A Meditation On Learning (To Brew A Cup Of Coffee)
I’m a big believer that action is the only way to learn. The only way to really learn. That’s not to say that orientation or reading manuals don’t have benefits. It does. Sometimes that’s an essential step. But you’ll never really know how to do the thing until you’ve fucked it up half a dozen times. There are always going to be mistakes you can make that you can’t imagine before you begin.
Today I took the leap of learning how to use my Chemex coffee brewer. I bought it just before Christmas, so about three months ago, and haven’t touched it since. It was an impulse purchase, on sale for 50% at Whole Foods, promising to elevate my coffee game to the next level. I couldn’t pass it up. I already grind my own beans every morning, and all this time I’ve been wasting all that fresh, delicious potential by running them through a cheap Mr. Coffee left behind by the previous tenant.
Little did I know the Chemex brewer wasn’t a standalone purchase. I’d need special filters, a new water kettle, (The guru’s on Youtube insist that the gooseneck style is important, as is controlling the precise temperature.) and even my bean grinder wasn’t up to snuff. To really maximize the enjoyment of my coffee was going to cost me another $150 at least — more than three times what I spent on the Chemex itself.
I have yet to purchase any of those things, save the special filters that I happened across on a subsequent trip to Whole Foods. But I decided to give the process a go anyway. I could just heat the water on my stovetop, keeping track of it with a meat thermometer balanced inside the prongs of a fork so it doesn’t fall in. What could possibly go wrong?
As you might have guessed, quite a bit. The instructional videos I found online were helpful, but they leave out several important details. If you pour the water too fast, for example, you’re going to flood the cone, pushing some of the grounds through. And once the brewing process is done the filter and grounds need to be removed before you can pour, a process that you really shouldn’t attempt by hand, lest you end up with a big wet pile of fragrant dirt near — but not in — your trash bin. Though I guess you might have better luck than I did if you can tolerate the hot water seeping out as you run across the kitchen.
The problem with coffee brewing as a hobby or learning experience is this: Unless you’re willing to commit yourself to a tremendous amount of waste, you really only get one shot each day. And as I sit here sipping my luke-warm but fairly-smooth cup of joe, I can’t help but take note of all the things I need to do differently next time. Things that will make the experience better, yield better results, and not result in a huge mess for my afternoon-self to deal with.
Most importantly, purchasing all of the expensive equipment wouldn’t solve most of these problems. They are problems that exist with the layout of my kitchen, the way I organize instructions, and the way I work through any process. They are problems that can only be solved with time and experience. But maybe a new water kettle would help.
