There are two boxes on the dining room table. In one, a vintage tea set, and a random assortment of old mugs.
In the other, which happens to be an El Toro hard and soft taco kit box from Aldi, is a plastic cup full of swizzle sticks, a shower timer, souvenir coasters from New Zealand, a small Thermos, and, the caffettiera.
Once more, the caffettiera.
Me: Mum, what’s all this stuff in these boxes?
Mum: I’m getting rid of it all!
Me (confused): Why is the caffettiera in here then?
Mum: We never use it, and it only makes one cup of coffee.
Me (bewildered): It makes four cups. It’s a four cup caffettiera. Little cups, espresso cups.
Mum: It’s going.
The caffettiera has now resumed pride of place on the top shelf in my wardrobe.
It’s a well worn-in caffettiera; it’s the caffettiera I was taught how to make Italian coffee in my by Auntie Ianuzza when I was a teenager**.
And now it’s going to accompany me to my next stovetop, and the one after that, and the one after that.
Safe and sound.
*Credit to my cuz, Luciano, for inspiring the title of this blog post.
**Apparently, I used to pack the coffee in too tightly which didn’t then allow for the correct level of filtration to occur…