Coffee, a labour of love

World Coffee Day is accompanied by the inebriating aromas of thick coffee. Question is: how much effort are you willing to put into the brew?

October 01, 2016 05:17 pm | Updated November 01, 2016 10:17 pm IST

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I own a delicate French Press, an efficient electric coffee-maker and a cheery little Moka pot. That’s not all. My kitchen also boasts a chunky porcelain Vietnamese coffee-maker gifted to me by an especially urbane friend. Apparently, it was supposed to simultaneously conjure up a rich heady brew as well as memories of evenings in Hanoi. Except for one small catch. I never made it to Hanoi. I did drink some fantastic cold coffee on a busy street in Bangkok, though, thick and creamy with condensed milk. It convinced me to hold on to my Vietnamese coffee-maker. I figured I’d learn how to make it: eventually.

Source: Wikipedia

The Cezve, or Ibrik, is held at the long handle over a low flame with finely-ground coffee powder and boiling water. The filterless brewing method gives Turkish coffee its distinctively intense sludgy texture.

If you want to be truly authentic, call it a cezve . The coffee will even taste better.

In Dubai, fired up with misplaced enthusiasm after camping in the desert, I bought an Ibrik . If you want to sound well-travelled try calling it a cezve , like they do in Turkey. I won’t, because I can neither pronounce that nor make Turkish coffee. I also own an AeroPress, which looks like something that gently tip-toed out of a Star Wars movie. And, of course, as a nod to my current home town, Chennai, I have a gleaming steel filter coffee for proper South Indian coffee.

That’s seven gadgets in total. They occupy one entire shelf of my kitchen: prime storage area. Unfortunately, I make dreadful coffee. Looks-like-mud-and-tastes-like-water dreadful.

What’s even more unfortunate is the fact that I am fussy about coffee. I turn my nose up at badly-made cappuccinos. I shudder at weak espressos. I shrug cruelly and send sloppy macchiatos back to the kitchen.

Desperate for a good cup of coffee I consider buying an espresso machine. I covetously browse through rows of swanky gadgets online, promising burnished steel and colourfully caffienated dreams. At the other end of the spectrum is my father, whose coffee is even worse than mine. His tried-and-trusted method involves pouring boiling water into a pot filled with coffee grounds. The resulting brew is so strong and grainy you can practically stand a spoon in it: a fact he’s inordinately proud of.

I eventually decide enough is enough. Instead of buying yet another machine, which would inevitably join the gadget graveyard on my shelf, I decide to set myself a challenge. I will learn to make a fantastic cup of coffee. How hard can it be anyway?

Harder than you would imagine, I soon find out.

CHENNAI: TAMILNADU 29/09/2016: A view of coffee products displayed at Brew Room, Savera Hotel, in Chennai. Photo: R. Ravindran. - CHENNAI: TAMILNADU 29/09/2016: A view of coffee products displayed at Brew Room, Savera Hotel, in Chennai. Photo: R. Ravindran.

CHENNAI: TAMILNADU 29/09/2016: A view of coffee products displayed at Brew Room, Savera Hotel, in Chennai. Photo: R. Ravindran. - CHENNAI: TAMILNADU 29/09/2016: A view of coffee products displayed at Brew Room, Savera Hotel, in Chennai. Photo: R. Ravindran.

^ Is owning brewing gadgets the mark of a true Coffeeophile? | R. Ravindran

Manual brewing involves a number of factors: the coffee grind, water temperature and steeping time. Also, a surprising number of gadgets for a process that essentially involves just hot water and ground beans. In addition to my opening list, there’s the Chemex, a geeky contraption made from glass and wood that looks like it belongs in a chemistry lab. Invented in 1941 by German Peter Schlumbohm, whose designs were reportedly characterised as “a synthesis of logic and madness”, it is a favourite with coffee geeks. Then there’s the even more complicated vacuum siphon, ideal if you want to impress a date. Want more options? Try a vacuum pot, bee house dripper or filtron cold brewer. Don’t try coffee bags, those ghastly wannabes of the beverage world. Want something more new-age? ‘There’s nitrous coffee, sweet and suitably new age.

