Today has been delicious.

I got a package from my parents yesterday, which included not only five skeins of yarn and ALL my knitting needles, but also my dad's FRENCH PRESS COFFEE POT!!! I can be sufficiently caffeinated once again!!

You see, this country doesn't do coffee the way I do. Don't get me wrong-- Kiwis do coffee very well. Almost too well. I get sneered at for ordering an "Americano," a cup of filter-drip coffee, in any given cafe (even Esquires, almost Dunkonian in its ubiquitousness in Auckland). (I should mention there is at least one Dunkin' Donuts and at least two Starbuks in this city; I am proud to say I haven't entered either franchise.)

Because I tend to avoid overtly expressing my American-ness as often as possible, I have embraced the espresso Kiwis love so very, very much. Frankly, I see the attraction. A steaming flat white definitely makes my morning. But I can't keep dropping $3.50 NZD every time I want some coffee, and in all honesty, the small, one-shot cup isn't nearly as satisfying as the bottomless cups of black liquid that have been constant in my life since I was 16.

I would buy a percolator if I could find one over here, but like I said, the New Zealanders don't approve. And therefore, they don't sell them.

I mentioned my coffee qualms to my dear parents in passing, early in my arrival here, but I was hardly expecting them to help me out in any way other than providing a sympathetic ear. But those generous souls plopped that French press in a box and shipped it across to Pacific. So gracious!

Before I brewed my first delicious pot, though, I had to go to the ridiculously named Foodtown to get some ground coffee. I was planning on making this trip today anyway; I'm going to bake cookies! After class and a relatively productive hour in the AUT library (it's no Durick, that's for sure), I entered my apartment, yelling to my roommates about baking supplies before I was fully inside.

"I don't think we have a cookie sheet... but I'm goin' to Foodtown if you want me to pick one up!" offered Jennifer, in the Georgian accent I've actually become quite fond of.

"I'm going to Foodtown too!" I was actually really excited about the prospect of food shopping with my roommate. Though we get along incredibly well, she and I don't hang out very much.

So, I waited for her to finish plucking her eyebrows and applying her facial bronzer (I really think it's because we don't have that much in common), and then Jennifer and I grabbed all four reusable grocery bags (I got them to recycle, too!!!) and headed out the door.

I wasn't going to buy any produce, because I prefer giving business to the Tai Ping Trading Co. Ltd., but I broke down and bought some voluptuous New Zealand tomatoes, thinking mouth-wateringly of the jar of pesto I bought during my last Foodtown excursion.

After a really adorable hour of sharing a cart with my blond roommate, we walked back to "the place to live while you study,"and I made a delicious, easy version of Randy Long's famous summer salad with pasta, basil pesto, tomatoes and fresh Parmesan. SO GOOD!

Now it's time to whip up those vanishing oatmeal raisin cookies, of which my mother is The Queen. A little taste of home for the Noho Marae weekend!