Luxury Crop//Good to the Last Drop
I often wonder what my life would be without coffee, but the thought is too grim to entertain for long. It’s not just the caffeine that hooks me; it’s the entire ritual, the rich tapestry of history, and the intricate processes behind each cup. Coffee isn’t just a beverage; it’s a luxury I can’t live without.
Every morning, I retreat to my little sanctuary—our living room couch—with a cup of coffee and a book.
I start with the beans. Not just any beans, mind you, but single-origin gems sourced from the highlands of Ethiopia. Yirgacheffe, specifically, known for its bright acidity and floral notes. These beans are the offspring of heirloom varietals, nurtured in the fertile, volcanic soil at an altitude of 2,000 meters. This terroir imparts a complexity to the beans that mass-produced coffee could never achieve.
Next comes the grind. I use a precision burr grinder that allows me to dial in the perfect grind size for a pour-over. Too coarse, and the water will rush through the grounds, leaving the brew weak and under-extracted. Too fine, and it’ll slow the drip, resulting in a bitter, over-extracted cup. The grind is a delicate balance, a fine line between perfection and disaster.
I weigh out 20 grams of beans, not a milligram more or less, and grind them fresh for each brew. As the grinder hums, releasing the intoxicating aroma of freshly ground coffee, I prepare my V60. I place a paper filter in the dripper, pre-wetting it with hot water to eliminate any paper taste and to warm the carafe below.
Water temperature is crucial—at exactly 201°F, or about 94∘C for those on the other side of the pond—or really anywhere else in the world, I suppose—it extracts the perfect balance of flavors from the grounds. Too hot, and you’ll scorch the beans; too cold, and you’ll miss out on the subtle nuances. I use a gooseneck kettle for precision, ensuring a steady, controlled pour.
As I pour a small amount of water over the grounds to bloom, the coffee bubbles and releases carbon dioxide, a sign of freshness. I wait for 30 seconds, allowing the bloom to settle, before continuing with a slow, circular pour. The water cascades through the grounds, drawing out a complex array of flavors.
The first sip is always a revelation. Bright acidity dances on my palate, followed by a cascade of flavors—blueberry, lemon zest, and a hint of dark chocolate. It’s a symphony of taste, a complex interplay of terroir, processing, and meticulous preparation.
But coffee is more than just a morning ritual. It’s a journey around the world, from the sun-drenched plantations of Colombia’s Huila region, where the beans are handpicked and meticulously processed, to the bustling streets of Tokyo, where baristas treat coffee preparation as a high art. I’ve visited cupping sessions in Guatemala, where I learned to discern the subtle differences between Bourbon and Caturra varietals, and attended barista championships in Milan, where the craft of coffee is celebrated with fervor.
This obsession extends beyond my kitchen. I own an AeroPress for travel, compact and versatile, allowing me to enjoy a quality brew even in the most remote locations, like at the edge of the Acatenango Volcano. I’ve even experimented with cold brew methods, perfect for hot summer days when a chilled coffee is a welcome refreshment.
Coffee, to me, is the epitome of luxury. It’s a daily indulgence, a connection to far-off lands and cultures, a testament to human ingenuity and the relentless pursuit of perfection. It’s the one luxury I can’t live without, a ritual that grounds me, inspires me, and fuels my every endeavor. Without it, the world would be a little less vibrant, a little less magical. And that, I simply cannot accept.
Fred Aiken Writing 