After clattering about the kitchen for a couple of days feebly aided by YouTube, Google and a clutch of manuals, I realise I need help.

Fortunately, Marc Tourmo is in Chennai to host a workshop at The Brew Room, a trendy coffee shop, which — thanks to Marc — offers a startlingly wide range of coffee, brewed in various ways. The Spaniard, who currently runs the Dreamer’s Café at Auroville Visitors Centre, is an ideal guide. He began his career in coffee with a serious café in Barcelona, then moved to Auroville in the late ’nineties, from where he’s been exploring the world of South Indian coffee. He sources, roasts and grinds high-quality organic, responsibly-grown beans under his eponymous label, which features blends from Coorg, Kerala and a single Estate Julien Peak roast from the Sheveroy hills in Yercaud.

“Taste is very personal,” he says, as we sit down over powerfully fragrant espressos. “We can have a road map about what constitutes a good cup, but ultimately you must trust your own judgement.”

-- PHOTO MOVED IN ADVANCE AND NOT FOR USE - ONLINE OR IN PRINT - BEFORE MARCH 20, 2016. -- Roasted mocha Arabica coffee beans in Dalat, Vietnam, Nov. 14, 2015. Arabica coffee is best grown in a moist climate at altitudes exceeding 1500 meters making Dalat an ideal growing area for this popular variety.(David Hagerman/The New York Times

-- PHOTO MOVED IN ADVANCE AND NOT FOR USE - ONLINE OR IN PRINT - BEFORE MARCH 20, 2016. -- Roasted mocha Arabica coffee beans in Dalat, Vietnam, Nov. 14, 2015. Arabica coffee is best grown in a moist climate at altitudes exceeding 1500 meters making Dalat an ideal growing area for this popular variety.(David Hagerman/The New York Times

^ Arabica coffee is best grown in a moist climate at altitudes exceeding 1500 meters making Dalat an ideal growing area for this popular variety. You want your beans to be a viscous brown. Unless you like it bitter, in which case, roast till it's dark brown.

So, first the roadmap. “There are basic rules. Coffee should be served at 65 degrees, so you can enjoy the flavour. Coffee beans must be freshly roasted: make sure there are no more than two weeks old. After that the aroma fades as the coffee gets oxidised.” He holds up a bean.

“If it’s crunchy, you know its fresh. That’s when it grinds properly — there should be just one percent moisture. After 5 percent it’s impossible to do a good grind.” To ensure your beans are well roasted, break one open. It should be evenly coloured. A dark roast means more bitterness, but less caffeine since caffeine degrades at high temperature.

To simplify the brewing methods, Marc and I draw three columns on a piece of paper. Lightly roasted beans first: the Chemex and cold drip.

Medium roasts are good for espresso machines, the AeroPress and vaccume siphon. As for filter coffee? It needs a dark roast.

Source: Wikipedia

An espresso machine brews coffee by forcing pressurized water near boiling point through a "puck" of ground coffee and a filter in order to produce a thick, concentrated coffee called espresso.

An espresso machine can make you pretty lazy with its instant brews. The least one could do in the interest of making an effort is use a manual piston machine.

Then there’s instant coffee. Marc shrugs, “It’s made from low-grade beans — no coffee bean is wasted. They make the bad beans into a huge decocotion, then freeze dry it into granules.” He adds, “About 80 per cent of all coffee drinkers drink Instant everyday.” His mission — and now mine — however, is to rediscover pure coffee. And no, not by using capsules. “But it’s so easy,” I groan, still hankering for my espresso machine. “I can do it mindlessly and get great coffee.” He nods grimly. “Yes. It’s a mindless machine for mindless people.” *Awkward silence.* He continues, “Each capsule has 6 grams of packaging for 3 grams of coffee: it’s an ecological nightmare. All that packaging!”

