The enactment of a myth [347]

Where I talk about coffee...

I have a coffee sitting on the table to the left side of me. It steams in a light blue Le Creuset mug (£2 from a charity shop). If you could see into my kitchen window a few moments ago, you’d have witnessed my mid morning merry dance from fridge to kettle to mug.

This isn’t coffee from a jar. I know most people get their medicine from a spoon. But for me that feels only slightly removed from taking a pill. I’m not after the fleeting administration of a drug. I prefer ceremony. A sequence of actions and gestures I can perform in the moment. A marvelling of commonplace and a celebration in the greatness of small things.

My fridge light illuminates the beans. They are not in there to keep them fresh. They live in a sealed bag in the fridge to save space on the worktop. Some say that the constant change in temperature creates moisture in the beans. I’ve kept them in the freezer, the fridge and on the worktop. It’s hard to notice if this causes any difference in flavour as I’m delivered a different bean every month. But coffee is fine just sitting in a cool dark place.

At the risk of sounding like I know what I’m talking about, the only consistency in coffee I look for is the aromatic balance of a refreshing acidity complimented with a fruity natural sweetness. That is my whole argument for grinding my own beans and justifying the extra cost of my natural daily stimulant.

More often than not I’ve found this balance in the age old and original method of naturally processing the beans. That is, rather than using the ‘washed’ technique, the coffee cherries are picked and dried in the sun over weeks.

“Adventure in life is good; consistency in coffee even better.” ~ Justina Chen Headley

The Ritual

I retrieve my mug waiting patiently on an open shelf above my donated grinder. And it is my mug. Everyone in the house knows it’s for coffee and so it is all mine. I’m the only person under this roof that enjoys the hot dark liquid.

The mug is placed under a curved stand holding a woven stainless filter that sits proud in a bronzed dripper. Then using filtered water I half fill my pour over coffee kettle. An extravagant gift that raises the eyebrow of an occasional guest. It is the main actor in this ritual.

This is when I’d like to light a flame. Rituals need fire, but I have to settle on the magic of an induction coil. It is at this moment I often consider the origins of the ingredient about to be prepared.