I love coffee. Good coffee. If I’m being honest, I’m a coffee snob.
Several years ago, my brother gave me the gift of pour-over coffee – all the gadgets needed to make my own amazing cup of coffee at home. A digital scale, a beautiful, Japanese hand grinder, a kettle, and a reusable cone filter. And a pound of Death Wish coffee beans. Life-changing.
More than the delicious cup of coffee that results from my efforts each morning, I love the ritual. I go from sleepily out of bed, to my meditation cushion, to my kitchen.
I fill the kettle with water and place it on the stove. I open the bag and smell the aromatic beans as I pour them into the grinder. I place a cup on the scale and the filter on the cup.
Then there’s something wonderful about the physicality of grinding the beans by hand. The smooth, monotonous motion. It’s meditative. I spoon the ground coffee into the filter and watch the scale until it reads the correct number of milligrams. I wait until the water boils and whistles.
Twenty seconds later, it’s reached the right temperature, and I use the small spout to cover the ground coffee until wet. Another twenty-second wait. Then I pour again until the scale reads the result of 6.5 (as I was taught) multiplied by the weight of coffee grounds. I remove the cup from the scale and the filter full of grounds from the cup.
Et voila! What, to me, is the perfect cup of pour-over coffee. No cream, no sugar. Pure, deep black joy in a cup. Fifteen minutes later, the caffeine if flowing through me, and all is right with the world.