Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . .

Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration.

Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds.

Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different.

Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite, coaxing ice-cold lake water to boil in a titanium pot. And here’s the kicker—the part where the coffee snobs gasp and clutch their French presses: Instant. Yes, I said it. Instant coffee. Lightweight, packable, and vaguely reminiscent of real coffee. I complement this culinary masterpiece with pilfered powdered milk from my hiking buddy and a sugar packet (one for each morning because I’m a planner). It’s a far cry from a streamside brew, but it gets the job done.

Back in civilization, my coffee routine is a study in efficiency. 4:30 a.m., the witching hour, finds me brewing a pot for the long-suffering Mrs. For her, coffee is a necessity, a jumpstart to consciousness. For me, it’s more a digestive. Plus, there’s something civilized about sitting in my easy chair, warming my hands on the mug, and reading a book while the outside world is dark. My process is beautifully simple: electric coffee maker, five teaspoons of Trader Joe’s blend (nothing fancy, I’m not a coffee snob . . . mostly), five and a half cups of water, push the “brew” button. Done!

But then–Tucson happened. We took a vacation, and Robert decided it would be a good idea to teach me how to use his espresso machine. A real espresso machine. Suddenly, my simple five-teaspoon operation seemed . . . quaint. There was preheating involved, and grinding beans (with a burr grinder, no less), and tamping, and locking, and extracting. It was like launching a rocket! The lattes were delicious; I have to give him that. However, the entire process felt . . . excessive. I watched my barista’s demonstration, nodded politely, and quietly stepped back, worried I might break something.

So, yeah, Gierach’s essay got me thinking. About the lengths we go to for a caffeine fix. About the difference between necessity and ritual. And about how, sometimes, the simplest way is the best way.

Now–if you’ll excuse me, I hear my coffee maker calling. It's a simple call, the call of the "Brew" button. And I intend to answer.

I’m Patrick Ball, reminding you to stay curious and ask questions. See you in the next episode.

Bonus–my favorite funny morning coffee story.

Comments

Patrick Ball said…

Thanks for the link to the Sinatra song, I've never heard that one before.

February 21, 2025 at 9:42 AM

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