Summer mornings are very different from winter mornings.
In Chicago, at least.
From about November to February, between 6 and 8am, you will find me pondering the moral imperatives of getting out of bed, mentally writing a musical called I Really Should Just Stay Here. (Featuring the perennial classic, But It’s So Warm Here! And the big finish, a fan favorite, Why Would I Go Out There When It’s So Nice In Here… Where It’s Warm! Someday I will shop it to Pixar.)
Once the outside temperature reaches about 60 degrees, though, it is Iced Coffee Season. Turns out I’ve actually written about this, at least tangentially, in a previous post from years (!!?) back.
So the story is the same. It’s summer in Chicago, again. Though it has been pretty glorious lately (if it’s been hot, it hasn’t been humid; when it’s been humid, it hasn’t been too hot), it’s still well over 60 degrees and I still like to start my day dry and with dignity.
Where I used to brew a pot of extra-strong coffee, now I brew a regular pot, and transfer it to an old pitcher that no one will mind smelling coffee in for the rest of its natural plastic life. Once the pitcher is only warmish to the touch, I stow it away in the fridge for the week. One big pot tends to get me through one week, which makes brewing the Weekly Coffee sort of a delightful ritual on Sundays, knowing that I’m providing myself with this for the next 7 days.