Happy Birthday, Senore Moriondo

BOING. Looks awake, doesn't he? He should.

Who is this severely caffeinated man, you ask? THIS... is your hero. Yup. This is the guy who Starbucks and Peet's and all the rest of you serious coffee drinkers owe big time, as he was the first to invent a machine to send steam through coffee. Yes, it's the original Italian Mr. Coffee, Senore Angelo Moriondo, the guy who invented espresso. Da-da is sacrificing many beans to Sr. Moriondo today -- well, every day, and then, only tangentially, as Da-da makes seriously deranged INSTANT DA-DA COFFEE, which could perhaps explain why Da-da looks like a golem half the time (though the wordS on Da-da's head read, "YOUR NAME HERE"), as well as why Da-da hasn't slept since the War of the Roses... but also, most importantly for you, it might indicate exactly WHY Da-da can't seem to stake this vampire sentence... DIE, SENTENCE, DIE! There. It also might explain why that pesky spoon won't fall over, but then again, physical laws don't always work around Da-da. What was the question, again?

Da-da coffee is always intense.

Grumpy Da-da's N'oxymoron for a Thursday Afternoon

Yeah. Thanks, Carl. Do you know how much a fresh universe costs these days?

Da-da's grumpy, so today's near-oxymoron -- or "n'oxymoron" -- is, "celebrity chef." For the most part, chefs are not celebrities. Some are, like Jacques Pepin (who can cut an onion faster than any machine), but the rest are just corporate celebrity chef wannabes, rehashing the same voguey or costly, or voguey costly ingredients over and over again in a redundant pottage of pottage redundancy. They wax this tuna while suggesting viewers purchase $400 mixers and $3000 copper-core can openers and exotic, pricey ingredients tossed akimbo amidst amazing quick-cut culinary trips to some cheese-laden caveau in the Pyrenees, or the Champagne region where we're forced to endure them rolling their eyes, moaning and nodding to that impossible-to-procure Fumé Neuberg grown by their now-good-friend, Francois -- all the while wagging their chemically shock-treated hair, $10k smiles and iconic, impeccably slouchy wardrobes in our gray-toothed Old Navy faces. They're not all like that, o'course.

The schlumpy sincere-esque ones are merely obnoxious and gad about hating and mocking everything in the world (like writers, chefs all secretly hate one another) -- except for that impossible-to-procure Fumé Neuberg grown by their now-good-friend, Francois. For the most part, these are not folks you'd let stand in your kitchen for more than a few seconds before whacking them in the head with a baked alaska. We now return you to Grumpy Da-da's (instant) coffee, already in progress. Da-da coffee is always intense.

Here's one Da-da made earlier.

Da-da Coffee is Always Intense

Needless to say, Da-da coffee is THICK as a Klansman's head (um, and THAT CUP IS STUCK TO THE WALL). Reminiscent of Navy coffee, it's an evil hellbroth that not only wakes you up, it wakes up the kids, the county, the Living Dead, what's left of NORAD...

Here's the recipe:

Da-da's Javanarian Coffee Experience

• 6 tsp. (heaping) instant coffee
  (equal parts Nescafe Classico & Taster's Choice)

• Hot water (190 degrees F.)

• Cream & sugar, if desired
  (Da-da drinks it black, like Da-da's heart)

Spoon coffee into cup. Keep spooning. When you get tired, add hot water. Stir. Pick up cup, face east, sip and say, "GOD, I needed that."

Congratulations, you're a Javanarian. Welcome.

Ok, now the good news. Caffeinewise, this magilla has less caffeine than its nominal counterpart. However, if you'd like even less go-juice viscosity for your quotidian cup, Da-da typically mixes 2 tsp. Decaf Taster's Choice (Green) instant with 2.5 tsp. Regular Taster's Choice (Red) + 1 scant tsp. of Nescafe Classico for more of a burnt Viennese roast taste, depending on the size of the mug and how bleary Da-da is -- which is usually bleary enough to kill a regular person. Note that fresh instant coffee is much better than regular drip coffee, as it's more caramel-y and less bitter than its brewed counterpart, has a nice viscosity brewed coffee can't match, and is absolutely delicious with cream and sugar. It's addictive, be careful, like a Starbucks foofy drink, but for only about $1. It does go stale fast, though, so store coffee in a glass jar with a rubber-gasket.

Da-da knows: "Why instant coffee, Da-da? We thought you were Scaramanga in your tastes." Da-da is an effete bastard in his tastes, o'course -- primarily because of all the extra nipples -- but a little backstory is in order, Mr. Bond.

Da-da was in London on business (the charges didn't stick), popped in a cafe and ordered a cup-o-joe. It was literally the best coffee Da-da had ever had, save for that civet coffee in that cell in French Guyana. Da-da immediately asked the server what kind of coffee it was.

"Uh. It's from a machine," she said.

"No, it isn't," Da-da countered, expertly.

"Come with me," she said, rolling her eyes and waving me into the back of the restaurant. At first, Da-da thought he was getting lucky, but then there was the source of the amazing coffee: a Nescafe instant coffee machine? Huh? Da-da bought a box of Nescafe euro-instant and kept it in his cell hotel: it was nearly as good. Alas, Da-da later discovered that the good instant coffee is only sent to Europe, as everyone knows that the U.S. population prefers that hot-water-with-a-brown-crayon WEAK-ass $3 coffee. In a styrofoam cup. With eggshells. And a fish. Named Dave.

Anyway, in Da-da coffee, the spoon STANDS STRAIGHT UP, Dracula. That's 9000-weight viscosity, baby.

Da-da Coffee is always intense.