The One With the Cold Brew … And Strawberries

I fell down the rabbit hole of Internet ideas this morning.

While doing a quick scroll through my Instagram feed, The Kitchn reminded me about cold brew.

… Cold brew, and how much I love cold brew.

… Cold brew and how often I used to make cold brew before my sweet person accidentally knocked my cold brew carafe out of the cupboard, dashing it and my dreams of the delicious equivalent of liquid gold with a go-go juice chaser into a million pieces.

But that wouldn’t be stopping me this morning. Oh no.

With a hearty ounce of coffee per cup of water ratio, out came the glass party pitcher, wooden spoon and measuring cup. In between friendly admonitions to my toddler to stop jumping/get off of/stop pushing and return such-and-such a toy to his sister, I measured, sloshed and stirred the batch together with BYOB (be your own barista) alacrity.

If you haven’t yet tried cold brew, I highly recommend it. It is thick, smooth and has all of the coffee oomph with zero bitterness and it is oh, so perfect for the warm weather we’ve been graced with recently.

Sadly, I won’t get to reap the rewards for another 15 hours (not that I’m counting), but that’s a lot sooner than the second rabbit hole I found myself falling down.

Just call me Alice.

Enter the strawberries.

Around here, we are all about breakfast. Eggs, breakfast sausage and cheese are super hot commodities. The latest and greatest household obsession, however, is strawberries.

I’m fairly certain my children would eat their weight in strawberries if given half the chance.

Because we go through so many of them, I told myself it only made sense to grow some of our own (I blame Monty Don and the slew of British gardening shows I started watching when I ran out of British baking shows).

A day or two later, I happened upon a six-pack of strawberry plants during my weekly grocery run. It seemed meant to be. They quickly found a home in my blue glazed strawberry pot, and five of the six plants took off quickly, producing blooms and a handful of smaller than average strawberries.

Then I did a little research, which I technically should have done to begin with, but I’m generally not the type who reads instruction manuals prior to plugging things in. That’s why God gave me Jason. Not only will he read the manual, he will highlight the manual and inventory each part prior to starting any given project.

But I digress.

My plants, it appears, were overcrowded; hence the shrimpy fruit. I pulled two out and replanted them in their own pots, and everyone seems happier. However, they still haven’t been able to produce at a rate that outpaces my toddler’s ability to pick them before they have a chance to ripen.

I needed to go bigger.

Cue this video.

I had to try it – in the name of science.

Immediately following breakfast, I set about carefully slicing the seeds off of what are possibly the most delicious strawberries I’ve ever tasted, potted them, gave them a good drink and placed them in my kitchen window, which is sketchily close to overcrowded with rainbow coleus, rosemary and basil starts.

If all goes according to plan and these babies take off, I will have some self-started strawberry plants to go into one of the raised garden beds that will hopefully be making an appearance in our backyard in the very near future …

Pro Tip: If you do start seeds, don’t forget to label them. I made this mistake and have a mystery container in my window sill that might be … chives? I think it’s chives. I’m about 70 percent sure. Maybe make that 60 percent.

The One With #MondayVibes

This is to myself, more than anyone else.

Don’t allow yourself to get weighed down by negativity. You will always find more than enough to drown in and, what’s worse, you almost always end up sinking those around you.

You can choose to be different.

You can be someone’s cement shoes or their water wings/floaty noodle.

While there was no single catastrophically terrible thing that happened today, it just felt like a never-ending parade of straws that were maxing out this camel’s back.

Teething baby.

Broken sleep.

Early morning.

No coffee at the gas station.

No cashier to ring up the energy drink I planned on buying as a replacement.

No caffeine for the drive to work.

1.2 billion emails waiting for me in my Inbox.

Worst of all, people.

All the little things that I’m usually good(ish) at brushing off all caught up to me and it became a day of #killallthethings.

But it shouldn’t have been.

I should have taken a step back and looked at the big picture.

Work stress? I have a job.

Teething baby? My bouncing bundle of love is healthy and is growing and is experiencing all of the other things that healthy, growing babies are dealing with.

Text messages about missed medical payments? 1) I’ve got a cell phone that can receive text messages. 2) With only minor teeth pulling, my insurance should work this out.

Random annoyances? Opportunities to exercise patience and self-control. … which I’m pretty sure I failed at.

BUT, tomorrow is a new day and I/you/we can and will do better.

In fact, don’t wait until tomorrow.

Make today, this afternoon, this hour, this moment, now, count.

