Give Yourself the Gift of Good Coffee

Maybe you got some cool coffee gadget for Christmas. That's cool. I hope you find it useful.

But maybe you didn't. Maybe you had your eye on some fancy electric gizmo or whatever and you didn't get it. You're thinking that you're stuck drinking shitty coffee for another year because you're broke from buying everyone else great gifts and they only got you a CD from some shitty twee hipster garbage band and god maybe some other crap too but you can't even remember.

Well, no. Good coffee doesn't require fancy equipment, nor does it require a lot of money. Skip laundry for a couple weeks because who really cares just febreeze your pants and use that money plus the change sitting on your desk to buy this stuff:

1) A plastic Melitta cone. Sure it's plastic and you wouldn't decorate with it like you could a Chemex but you just want to make good coffee remember? It costs like $3 at a grocery store and it's stupid easy to use. Pour water of grounds. DONE. Yeah the technique can get fancy and complicated but most of that is needless posturing.

2) A tea kettle. I found one for free in my parents' basement but maybe you aren't that lucky and have to buy one. That's ok since a decent kettle only costs about $15 and holy shit that's a lot more than couch change right? Well whatever it's a lot cheaper than an electric water heater or specifically designed pour over kettle with a skinny long neck that stops the water from coming out too fast because OH MY GOD I can't pour water without having my hand held. If you're still too broke for this option just boil water in any pot or even just microwave it in a cup.

3) A grinder. Ok this actually gets pretty expensive as a decent burr grinder will run you $80+ and that's a lot of money but actually totally worth the investment if you can afford it. If you can't get a blade grinder which yeah kinda sucks but is still better than having pre ground coffee even if you do have the barista do it for you at the shop where you really should be buying your coffee.

4) So yeah, get good coffee. Probably go to a shop you like so you know the coffee isn't shitty and if the shop is good they'll have roast dates and even grind it for you if you need them too just make sure to get it ground for that Melitta you totally already bought which is a slightly finer grind than they probably use at the shop. Also don't buy a ton because then it's gets all stale and musty and you like to visit your local shop all the time anyway right? And yeah this costs money too but whatever it's the COFFEE  part of making good coffee a.k.a. is pretty fucking important.

TOPICAL POST.

Runner's High Coffee Mini-Review, And Me Being an Idiot

So I made coffee yesterday, and I have to admit, it wasn't very good. The result was sort of a hot liquid, and dark brown, and it really even smelled a little like coffee. But it wasn't quite there. This was particularly disappointing, because I had spent a pretty penny on a pound of coffee, which I basically never do anymore. (This is, perhaps, the greatest perk this blog has given me. People send me coffee in the mail now, which is indescribably great.)

Only I see this at my local coop grocer, and I can't not buy it. Sure, it was expensive (everything at tiny health food grocers is), but just look at it. It's like their marketing department (or just the dude who designs the bags) interviewed me. It's coffee, with running shoes on it, and an LSD joke for good measure. And oh, it's a blend that prominently features East African beans, my perfect poison. (As an aside, shouldn't it just be Kenyan and Ethiopian? We haven't had any great Latin American marathoners in over a decade.)

And so I'm going to go running yesterday, and since I just woke up, I need to have a cup. I do the things I normally do, and everything seems fine. (But perhaps it isn't... This is a tease to keep reading. Please do.) Only the result, to be blunt, tastes like my Grandma's Folgers. Well, let's pull that back. It's wasn't quite that bad. There was a hint of something that maybe, sort of, was something that had an inkling of what coffee could be, in another life, or something like that.

I ran my six miles anyway, crawling up and down the lovely hills of Lawrence, KS, at a steady clip. It went well, or at least as well as ancillary mileage done on a sidewalk can. But I couldn't shake the coffee. Or rather, I couldn't shake the lack of coffee. This was supposed to be good, I thought. I had already imagined a nice glowing write-up, or at least, a fun little mention.

But I didn't get that, and instead, I wondered if I'd be left writing a post about not liking a coffee, something that almost never happens.

But as it turns out, I do like this coffee. In fact, I pretty much love it. Another preparation today, and it was glorious, full of all sorts of fun flavor notes and juicy hints of acid-laced trail mix. Furthermore, I ran a 10K PR today, after drinking this very coffee. Coincidence? Well, maybe. And also, I guess I should say I'd never actually run a timed 10K, so whatever I managed was going to be my PR, by default. But still, the coffee kicked ass, and I ran 38:45 for 10K, which was about what I had hoped for. (And yes, if you're a top level Latin American marathoner, you're clearly much faster than me. Sorry about that earlier jab.)

