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Urbe in Rus; or, Camus on Suicide


Oh my lord what a metrosexual. Excitement this week chez Dodds as I purchased a milk thermometer. No, I'm not pregnant and nor have I made a start on animal husbandry since The Move (time enough for that - indeed, we have already promised to help with the lambing... more on that anon). None of that. No. I simply haven't found a Taylor Street replacement for the caffeine fix yet so I am going the homemade route, aided and abetted by my former colleagues who bought me as a leaving gift a beautiful coffee machine, complete with working steamer (yay!), which, somewhat starved of photographic subjects as I am, I may yet picture on here.

Anyway, the milk thermometer. A necessary adjunct to the machine, IMHO, given the importance of getting the temperature exactly right. I know, I know, all that fuss and bother... but but but when a coffee is done right, yowser! It hits a certain heavenly spot:

"Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?" - Albert Camus

So, anyway, does it work, the thermometer that is? Well yes, thank you, at least so far. Switch off the steam before you hit 60 degrees and on up into the Zone of Perfection it goes (depending of course on the amount of milk - YMMV) - red is the target, it doesn't signify danger.

Thermometer: Electronic Temperature Instruments via Upstairs Downstairs in Oswestry (pop. 15 - 17,000 - more here - you're welcome); it looks a bit Italian IYAM, which is appropriate.

Photo? Nikon D700 as before; Nikon 105mm 2.8 G @ f3.5; 1/200s ISO500 half standing in dressing gown on dining room table. Bit of Photoshop and a bit of Camerabag2.

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