It tastes like real coffee. Like the coffee I had the first
time I lived in France while in college when every sip from the wide, handle-less
bowl in the kitchen of my host mother Madame Lavier was a revelation. She
served it black and I drank it at her wooden table as she sliced baguette for
our breakfast tartine while regaling me with colorful stories I struggled to
comprehend. I left her kitchen buzzing from the giant bowl of coffee and ready
to delve into the day’s adventure.
I now realize (lagging behind the many coffee aficionados
out there) that the method for making coffee is of the utmost importance. Quality
beans roasted to perfection are key also, and fortunately we have lots of
options for these here in Vermont. I seek out rich, earthy, full bodied coffee,
similar to my taste in chocolate and wine. And I tend to like medium to darker
roasts as well. Although we have many excellent local roasters, I’m going to
give a shout out to Middlebury’s Vermont Coffee Company and its organic, fair
trade beans roasted “big and bold.” Even their decaf is big and bold, a rare and
beautiful thing. I’ve known the owner Paul Ralston for years—producer of avant-garde
Shakespeare productions, former state legislator, and entrepreneur. He also roasts
some damn good coffee.
Once you’ve identified and acquired your beans, here’s my
method for making a satisfying cup: Grind the beans fresh, right before using
them. Don’t be tempted to buy pre-ground beans to save time (or worse, to join
the ranks of the nearly one in three American households that have a pod-based
coffee machine). So much flavor is lost with pre-ground, plus you miss the
intoxicating aroma the beans give off while they’re being ground. I use my
trusty grinder that was given to me back when I was in grad school (and
drinking lots of coffee) by my
apartment-mate Sharon. (Yes, Sharon, it’s still grinding away!) Grinding your
own also allows you to attain the correct coarse consistency for the French
press.
My French press is a single serving size, just 12 ounces. So
I grind enough beans to yield 4 scoops of grounds and put those in the bottom
of the press. (Lest you wonder why I’m not making coffee for two, the reason is
that we have different coffee preferences in my household. Chris goes for
single origin beans and lighter roasts. He also starts his day a tad earlier
than I do.) Meanwhile, heat your water on the stove (not a microwave) and
remove the kettle just after it starts to boil. Let the water rest about 30
seconds and then pour it over the grounds. Set your timer for four minutes.
After about two minutes, give it a stir. I love this part,
when the “bloom” swirls around and you can see the frothy foam forming on top.
Another hit of the coffee’s heady aroma rises from the press, and I start to
wake up.
When the timer goes off, it’s time to plunge.
Slowly press the plunger down so the grinds are forced to the bottom.
Then pour the coffee into your favorite mug.
I like a splash of milk, so it’s nearly black but not quite. Inhale again, sip, and enjoy.
The only downside to converting to the French press is the
clean-up process. But in actuality it only takes about a minute. For one of
life’s little pleasures, a minute of clean-up is not a big deal. And the only
waste that’s generated from this whole process is coffee grinds, which go right
into my compost bin. No K-cup is added to the growing pile that threatens to
take over the world.
I’ll tell you about my second morning tweak in my next
post—making homemade bread from a sour dough starter, another kind of beast
that lives right on my kitchen counter.
No comments:
Post a Comment