This is the part where I explain why, and also, why I shouldn't be trusted with heavy machinery. This morning, as I went back for round 2, I noticed that my grinder was off. Not just off, but way off, lingering over in french press territory, when I needed a fine grind for my pour over preparation. (It had been set thusly so I could make cold press.) I nudged the setting back, and to the left, and proceeded as normal.

Now I know what you're thinking. Well, I don't know for sure. Maybe you have serious things to think about in your life, more heady things than coffee. But I don't, and you are reading this, so things can't be too hectic. Anyway, I'm going to presume to know something like what you're thinking: Isn't that kind of a huge mistake? How did you not notice that the grounds were the size of rock salt, rather than table sugar? Aren't you supposed to be an expert or something? Doesn't someone pay you to make coffee? To hell with it, I'm gonna go read Peter's blog instead.

Well, you should read Peter's blog, since he has a cat named after a smart Roman guy, and also, while you're there, he has an interview with me. And you do have every right to ask those questions. But, this being my blog and all, I don't have to answer them. Cheers.

Patience

The next time you prepare coffee, wait. Pause at every moment, take every action. Do not eat the apple; rather, eat every bite thereof.

This is advice I can give better than take. And yet it has given me the best, most consistent coffee I've ever made at home. I have no new equipment, just a renewed focus on the task.

And I have patience. I wet the grounds, and allow for a full bloom - however long it takes. I don't count; I don't rush; I don't douse. Once the bed is solid, I pour again - slowly, again. This takes however long it does, and however much water is required.

It's all very serene, and produces sublime coffee.

Poured Over

For all of my talk about simplicity, there is a distinction worth making: Simple isn't easy. Or at least, it isn't necessarily. A mile is a simple unit of measure, found on many roads, clearly marked. And yet running it, at full effort, is not at all easy.

This realization dawned on me this evening, as I struggled over a review. It's not up yet, obviously, nor will it be for a few days. This has nothing to do with the coffee itself, and everything to do with my preparing it. There's been some talk in the comments section, and on this blog in general, about pour over technique. Generally, I've been of the mind that it's best ignored.

But recent tastings are forcing me to reconsider this point. Trying the same bean, several different times, and getting a different cup can do that. It can make you question your technique, your equipment, and maybe, whether you're qualified to judge coffee at all. Anyone can write words on a free blog; who decided my opinion matters?

My confidence is not that eroded, it's worth noting. I'm quite good behind a bar, and I steam milk like a badass (insofar as that's possible) Still, if one is to review coffee, then one must also review the ways in which they make it. Right now, if I'm being perfectly honest, my pour over method isn't good enough; so any beans treated with it may not be done justice.

That said, I plan on fixing this. If that means abandoning the method in favor of a press pot, so be it; though I doubt anything that drastic will be required. Still, if I need a Hario V60, tell me. If a Chemex is needed, tell me that. Most of all, if there is anything resembling a definitive "how to do a pour over correctly, or at least, consistently" write-up, please do point it out.

I've never done a call for comments before, but consider this a first. In the meantime, I'll do some digging on my own.

The Third Dimension of Making Coffee

I'm going to steal a line now, a problem which is compounded by the fact that I don't recall from whom I'm stealing. "Minimalist running is running in 3D." Or something like that. The basic point is that, even on pavement or concrete, you're more aware of your foot placement, and thus more aware of the entire experience of running. That sensory feedback, after you're attuned to it, makes the whole movement feel almost accidental or, perhaps better, inevitable. It becomes like breathing, in that stopping would take conscious effort.

Now I'm biased, on this point. I was not a runner - not really - until I stumbled in to a pair of Merrel Trail Gloves. I had thought, before that, that mediocre 5Ks were the limits of my abilities, and that running was a thing to be endured rather than enjoyed. Now, my times have dropped in to the "somewhat respectable for a recreational guy" range, and my better race performances seem inversely proportional to the amount of stuff on my feet.

But you've almost certainly heard enough about barefoot/minimalist running recently. It's an omnipresent trend, even outside of the running bubble. It's done all the good things for me that you're sick of reading about, so I'll stop here. What I will do, after several paragraphs of blustering, is bring this thing around to coffee.

