My Life With Coffee

Some people marry into money. I married into coffee. Well, sort of. Being married to Megan has brought me innumerable delights, but at the top of them has to be that magical brown bean.

I never really drank coffee before we got married, but as soon as we got that scan gun thing at Bed, Bath, & Beyond, Megan went to the coffee maker aisle and insisted we register for a top of the line expresso/coffee machine. I thought, “OK, whatever she wants.”

Fast-forward three years. During the course of our marriage thus far, Megan has made the morning coffee maybe four times. The first of those was her showing me how to make the coffee.  After that, I quickly came to love making the coffee and took over full responsibility for it. It was like a miracle every morning. Transforming the aromatic coffee grinds into a rich, sultry cup of heaven. And all that with the simple touch of a button!

But then I got curious. How does coffee actually work? Where does it come from? What is going on with all that mysterious bubbling and sputtering from the coffee machine? What really makes a good cup of coffee? So I became determined to find out.

My first step was to chuck the pre-packaged coffee grinds and begin to grind the beans myself. This did two things for me. It showed me that coffee from fresh ground beans is much better than coffee from pre-ground beans. The half-life of a cracked bean is small. You’ve got to act quick to get the best from your grinds. Letting them sit on your shelf is like waiting until season five to get into Gilmore Girls. It’s just too late. The best is already past.

But beyond the flavor improvement that grinding my own beans brought, I must say the most significant change was the heightened sense of connection with my coffee that occurred. No, I don’t mean this in some mystical, neo-pagan, one-with-nature sense. I mean it in the simple sense that I was now responsible for the transition from the whole bean to the liquid in my cup. Much more was now at stake every morning. If I under-grind the beans, the best flavors stay locked up in the grinds. If I over-grind the beans, I’ll end up with overly-strong, sludge ridden coffee. BUT! If I get the grind just right, then I begin each morning with a true achievement: I participate in the magic of the coffee bean by responsibly overseeing its transition from bean to liquid.

But just grinding the beans was not enough, I determined. The presence of a coffee machine was taking some of the enchantment out of the coffee making process. And those awful paper filters! They suck up all the best oils from the grinds and leave them in the machine and not in your cup where they belong. And the coffee warmers on most machines! Within an hour your fresh coffee is scorched and no longer worth drinking. So it was to my utter delight when Megan’s parents gave me my first french press coffee-maker for Christmas that first year of our marriage. A gift that keeps on giving, indeed!

Now I was really involved with my coffee. Not only did the grind have to be right, but now water temperature and steep time were a factor. The risks were great, but the successes were glorious. Saturday morning. Snow on the ground. Perfect grind. Perfect boil. Perfect steep. Perfect press. Perfect pour. Gilmore Girls season three with Megan. Can it get any better?

Apparently it can. Two weeks ago Megan surprised me with a gift that is now on my all-time-best-gifts list. She bought me a manual coffee bean grinder. I can’t begin to express the delight this gift brings me. The only electricity now involved in my coffee is the spark that ignites the gas on our stove. The tactile pleasure of feeling the beans grind at the turn of the grind-handle is almost sensuous. And! The same day she bought me the grinder we discovered a coffee roaster just down the street from our flat. Now I know the very people who roast my coffee beans.

This Christmas I am hoping for my own coffee roaster and a few acres of land in El Salvador. I’m not kidding.