We’ve got this.

1.24.13

As if he isn’t wonderful enough, the man brought me flowers at work tonight. Photo (c) Catherine Bowen

Exactly a year ago today, I met the man of my dreams.

Mind you, when I took my break from work that evening to meet my semi-blind date for coffee at Peet’s, I had absolutely no idea of this fact.

I had been hearing Jason/”White Meat” stories from April for the better part of the year. Nothing really materialized from that until the fateful night when Rich and April told me they were moving to Texas, which April quickly followed by adding “—but I’ve got a guy for you!”

Following an unforgettable last hurrah trip to Monterey, where we all tried our best to forget about the misery we knew May and their departure from what I like to call “the correct state” would bring, she gave me Jason’s number.

Knowing me as she does, a day later when she ascertained that I still hadn’t texted him and was way too much of a chicken to actually initiate a conversation, April took the bull by the horns, gave him my number, and lo and behold, on Jan. 23, 2012, I got a text that would ultimately change my life.

Not bad for ‘Hi Catherine, this is April’s friend Jason. Hows it going?’ eh?

That little gem launched an eight-hour textathon that included a plan to meet for coffee.

Forward fast to the following day.

I spent the entire day being completely calm and somewhat cavalier … until five minutes before the appointed time rolled around.

Commence full-scale freakout.

I arrived first, ordered a coffee and took a seat at a two-chair table with a birds-eye view of the door.

And waited.

Minutes later, Jason walked in the door, flashed me a quick nervous smile, and from the minute he sat down — which was a minute or two after ordering his coffee — I’ve felt like I’ve always known him.

We clicked and it was on like donkey kong.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been a year since I met the love of my life; it feels like yesterday and an eternity ago.

The best part is, I’m now 120 days from being lucky enough to call him my husband.

In hindsight, all the steps it has taken us both to get to this point never ceases to amaze me. God has blessed me more than I ever deserved or could have ever dreamed to ask for.

6.22.12

Ever notice how you’ll start a day with the best intentions of the world, ready to give anyone and everyone the benefit of the doubt, be more understanding and patient with your fellow man — morons included — and then 3 o’clock rolls around, the coffee wears off and you’re ready to smack the next person to look your way?

… and Heaven help them if they consider opening their mouths.

5.17.12 — Get your coffee on.

I tried going without coffee today. I really did.

But after spending nearly seven hours feeling like I had been hit in the head with a shovel, at 2:55 p.m., I caved.

My caffeine intake has long been in question for a variety of reasons, ranging from sporadic insomnia issues to talking so fast that a cracked-out chipmunk has to tell me “eeeeeeeasy, speedracer.”

Friends usually look at me with a mix of amused bewilderment and “Seriously. What is the matter with you?” … followed by a less than subtle, “Exactly how many cups of coffee have you had today?”

Now, here I sit. Next to me, my mondo Looney Toons mug, which is roughly twice the size of a normal cup, helping me finally creep my way back to normal.

Although, now that I think about it, there is no “normal” when it comes to caffeine. Psh, what is this “normal” you speak of?

Anyway, after caving, I started Yahooing — and I don’t mean yelling like an idiot. The perusing news headlines version. That one.

Sip. Read. Sip.

Suddenly the word “coffee” caught my eye — it was a sign.

There, in 12-point Arial font, was my validation.

“Coffee drinkers are a little more likely to live longer.”

The study of 400,000 fellow junkies showed that we “tended to smoke, drink more alcohol, eat more red meat and exercise less than non-coffee-drinkers.”

Whatev. No judgment.

However, damaging extracurricular health habits aside, coffee chuggers were found to be less likely to kick the bucket as a result of heart or respiratory disease, stroke, diabetes, infections accidents or injuries.

Lay off the sugar and cream, they suggest. Added calories and whatnot.

Drink filtered rather than boiled — HEY, I’MMA DRINK MY COFFEE THE WAY I WANT! YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!

(Heh, I think the caffeine just kicked in … )

Boo-yeah!

“Each cup of coffee per day nudged up the chances of living longer.”

Ladies … gentlemen … this news is gold.

Now, theoretically, unless I step in front of an oncoming bus, get hit by a stray bullet while covering the county’s future gang war, the bungee breaks when I jump from the top of a skyscraper or I do something more stupid than usual, I will have added years to have my fog lifted by dark roasts and mouth motored by espresso.

And hey, I read it online. That means it must be true.