, or perhaps it’s a right of passage affair.  Either way, coffee has taken on an almost evangelical quality in terms of it’s status in our society.

For me, this awareness was raised as a direct result of the television programme, ‘Sex and the City’.  When those girls bought coffee, they bought it like they meant business.  Every time.  It became a symbol of independent city living and as a result, we all bought into the notion that coffee was more than a bit player in the film of our lives.  It was the perfect accessory to the phrase ‘Places to go, people to meet, appointments to keep’.

And as a consequence, after watching an episode, who didn’t secretly swish down the street with a take away coffee in hand and a Carrie Bradshaw monologue drifting around in their head?

But my love of fresh coffee was superseded by Carrie and her chums.  My love of coffee began way back when I first travelled around Italy and discovered the Bialetti. An ingenious cooking gadget that makes coffee like no other I have ever experienced.   So it is to this beautiful piece of 1930’s design that today, I raise my coffee cup and say ‘Thank-you’ Alfonso Bialetti.   Beautiful design, wonderful coffee.


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