My neverending search for the perfect cup of coffee — theguardian.com

I’m about to go holiday, and though the prospect is delightful, one thing is worrying me: the coffee situation. For the last few years, a group of us have rented a big, old house somewhere in deepest France. It’s a place I love as much as anywhere I’ve ever stayed: you will know what I mean when I say that it’s the kind of house where you want only to read Colette, and eat apricots, and lie in the bath with a large glass of rosé while listening to Francoise Hardy (you might want to pretend that you are Francoise Hardy, I couldn’t possibly comment). However, there is a problem, and that is the aforementioned coffee situation.

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