Now I want to sketch an elevated situation. Newspapers on the dining table that your fingertips touch a bit inky, rolls from the baker still steaming, me in his shirt with my hair in a bun, a chanson from the speakers and fresh black coffee. But you all know that I'm lying then.

Instead, we have a morning session on the couch, with Netflix, in sweatpants, a bowl of yogurt and granola on my lap because the rest was gone. The only thing that is based on truth is the coffee. I've recently been making it with a French Press. You buy expensive coffee varieties, drink snobby coffee and nod approvingly when you take the first sip. How does it work? Expensive coffee in the pot, let it steep for a bit, some manual labor by ‘pressing’ the coffee and done. Looks great, tastes great and is really delicious.