Coffee Time

During my travels, the grands in Massachusetts were totally infatuated with my percolating coffee making process. The oldest wondered how the water burped up the stem. The middle wanted to know why there was a glass bowl on the lid. The little ones wanted to know why the water was dark brown.

They lead sheltered lives.

So my job was teaching a physics lesson and explaining the theory of distribution. My explanation about dark roast coffee grinds tinting the clear water was also well received, until the youngest of the younguns noted the water was brown to begin with.

Busted. Teaching moment fail.

You see, I generally start with leftover coffee, refilling the pot in the morning. It’s not usually very much, but the ingoing water is generally not crystal clear {unless my daughters or daughter-in-law decide to wash out the pot}.

You might be wondering where this strange procedure came from. Thank you Grandma.

Now, in full disclosure, I didn’t drink a lot of coffee growing up. I was more of a cookies and milk guy. My first experience with the dark beverage was actually an espresso at Grandma’s when I was about, I don’t know, 12 or 13. I remember nursing it down but not necessarily looking forward to my next cup of coffee. In fact, it wasn’t until my late teens before getting a cup of Joe became somewhat routine. My morning brew was tea — plain, old tea. Karen, also, preferred tea … until after we got married. I guess I drove her to the dark side.

With that background information, it was Grandma who explained the intricacies of coffee brewing. She used freshly ground Eight O’Clock beans {she would grind up a couple of days worth at a time}, adding a few scoops to the basket at a time {that’s right, she didn’t dump grinds} along with just enough water to bring the stainless steel percolator back to life. It was a lesson both Karen and I learned as newlyweds.

Throughout our marriage, coffee became a morning staple … and an afternoon standard … and an evening repast. Eight O’Clock was our preferred brand, although we did switch to Folger’s when Eight O’Clock was unavailable when we lived in the Midwest. Almost always, the pot was percolating on the stove or with an electric percolator. I don’t remember a coffeemaker in our house, although I did buy a Mr. Coffee when I moved to Maine. I used it for a couple of weeks until I found a glass percolator on Amazon. It has traveled with me as I visited the kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids — along with fresh-ground {when available} Eight O’Clock coffee.

Since retiring, my coffee consumption has decreased. Generally, it’s a  couple of cups while I go through my morning routine. And I still prefer my coffee black — without benefit of flavoring.

I have nothing against French press or Keurig or coffeemakers in general. I just prefer to watch my coffee brew through my glass pot. But then, I like watching my laundry rock and roll in thee washer as well.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: Don’t wait until everything is just right. It will never be perfect. There will always be challenges, obstacles and less than perfect conditions. So what. Get started now.

About wisdomfromafather

I'm just an ordinary guy walking along the journey of life.
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7 Responses to Coffee Time

  1. I enjoyed your coffee story. I, too, love the aroma of perking coffee and watching physics in action. Sadly, my only percolater is at our cabin and I rarely get a chance to use it. It’s a treat though, and how funny that Eight O’Clock is your preference. Mine too.

  2. TamrahJo says:

    I love my percolator – finally invested in a newer one (not the campfire basic granite wear one that didn’t have the whole percolator insert), and I some times brew it the night before, so I can just ‘warm it up’ in the morning (especially on those late nights!) Then I discovered the Coffee press – less grounds, hot water, in let sit for 3-4 minutes, then push the press down and pour – AND I routinely start with a couple of small scoops of coffee and just add too, all week, then dump into compost bucket when they’ve been wrung out of that last bit of toasty, wake ya up, brew – LOL – but then, I became a coffee drinker while I worked the graveyard shift at a truckstop – and there is just about any style of coffee that tastes ‘gourmet’ when compared to the last dregs of the coffee that’s sat in the 50 gallon big brew cauldron for the better part of 8-12 hours – LOL

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