My journey began innocently enough, with a trip to a local coffee shop. I figured, who better to learn from than the masters themselves? Armed with my reusable mug and a thirst for knowledge (and caffeine), I peppered the barista with questions. French press? Chemex? Aeropress? What even was a burr grinder?

Overwhelmed yet strangely empowered, I left the coffee shop with a bag of freshly roasted beans, a hand-crank burr grinder (because “the arm workout is worth it,” apparently), and a newfound sense of purpose. I was going to conquer this coffee thing, one perfectly brewed cup at a time.

The Caffeine-Fueled Catastrophe of My Home-Brewed Coffee Dreams

Spoiler alert: things did not go according to plan. My first attempt at using the French press resembled a volcanic eruption more than a relaxing morning ritual. Coffee grounds overflowed, painting my kitchen counter with a Jackson Pollock-esque masterpiece. Undeterred, I moved on to the Aeropress, only to accidentally launch a jet of hot coffee straight into the air (thankfully, not onto my white shirt).