Some interesting coffee experiences can be had where circumstances are not particularly optimal for preparation. My favorite one of these was brewing coffee “cowboy style” on a camping trip - fistfuls of coarse grind tossed into a pot of water boiling over the campfire, strained through a paper towel. We were at a very high altitude, and water boils at a lower temperature there, so it also did not get quite hot enough to steep fully. Nevertheless, I remember sipping the brew out of a glazed metal camping mug and feeling such pleasure at the flavor and aroma in that setting of fresh mountain air and camp fire smoke. I wouldn’t dream of preparing coffee in such a manner at home, and most definitely not for invited guests; but it suited me fine.
This morning I was confronted by a cracked press pot carafe, and since it would have been a drastically inconvenient expedition to try and track a new one down before lunch, I decided (at my wife’s advice) to break out the stovetop espresso maker. I’ve been having trouble for a while now getting decent-tasting espresso out of ours; it is one of the old school models that’s molded out of aluminum, rather than stainless steel, and aluminum appliances can be impregnated with unpleasant odors and flavors that can be passed on to the food prepared in them. Also, it may be superstition on my part, but I just find that espresso made in stainless steel models tastes better somehow.
I’m not skilled at brewing stovetop espresso like my Italian wife is; I inevitably have temperature and timing issues, and the process seems to take forever. What I have been getting out of our stovetop unit is one of those “coffee-like beverages” I discussed earlier - black hole shots of the sort that are sternly denounced in the specialty coffee retail profession (instead of a regular surface-covering cap of crema ranging from nut brown to copper red, one finds a ring of weak colorless crema or even just bubbles around a black liquid surface; this product screams “Bitter!!!” to the trained eye). In addition to the black holes, the espresso is murky rather than luminous. The flavor profile is like a list of “how-not-to’s” - bitter, oily, acrid, harsh, leaving an aftertaste, etc.
My remedy in salvaging something drinkable from this decoction was the one used by people the world over: milk and sugar. The resulting beverage was drinkable. There were interesting qualities to be noted in the flavor profile; although bitter, oily, acrid, harsh, and leaving an aftertaste, there also was an interesting body quality that lingered on the tongue, and the ghosts of some of the mid-range flavor qualities lingering in the finish (citrus, wine, etc.) One might say that drinking this cup was like settling for a below-average Chianti so that one has something to wash down a plate of spaghetti with.
You are probably wondering why I even bothered to drink this beverage rather than pour it down the sink. The reason is that my fascination with coffee includes endless curiosity regarding the bad coffee experience. How does bad coffee happen, why do so many people tolerate it, and how can it be prevented? In my case, the bad coffee experience was entirely my own fault, and very easily explained by a multiplicity of causes:
1. The espresso was not fresh, but pre-ground and stored in a paper to-go cup with tape over the hole in the lid. I’m not even sure how long it’s been sitting there.
2. I was just too damned lazy to get my behind out of the house to Bed, Bath & Beyond or Target to buy a replacement carafe for my press pot.
3. I used unfiltered tap water.
4. We have a stainless steel unit somewhere in the house, possibly the garage, and finding it would have solved a lot of problems with the product that came out - but it also would have taken effort on my part, which I was unwilling to expend.
I could go on, but I think this is sufficient to paint a picture. Many of us want a coffee-like beverage in the morning, but are too lazy to go the distance required to having one better than merely potable. You could go to the local small-batch roaster for a cup of something decent, but the massive chain shop is on the way to work and has a drive-through. You could make your own at home, but you ran out of beans last weekend and haven’t gotten around to refilling your canister.
While it’s only human to be lazy sometimes, there’s no reason to settle for a reduced quality of life because of it. Effort, as it turns out, is a major component of any sort of enjoyment or pleasure. I think that we as a culture have become addicted to convenience, valued over and above quality that requires us to reach a little further. The tendency to indulge impulses of laziness - the “Why bother?” impulse - is less a moral failing than it is a symptom of depression, and anybody who’s paying attention to the way things are in the world has one or two good reasons to be depressed. But more importantly, the lazy way is not necessarily the easier way. We just have to make efforts directed towards pleasure a part of our daily routine. Not to make to fine a philosophical point about it, but remembering to keep one’s supply of fresh beans stocked is a hallmark of taking care of the business of taking care of oneself. When writing your grocery list do not hesitate to consider the status of your coffee canister. If you’re a regular coffee drinker, a half pound per week should do it (more than that and you risk overstocking). Remember that coffee is food. You’re drinking it for more than just the buzz, you’re drinking it to satisfy a sensual desire. If you think of it in those terms, you’ll be less likely to deprive yourself.
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