I have never figured out how to make coffee. Largely, this is because there is no point to my knowing how to make coffee. The only way I can tolerate coffee is when it is altered to the point of being unrecognizable by the addition of milk and sugar and possibly other flavors, like chocolate (delicious, delicious chocolate).
Then I started feeling funny when I drank any coffee, so I had even less incentive to learn to make coffee, and I became a chai girl all the way.
One of the people with whom I am staying works for one of the major coffee roasters in town. Since I have been neither leaving the house nor spending money, he offered to bring home some coffee. I asked for decaf.
Then the other person with whom I am staying showed me how to use the various coffee-making implements in the house.
This morning, I decided to attempt coffee instead of my trusty Tea India. (I did not discover Tea India myself; I was given a box by some friends who accidentally ordered a case of it. But it is delicious.)
I ground the beans as instructed. I filled the little section on the stove-top pot. I added water to the proper section. I turned the stove on.
Somehow, what I produced was an almost unpourable sludge that filled not quite 2/3 of my mug.
It smelled delicious, though, so I added a bunch of heavy whipping cream and even more skim milk, filling the cup to the top, and then some brown sugar, and I drank it right up.
Then I felt like my head was floating away for about five hours.