The concept of "running in 3D" struck me, not just as something I actively get, but as something with pretty good crossover potential. One might do anything "in 3D", which of course, to me, leads to coffee. Minimalist runners talk about "ground feel", the rapport your feet share with the earth that informs everything else your body is doing. The point is that you put as little material as possible between yourself and the experience.

This, I think, correlates quite nicely with the growing trend in the coffee business of pour over bars. We remove the mechanical element, involve ourselves in the process, and feel how we maneuver the grounds. The extraction rate, immersion, temperature, and everything else, is up to us. And yet it's not, when at its best. When it really goes right, the whole experience becomes thoughtless. You aren't "going through the motions", as if brushing your teeth, but rather embodying the Confucian ideal of effortless action.

Of course, a certain amount of neurosis can disrupt this. A great number of would-be-barefoot runners still don't trust their body, paradoxically, and so end up fretting over the minutia of form. They don't trust their senses to give them the feedback they need, or their body to respond correctly. When we worry too much about the "right" way to do a pour over, we lose the intimacy of the preparation. It becomes a formula rather than poetry.

The ideal, then, is something like trusting the feedback your eyes and experiences give you. You know, on some level, what the slurry ought to look like, how it ought to swell and bloom and writhe. Simply make that happen, trusting what you see, and what you feel. That, I think, is preparing coffee "in 3D". It doesn't require bullshit gimmickry. Quite the opposite. It requires a stripped down connection with the activity, an immersion that leads to bliss.

Keep it Simple, Stupid

I received a useful bit of advice from a local roaster recently, although I didn't write about it at the time, nor have a done much to take it to heart. But it occurred to me this morning, as I attempted yet another in an endless succession of tweaks to my pour over brewing method. The result, as usual, was usual. Which is not to say that it wasn't good - very good, even - so much as it was the same kind of good it typically is. (Tense shifting and passive voice in the same sentence? Looks that way.)

I was at a tasting, and his coffee was being provided. He talked us through the affair, noting the differences between different washes, origins, roasts, etc. To the attending group, all of these things seemed revelatory. Their knowledge, previously limited to what the bag told them, was expanding rapidly, and they probed further. The questions were charming and heartening, showing a genuine interest in knowing more, in brewing right, and ultimately, in drinking better coffee.

These are interests I share, and as such, I had questions as well. They were specific, and not surprisingly, concerned with matters which might be called minutia. He looked aside, twisted his mouth, and without the implied "you" said that "A lot of people make things too complicated. I think, basically, drink what you like."

If this statement strikes you as completely obvious, congratulations, you're less neurotic than I. Too often, I'm driven by a desire to do things right, merely for its own sake. The enjoyment gleaned from the product is secondary, seated behind the satisfaction from a job - if not well done - done properly. So it is with my pour over technique, always changing, and not based on the extend to which I enjoy the product. The same is true for my espresso prep, milk steaming, and milk pouring.

Probably, there is some extent to which this is needed. If one is to do something for a living, one might be inclined to devote a fair bit of thought to doing it optimally. If the unexamined life is not worth living, then the unexamined job is not worth doing. But there is a line there, somewhere. Things can be analyzed until they are scarcely things anymore, reduced to parts of components parts.

Thus it's useful to remember, coffee is actually rather simple. And while I tend to make things too complicated, that truth is not sufficient justification for its own perpetuation. Fresh ground quality beans, mixed reasonably with hot water, will yield an enjoyable product. And it's that product, and the enjoyment of it, which ought to be the focus.

Morning Melitta

Simplicity. There is something to be said for it, when you're still mired in your morning malaise. Your alarm clock blaring, half awake, you roll about and tug on covers, but the offending noise does not stop. So you rouse yourself, and with some effort, do not return to bed. There are things to do, probably.

Among those, coffee needs brewing. It will not make itself; though we are getting ever closer to that. So you dose the grounds, fill the tank of your automatic brewer, and flip the switch. It gurgles, spits, and pops, and in about four minutes, produces something which might be called coffee.

This is the norm, I think. The appeal is not in the artistry of the process, nor the flavor of the product, but rather the simplicity. Early mornings make that already attractive idea downright seductive. I've not completely ignored its siren song.

Full disclosure: I own, and indeed use, an $11 Mr. Coffee automatic drip machine. I have pre-ground coffee that I use for it. If my credibility among the coffee elite is diminished or altogether lost - if indeed I had any to lose - then so be it. There are mornings where I am not awake, and the simple act of preparing coffee with a melitta seems not so simple.

