drmstream[writing]

The art in per­co­la­tion is know­ing when to stop.

You pre­pare the ingre­di­ents: cof­fee grounds and water. You assem­ble the per­co­la­tor. You turn on the flame. And you wait.

The iron embraces the intense heat of the flame and dif­fuses it. The mol­e­cules in the water swell until, in a vio­lent moment, they crash against each other. The heat trans­forms the water into air and forces its way through the thin metal tube, bub­bling into the grounds.

Intense and loud. The aroma is captivating.

But you have to wait until it is ready. The pot doesn’t know. A timer can’t tell.

Only you can tell. Some­times you turn the flame down to soon. Some­times you let it sput­ter on the heat too long. The liq­uid becomes bit­ter and thin.

When you get it right, the taste is wonderful.

Tol­stoy said the best work comes when you aren’t work­ing. Let the ideas fil­ter in your brain. Go away from the work, because you are not let­ting the seeds grow.

His image is organic and natural.

Per­co­lat­ing cof­fee is man­u­fac­tured. The ele­ments are of nature — the cof­fee bean, the water, even the fer­rous min­er­als that make the iron — but the com­bi­na­tion of the ele­ments is filled with dis­ci­pline and intent.

I am remind­ing myself that when you per­co­late cof­fee, you have the intent to make the cof­fee. If you get seduced by the hyp­notic cadence of the bub­bling water, even­tu­ally you will burn off every­thing that was rich and dis­tinc­tive. You’ll have noth­ing worth­while left. What hyp­no­tized you will leave you feel­ing empty.