Skip to main content

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.

Labels:

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
Post a Comment

Most Popular of All Time

The Compass of Cuba: Mom

🎄  Preview of this week's  On the Fly  blog: A Holiday Tribute to Mom. As the holidays hustle with pixels and beeps, the world scrolls along in a smartphone-y sleep. I log off for a moment—just one little minute— To breathe in the past and to sit myself in it. My mind doesn’t wander to faraway places, Or trips full of tickets and new airport faces. Instead, it drifts backward, as memories do, to Cuba, Illinois, where the best moments grew. To a home full of warmth, in the wintry Midwest, Where my mother—dear “Marcie”—put love to the test. With a smile that could melt the most frigid of dawns, and hugs that hung on you like shivering fawns. She came from La Rochelle in France, brave and bright, Across oceans and war shadows, into new light. A town full of strangers soon felt like her own, And her courage built up the foundation of home. “Oh yes, we know Marcie!” the locals would say— “It's Doc Ball’s French lady! She brightens the day!” She cleaned, and she cooked, and sh...
1 comment
Read more

Feeling Human Again

In this episode, The Unexpected Thankfulness of Feeling Human Again I’ll be honest with you: My triumphant return from France was not the glamorous homecoming I had imagined. No graceful glide back into routine. No cinematic jet-setter moment where I lift my suitcase off the carousel and wink at life like we’re old pals. Instead? I came home and immediately launched into a two-week performance piece titled The Great American Couch Collapse. My days blurred together in a haze of soup, hot tea, tissues, and desperate negotiations with the universe for just one nostril—one!—to function properly. The living room sofa became my emotional support furniture. And any creative idea that dared tiptoe into my congested brain was gently shown the exit with a firm but courteous, “Not today, friend. Try again later.” When life hits the pause button like that—when you’re exhausted, sick, and mentally unplugged—how do you find your spark again? Somehow, today, I felt it. A tiny shift. A clearing of th...
1 comment
Read more

A Holiday Reflection–Mother's Love

In this episode,  How a Mother’s Love Built My Memories– A Holiday Reflection As this holiday season approaches and the world buzzes with shopping, planning, and busy schedules, I find myself embracing something wonderfully simple: taking a moment to pause. Not to check off a list or recharge devices, but to breathe deeply, remember fondly, and honor the person and place that have shaped my sense of home long before I had the words for it. This year, after regaining my strength from a lingering post-travel fog, my mind didn’t wander to exotic destinations or future adventures. It drifted backward—across oceans and time—to Cuba, Illinois, in the early 1960s, and to the woman whose love built the foundation of my world: Mauricette Elaine (Bontemps) Ball. My Mom . We came to Cuba after leaving La Rochelle, France, in 1959—a transition so dramatic I only appreciate its enormity now. My mother, barely in her mid-twenties, stepped off that plane and into the Midwest with a courage that s...
1 comment
Read more

Believing Is Seeing

🎄 In this episode, Believing Is Seeing . . . It's December, we bustle, we wrap, and we dash. We sort life into boxes— myths  here,  to-dos  in a stash. We whisper of Santa (adult code: “Not Real”), but hold on one minute—let’s rethink this whole deal. For the stories we cherish, the movies we stream, hold more truth in their sparkle than we grown-ups may deem. So hop in this sleigh and hold on real tight— We’re chasing down Santa by the glow of his light! Scott Calvin once landed in the North Pole’s cold air, with elves, cocoa, and snow everywhere. He squinted and frowned—“This just  cannot  be so!” (Like thinking tangled lights will detangle if we  blow .) Then Judy the Elf gave a cocoa so steaming,  and said something simple . . . yet surprisingly gleaming: Seeing’s not believing—no, that’s not the key. "Believing is seeing!"   Just trust, and  you’ll  see!” Kids don’t need a map or a satellite screen to know Santa’s workshop is her...
1 comment
Read more