perfidious • \per-FID-ee-us\ • adjective
: of, relating to, or characterized by faithlessness or disloyalty : treacherous

During one weekend visit at home, my Mom made the case that my Starbucks routine might be conveniently subsidized by buying my own coffee maker. I suggested a Keurig One Cup Coffee Maker… and that was that for the conversation.

A few days later a surprise package arrived at my desk. I opened the box to find a stove-top cappuccino maker. A Italian-made “mukka express!” Accompanied with this machine came two mugs with the face of a cartoon cow on them, saucers to match, and a package of ground mocha coffee. I was SO excited.
My cappuccino fix originated in Italy when I visited the country on a cruise. Every morning after breakfast we’d board a bus to take us to a prominent city, like Rome or Florence, and everyone morning the bus stopped at a highway rest stop. It was the Italian thing to do, they told us. There we would order cappuccinos and be up and running when we arrived. Since then I find myself to be a cappuccino consumer outside of the States – Switzerland, Turkey, Monaco… all wonderful spots for cappuccino.

My kitchen would soon be another. Home I went with my little machine, cups, saucers, and coffee and come Sunday I gave it a try. There were seven “simple” steps to putting the parts of the Mukka express together – the most important and, of course, complicated was fastening the pressure valve to the main console. I then added the milk and switched on the burner. Three small minutes later a geyser of cappuccino erupted, spewing water, grinds, milk into the air. I stood there, shuddering, in the wake of this explosion – not knowing quite what to do. I turned off the burner, evaluating the damage and the thin but sticky layer which now rested on the fridge, the stove, the floor… and the post-eruption drops that sucked on the ceiling before succumbing to gravity.
I evaluated my mishap. The pressure valve hadn’t locked in completely but, fortunately, had been blocked by the top of the machine – instead of being released into my kitchen to cause further destruction. I slowly dismantled the other parts of the perfidious machine – prepping it for another go. I gave the pressure valve a solid two minutes of time. Fastening and unfastening the device several times in the appropriate position. Water, milk, mocha. Go.
I never took my eyes off of the mukka express. My hands grasped together with hope. My feet stuck to the previous cappuccino drying on the floor. Pop!
The milk steamed and bubbled perfectly, the contents and parts of the mukka express remained in tact as my beverage took form. Quickly removing the device from the stove before my successful attempt could be foiled, I transferred the contents quickly into my bovine cup. The first sip… delicious but lukewarm. It’d suffice. I removed my stick flip flops before heading to the living room. I’d clean the kitchen later.