And though I say it, I know it isn't true. Pour over brewing needn't be as complex as it's sometimes made out to be; it needn't be as complex, even, as I've made it out to be. One must set a given amount of water to boil, dose beans, grind, place the grounds in the filter, in the melitta, and on the mug. Then the pour.

There is anxiety over what constitutes optimal pour over technique. Perhaps it is better to pre-wet the filter, to pour with methodical, zen like concentration, to wet the grounds like a gentle spring rain. In my experience, however, all that leads to a cup which is indistinguishable from one where the grounds are evenly and completely wetted. Provided you don't douse thing whole thing, and give the bloom a chance to settle a touch, I don't know that the technique matters too much.

Simplicity is pushing a button, but it is also relying on simple methods, old methods, that produce a better cup. Caffeine is a priority in the morning, no doubt, but not so much as enjoying the coffee.

Sweating the Technique, Again

I've written before that my cheap little plastic Melitta cone makes a good cup of coffee. Better, I think, than many more expensive methods. There is also something to be said for the satisfaction one derives from taking a more hands on approach.

I've also covered what I think is the optimal method for brewing the perfect cup, using a Melitta cone.

1. Place your cone on your mug, and insert filter (paper or metal) in to cone. I've found that it helps to pre-wet the filter. It helps it stick to the cone, thus optimizing the flow of water once the brewing process begins.

2. Bring water to a boil.

3. While that gets going, grind your coffee, and make it fine. Not quite espresso fine, but fairly close. The amount of coffee you use is up to you, but I think the standard 2 tbs coffee/6 0z water ratio works fine. 

4. When the water comes to a boil, pull it. As soon as it stops bubbling, pour it over the grounds. Go too fast, and some water will subvert the grounds or simply go out the side. But there's no need to go at a tortoise's pace either. Your pour should be steady, and the cone should fill.

5. Stir the slurry. This ensures optimal distribution of the grounds, and thus a fuller cup.

6. Finally, stir the finished cup. This is another important step that's often omitted, but is necessary to ensure even taste.

7. Enjoy.

I stand by most of this. However, there is a minor change I'd like to highlight. Rather than pouring the water in the center, and then stirring the mixture, I now think it's better to pour down the sides. Doing this washes the grounds in to the center, which, I think, lends to better extraction.

This may sounds like a trivial detail; and perhaps it is just that. But the small things make big differences, when it comes to things you enjoy. Obviously, I like my coffee. As such, any way I can find to make a more consistently good cup is something I'm going to highlight.

Now of course, I reserve the right to change my mind again. Manual drip technique seems to vary quite a bit, based on other "how-to's" I've found online. But this, as of right now, is how I'm choosing to do things.

Do sweat the technique

I love my little Melitta. Sure, she's made of plastic, and her price point doesn't inspire jealousy. But you know, appearances can be deceiving. I challenge any of the new one-cup coffee makers to produce a more consistently great cup of coffee. 

Any takers? There shouldn't be, frankly, unless they'd also like to be losers. 

That's because, if you're making one cup of coffee, the cone is the best means of production.

Even better than the french press. Blasphemy? Perhaps, but also true. If you want the more syrupy body of coffee produced in a press, simply use a metal filter in your cone. Or don't. I'm not here to inspire a coffee making holy war -- just to celebrate what, in my humble opinion, is the best means of making a cup of coffee. 

If you know how to use it; which, unfortunately, many don't seem to. 

With that in mind, I present a reasonably concise list of steps that, if followed, should yield a great cup each and every time.

1. Place your cone on your mug, and insert filter (paper or metal) in to cone. I've found that it helps to pre-wet the filter. It helps it stick to the cone, thus optimizing the flow of water once the brewing process begins.

2. Bring water to a boil.

3. While that gets going, grind your coffee, and make it fine. Not quite espresso fine, but fairly close. The amount of coffee you use is up to you, but I think the standard 2 tbs coffee/6 0z water ratio works fine. 

4. When the water comes to a boil, pull it. As soon as it stops bubbling, pour it over the grounds. Go too fast, and some water will subvert the grounds or simply go out the side. But there's no need to go at a tortoise's pace either. Your pour should be steady, and the cone should fill.

5. Stir the slurry. This ensures optimal distribution of the grounds, and thus a fuller cup.

6. Finally, stir the finished cup. This is another important step that's often omitted, but is necessary to ensure even taste.

7. Enjoy.

If that sounds a little more involved than pushing a button, that's because it is. But the added effort is most certainly worth it.