Back to the kitchen I go. But this time I am armed with a pack of freshly-roasted-and-ground powder, and a quick refresher course on using all the equipment by the Brew Room baristas.

Over the next couple of weeks, I experiment with a varity of methods, grinds and apparatus. I begin with my Moka pot, since it’s the least intimidating and quickly develop a genuine affection for the feisty little gadget. Set over a slow flame, it rapidly steams the coffee, filling the room with a wonderful, heady scent. My favourite part is when the coffee begins to bubble up into the second chamber with a friendly, giggly gurgle. It’s ideal when I’m sleepy: simple and quick. I drink it with a splash of warm milk.

The AeroPress, a favourite with both my coffee geek sisters, gives marginally better results, when done right. When my sisters make coffee on it, they measure the powder, temperature of the water and brewing time, inevitably getting fragrant black coffee. We carry it with us on a family holiday and try various methods, including an inverted version which yields a stronger brew. It’s low maintenance, easy to clean and portable. It’s also consistent: provided you follow the rules. Back home, I quickly get tired of it, as I eyeball everything, and hence my coffee’s flavour and consistency change everyday.

My Ibrik yields thick coffee, grainy with grounds. Following online recipes, I make it with powdered cardamom and sugar, so it is also packed with flavour. But certainly not an everyday drink. The Vietnamese method is overly fidgety, the French Press coffee wan and boring.

What I want is the equivalent of a machine espresso shot: thick, intense, favour packed coffee. And I want it immediately.

CHENNAI: TAMILNADU 29/09/2016: A view of coffee products displayed at Brew Room, Savera Hotel, in Chennai. Photo: R. Ravindran. - CHENNAI: TAMILNADU 29/09/2016: A view of coffee products displayed at Brew Room, Savera Hotel, in Chennai. Photo: R. Ravindran.

CHENNAI: TAMILNADU 29/09/2016: A view of coffee products displayed at Brew Room, Savera Hotel, in Chennai. Photo: R. Ravindran. - CHENNAI: TAMILNADU 29/09/2016: A view of coffee products displayed at Brew Room, Savera Hotel, in Chennai. Photo: R. Ravindran.

^ At the Brew Room, Savera Hotel, Chennai, coffee brewing is elevated to a science. Or is it an art? | R. Ravindran.

I go back to Marc. “If you don't have time to make a good cup of coffee you need to reflect what's happening to your life,” he says, shaking his head disapprovingly at my petulant impatience.

He adds, “On a hot day, make yourself a cold brew. It’s so simple: Put freshly ground coffee in a glass jar and add water. Shake it and keep it in the fridge overnight. In the morning, shake it, strain it and then add date syrup. Then flavour it with orange peels, lemons, cinnamon or fresh mint. Give it time. It needs to infuses and marinate.” Then to demonstrate how the best coffees take time, he orders me a cold drip coffee, made over 18 hours and then kept in a wine bottle for two or three days. It’s served with almond milk, and has a delightfully delicate flavour.

CHENNAI: 19/08/2015: Filter Coffee for Metro Plus story, in Chennai. Photo : R. Ravindran.

CHENNAI: 19/08/2015: Filter Coffee for Metro Plus story, in Chennai. Photo : R. Ravindran.

^ Nothing like the davara set to tingle the pleasure centres of the South Indian coffeeophile. | R. Ravindran

Back home, I try again. This time I pull out my South Indian filter, and gently press down a couple of spoons of powder. I add boiling water, and leave it undisturbed. It drips painfully slowly, but an hour later I get exactly the kind of coffee I’m craving: Rich thick and powerful. I put it in a steel tumbler, then pour in freshly boiled milk. Finally, I patiently pour the frothy concoction from davara to tumbler, and back, till it’s the right temperature. I sit down and take a sip. Perfect.

It turns out Marc is right. In coffee, just as in life, there are no short cuts.

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