HOW TO CLEAN OUT A COFFEE POT. HOW TO CLEAN OUT(Mon)
How to clean out a coffee pot. Dry cleaning central.
How To Clean Out A Coffee Pot
- A coffee pot is a kitchen implement; a cooking pot in the kettle family. A coffee pot is also a container to hold freshly brewed coffee. There are many types and styles.
- The Coffee Pot is a historic roadhouse listed on the National Register of Historic Places located in the Grandin Court neighborhood of the independent city of Roanoke, Virginia, U.S.A..
- The Coffee Pot in Bedford, Pennsylvania is an example of novelty architecture. The lunch stand was built in the shape of a coffee pot by David Koontz in 1927. It was threatened with demolition in the 1990's, but in 2004 was moved across the street and restored.
- A covered container with a spout, in which coffee is made or served
- deprive completely of money or goods; "The robbers cleaned us out in a couple of hours"
- A how-to or a how to is an informal, often short, description of how to accomplish some specific task. A how-to is usually meant to help non-experts, may leave out details that are only important to experts, and may also be greatly simplified from an overall discussion of the topic.
- Practical advice on a particular subject; that gives advice or instruction on a particular topic
- Providing detailed and practical advice
- (How To’s) Multi-Speed Animations
The first one of my childhood was a sleek silver beauty near the center of Stratford, Connecticut named The Duchess Diner. It was clean and stylish, and the food was great, but what had me begging my father and grandparents for more and more visits was the fabulous assortment of characters who were habitues. I adored the colorful mix of loquacious old men in fedoras, priests from our church around the corner (I about fainted the first time I saw one of the nuns there in her long black habit), actors from the American Shakespeare Theatre- a few blocks away- sitting over endless cups of coffee learning lines, blue haired ladies in giggling gaggles, mechanics from the garage across the street in for a quick bite, teenagers out on what looked like first dates, sullen middle-aged men reading the New York Post who smiled only when the waitress came over with the coffee pot and called them hon, hotshot wheeler dealers workin' the crowd, and ordinary families like mine.
Sometimes we'd go there for breakfast in the afternoon on a Sunday after the last Mass (my grandmother couldn't get out of bed until late morning and then needed an hour to "put on her face"), but it was iffy because the wait list was formidable and the number of children involved impressive. Truth be told, though, I much preferred the odd times when I went with either my dad or my grandfather alone, so I was the center of their attention. There were also the memorable rare weekday occasions- generally after a back-to-school clothes shopping trip- when I'd go with my grandmother and mother and ditzy Aunt Fran. Those three women were all champion talkers, so my sister Linda and my younger cousin Brenda and I would have ample opportunity for soaking in all the current juicy gossip during those leisurely afternoon "foot-resters".
That diner, and a few others, helped mark a number of significant rites of passage. I opened my presents after my first holy communion at a table at The Duchess, and that's where we celebrated my elementary school graduation. The boy I had a mad crush on in 6th grade took me there for a shared piece of pie the week before I moved away. Thirty years later when someone in our family was arrested and sent to jail for a few years, the family gathered with him at The Duchess for his last breakfast before he "went in".
Your first neighborhood diner is kinda like the first guy you kiss. There will be others that are better, but nothing will ever replace the first one. Still, when we moved north, Newington didn't have a real diner downtown, but it had several nearby on the old Berlin Turnpike. Being on a still-busy, though no longer essential highway (route 91 had made it redundant for anything but local needs), it attracted its own peculiar but colorful clientele, with a high percentage of old-timer truck drivers who preferred it to the mega-truckstops on the bigger road. A tad less "family friendly" than The Duchess, there were still opportunities for rites-of-passage. I remember having tea and an english muffin at one of them after my boyfriend's junior prom. And the day I got my driver's license, after lessons from my father that we were lucky we both survived, dad handed me the keys and then directed me- as he had during lessons- to "turn left here, take a right at that light....". Next thing I knew I was heading up the ON ramp for the highway that had never been a part of my lessons. It was an exhilarating 20 minute white-knuckle experience before we pulled into the parking lot of the diner where he'd planned our little private celebration. I don't think a BLT and iced tea ever tasted so good.
It would be hard to think about diners without acknowledging how essential "the diner waitress" is to the whole experience. In my only slightly romanticized experience I think of them as smart, sassy, capable, and caring.... sort of the American working class everywoman. The chrome and deco lines, along with the swivel counter seats and booths, may be what define the diner and makes it recognizable, but it's the waitresses (and cooks, of course) who keep the regulars coming back. Like bartenders, they're part caretaker, part psychiatrist, part cheerleader, and part police officer. I'm sure it's no coincidence that teenage workers end up at fast food joints instead of waiting the booths in diners... it takes a lot of honed skills to fill those soft-soled, arch-supporting shoes. No doubt it was my admiration for those strong-and-motherly waitresses of my youth that led me to willingly "wait tables" in a sit-down place when I was 16, and much of what keeps me coming back to them all these years later.
