We usually are gone for days at a time. We spend lots of time in hotels. An all too common event is standing in the lobby drinking stale, lukewarm, bitter coffee consumed out of a paper or styrofoam cup at 4:30 am waiting for the shuttle to the airport.
Growing up, my best friend's Dad was an airline pilot. When he was home, he used to sit at the head of their huge battered oak dining table and devour a soup-bowl sized mug of stove top italian coffee. Their whole house smelt of the incredible aroma. Now, thanks to your article, I think I understand why, as an airline pilot, he got so much satisfaction from his coffee at home. Thanks for getting me to revisit a very old memory and see it in a new way.