A lot of things literally went down the drain last week, much to my dismay. Between back-to-back hurricanes that ravaged Germany and a host of other things going on around me, my DeLonghi coffee machine decided to go on strike as well. The timing couldn’t possibly be worse, and these are certainly not the times to deal with repairmen at the moment. So I temporarily switched over to a French press, even though I have shunned them for decades. I know, I know, there are people out there who swear this is the only proper way to have a coffee, and my mother would probably agree right along with them.
Storms and French presses are pretty similar when you stop and think about it for a moment. Both require patience and fortitude while waiting for the right moment, and then it is a question of how you deal with the pressure. Do you cower in the eye of the storm? Or do you throw caution to the wind and risk getting hurt? Or do you find shelter, no matter how uncomfortable because deep down all storms are temporary. In a similar manner, timing is everything with the French press. if you act like the impatient grasshopper and don’t allow the coffee to infuse long enough you end up with glorified dishwater i.e. coloured but gross. Trust me, I speak from numerous trials and errors! However, if you wait long enough and apply gentle pressure, then the results are magical.
It took me a few days fiddling around with the measurements and timing to figure it all out and attain the desired coffee strength that could be deemed a bit more than enjoyable. My morning coffee is more than just a caffein fix to knock the sleep stupor out of me. It is meditative and mindful, knowing that the warmth I seek is not just physical but contemplative. Drinking your morning coffee should never be an obligation, but an indulgence, a gift to yourself before the outside world invades.
The thing about the French press is that it is very ceremonial, if you do it the proper way. I grind my coffee beans fresh for each portion, and don’t rely on ground coffee. This is the beginning of my own aromatherapy of sorts, and when that aroma from freshly ground coffee hits the nostrils it’s better than any vitamin pill. I suppose I am spoiled from my defunct coffee machine that ground the beans for each portion. It just ruins you for life and you can never go back to filter coffee. The only other option I would consider would be the Italian mocha or espresso brewer.
The long and short of it, like many other things in life, dealing with storms and French presses are a matter of internal dialogue and character. Neither can be dismissed, and you have much to gain if you just hold on a little longer. Those extra minutes of patience do pay off.
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