So I managed to get to the Migros on Saturday with a few minutes to spare before the 5pm closing time. I don't think my roommate bought my story that the coffee machine's great aunt was a phoenix, and that it was consumed in a burst of flame and born anew from the ashes. The slag of its predecessor in the sink might have tipped her off.
On Sunday, I set out to make my first cup of coffee with the gleaming new aluminum marvel. I even managed to read the instructions in German only to discover that, for the past year, I've been packing in the coffee grounds too tight and brewing the coffee over excessive heat. With my ground coffee loosely set in the filter and the flame turned down to medium, I awaited the black nectar that would soon gush from the top of the spout. Except that it didn't. Rather, it bubbled out of the side of the machine and pooled on the top of the oven. I did manage to extract enough juice to have my morning cup of coffee, but the residue in the bottom of the pot revealed a rift extending along perhaps a quarter of the bottom edge of the pot.
Made in Italy. Worthless. Apparently, Italian aluminum is very delicate and tears when subjected to too much force. Even when it is a couple of millimeters thick.
So I'm now on my third coffee machine in three days. Folk wisdom holds that this attempt should be charmed, but I'm not holding my breath.
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