Whenever I'm traveling, I'll tend to get off the highway and look for the local equivalent of the diner. As a young design student I was a little snobby about them needing to look like the silver cars of my youth, but as I've grown older, I've come to understand
Heather puts the BIG CUP to use at the Hotel Champagne palace breakfast. The day before she had scoped out the coffee cup situation. All the cups were different. So she planned for the next day, and today scored the BIG cup.
11/22/2004 - Monday: in Rome Roma, the Vatican, train to Florence Firenze
Left hotel a bit late...not too bad. Tried to get on the subway but there was a line up the stairs. We were going to take a bus, but then we got a cab. 10 euros to take a cab two metro stops...I sort of think that wasn't strictly kosher...but maybe it was. it was still fun. We got to go under a tunnel that we saw yesterday during our ordeal march of being lost.
the idea was to catch the capucin crypts on the way to the vatican. But they were closed...still. so we slipped down back into the subway. We had used our single use tickets when we were turned back by the line at the Termini station, but we decided that the moral constraints were met, so we slipped through and re-used the tickets to get to the vatican. AFter all, we had gone through the gate, but we hadn't gotten on a train...
so the train left at 4:48ish, maybe 4:47...basically right on time ...
Off we rushed to the Vatican museum. We arrived at 10:00...and the english tour was at 10:30, so just enough time to get oriented and rest a bit before the ordeal by marbel floor!
We had a nice tour guide. First she showed us a sort of parchement view of the sistine chapel-two rulls of text and pictures with details of the different scenes. She would wind it down to get the next view.
This was fascinating...I am phenomenally underinformed of art and cultural matters...it is almost a cliche to say that, but egads it it true.
on the other hand, there are things we know today that were unknown 200 years ago. Amazingly...apparantly the whole forum area was under dirt until 18-something. So much dirt that only the tops of the columns were exposed. and even now much remains.
The archeologists cringe over the techniques used to clear what is now exposed. There have been several recent archeological 'campaigns' among the ruins of palatine hill that have excavated pre-roman huts. one of the write ups discussed the findings of 27 flakes of flint, indicating tool maing. So infering thngs based on bits of things found...which is the whole point of archeology.
And it made me realize that they are not done excavating Rome Roma...an odd thing to realize, since only a moment's consideration would reveal how obvious that is! There are Indian mounds that the archeologists are intentionally leaving alone for now, with the expressed plan of letting future archeologists examine them when they have better techniques.
my ears are popping...and the gps lost its lock...I then look out and realize we are going through a tunnel. ah...sense is made.
maybe...perhaps it wasn't a tunnel...I can't tell. several more episodes of pressure changes are occuring.
There are sliding head rests on the cabin walls in back of the seats. they are padded and have vertical supports so that you can lean on them to sleep without falling into the window, or onto your neighbor. they slide up and down to allow you to adjust to your preferences.
We didn't see the capucini crypt, because it was closed, and it was getting dark as we got on the train, but we are doing pretty well.
The vatican tour took two hours...and it seemed that we were moving much of the time. they have these slick radio receivors so you can hear the tour guide even if you are in the next room back.
I had a strong response to a tapestry depicting the slaughter of the chilidren by herod. One baby is being held, barely, by its mother and a soldier has a dagger to the child's heart. The baby is about to die. Other mother's are using their bodies to shield their infants. it is truly horrible.
damn! the pressure changes are really frequent, and amazingly annoying.
I downloaded a bunch of stuff from 'hex'-a friend of Jo and Schuyler's. I'm reading
how to build a reality that doesn't fall apart two days later...file:///Users/admin/wa/web/downlode.org/etext/how_to_build.html
I'm on the train...fighting sleep. I need to pee, but to do that I worry I'll have to wake the gentleman seated in front of the door to our compartment.
passing through orte...at 5:27:00---possibly even got a track point. I had a signal for a moment.
well..more than a moment, but not too long. there is crying in the hall....
The GPS showed us going 115 mph, for a bit. not just one observation. interesting. fast.
The hall of maps was cool because I realized it was, or could have been, not about art and instead was about the simple matter of managing an empire.
I enjoyed the museum, duh, and the Sistine chapel...and then we climbed the dome! I loved that! I truly loved it. We got to the top and I could see radio vatican and the quiet parts
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