My quest for the perfect mug began outside my conscious awareness, but was instantly realized the second my perfect specimen fell to the floor one day and shattered. It was a hand-made, dark green, gritty clay mug, with little rings on the inside. I had poured myself enough hot drinks to know how many ounces it took to reach each separate ring. That way, when the directions on the side of the Swiss Miss instant hot chocolate package called for precisely 6 oz. of milk or water, I was guaranteed the perfect concentration of liquid bliss. It was microwavable, or I microwaved it anyway without blowing anything up or starting any fires (can microwaving pottery cause the lead to leech out?), and most importantly, it had a handle that fit my sturdy man grip so that my pinky didn't flare like some kind of prudish Jane Austen aristocrat's every time I took a sip.
I ventured out into the open markets, assured that a finely constructed, commercially produced mug would serve to ease my grief.
How wrong I was.
Witness, for example the shoddy design illustrated here:
At first glance, it seems sturdy enough, but a careful inspection will reveal two major problems. First of all, there is a metal ring coursing around its perimeter. I'm sure it added a nice flare when it was new, and I suspect that it was originally placed there as an afterthought, in order to distract potential buyers from its true fatal flaw. Unfortunately this decorative strip renders the cup even more useless, as having metal incorporated into its design precludes using it in a microwave, that is, until the metal wars off (and I give it at least 3 more cycles in the dishwasher before that occurs). The true weakness, however, lies in the handle. One tip of the mug results in an unavoidable high-brow pinky slip:
That simply won't do.
The next mug that attracted my interest is the giant super mocha late design. While it appears to have the same handle design flaws as the first mug, the manufacturers have attempted to distract consumers even more by making the volume larger:
I admit I was taken in by the sheer volumes I would be able to imbibe in one sitting, and erroneously gave the benefit of the doubt to this beast. It didn't take long to see that my relationship with this behandled soup bowl would, alas, be short lived. Interestingly, the pinky remains tucked when tipping to sip:
This occurs naturally, as full pronation of the wrist is required to produce the pinky salute, and even my manly pronator muscles were unable to accomplish full tipping with an empty mug. To add to my grief, even partial tipping results in point pressure by the handle on the ring finger, mixing exquisite pain with minimal aliquots of chocolaty pleasure. After a few uses, even the smell of anything hot and delicious brought a Pavlovian ache to my poor, bruised knuckle, and I was forced to abandon the thing.
My interest was piqued by a new concept, however, in the form of a plastic mug. This not only has a pistol grip handle, but the design adds a sippy lid to retain heat longer, allowing me to, well, sip my chocolate instead of downing it before it becomes unpalatably warm:
At last I thought my search was over. Someone had researched the market carefully and discovered that I would want to keep my beverages hot. It was non-microwavable, but I could always use Big Bertha for heating the water before using both hands to pour it into my new found treasure. Imagine my despair, however, when after filling the cup with piping hot water and adding the cocoa powder, I attempted to stir my drink with an average teaspoon. I couldn't reach the muddy sludge on the bottom! They made the mug too deep:
I refused to accept defeat just yet. I had come so far. There is no caution label on the top warning users that the contents can damage human tissue, so I ventured a deep plunge, holding the end of my spoon with the very tips of my fingers. Unfortunately, the extra length this added was inadequate for the task, and a second later, I had lost my spoon to its murky depths, forced to recoil from scalding my finger pads. I admit I may have shed a tear as I nursed my injured extremities, but it was not due to the physical pain I had been forced to endure. No, the burns would heal, but the emotional scar would never be fully erased.
My quest had ended in defeat. I had been spoiled by a one-of-a-kind mug unequaled by any other, and I had shamefully taken it for granted.
But the universe rewards seekers of perfection. Form and function have blended seamlessly in my latest find, a clearance item I stumbled upon at a going out of business sale:
Note the overall shape, made to accommodate vigorous stirring by a common spoon! It is dishwasher safe, and fully microwavable. The trendy but faulty sippy lid design has been wisely discarded, and the handle, while it admittedly disallows a full four-fingered grip, still provides adequately for tucking in wayward pinkies.
Finally someone has managed to construct the perfect coffee mug. My only regret is having peeled the label away and discarded it in my ecstatic haste. The store I bought it from has closed, and I shudder to consider that the same fate that snatched my first coffee mug from my hands now stalks this one in the form of a wayward elbow or a miscalculated edge balance. I must drink as much cocoa as possible before that inevitable day.
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