Remember this post when I gave my final and tearful farewell to Pioneer Woman?
Well, I’m wondering if it’s too late to come crawling back.
I’ve never really been all that good at goodbye, in fact, I think I delved rather deeply into that issue in this post.
But one issue that I haven’t covered yet is my infinite adoration of all products derived from the delicious coffee bean.
First, there’s that hallelujah chorus you hear when you crack the door of a Starbucks, and that first deep breath you take after sinking the can opener into the side of the can*.
Then there’s the mocha. Chocolate and coffee. The Perfect Union. What God has brought together, let no man bring asunder.
And let us not forget the white chocolate mocha, mint chocolate mocha, the chocolate dipped coffee bean…
But I digress. This post is actually meant to spell out the reason why I broke my embargo to read Pioneer Woman again.
I’m not a weak woman, but she had me at hello when she posted this.
The Perfect Iced Coffee.
Woman, get out of my head.
How could she have known the lengthy struggle I’ve gone through these past weeks to make the perfect iced coffee, only to end up with a giant watery mess rather than unadulterated coffee goodness?
I don’t know either, but hats off to you, P-Dub. Watching those little fingers of milk drift to the bottom of my glass this morning was life-changing, thank you very much.
Oh, and if you’re still reading my mind, you wouldn’t by chance be brewing up a solution to my ant problem, would you?
*I just bought an actual can of coffee yesterday. Other than childbirth, there is very little in life that incorporates the potential for blood loss with the commencement of joy.