I wake up ten to twenty minutes before my daughter’s alarm clock glows green. At 6:30am, Hazel pops up in her bed and begins curating a selection of stuffed animals to place at the foot of her bedroom door. I don’t know why she feels the need to transport her friends from her bed, but it appears, ironically, that she has a routine too. She then knocks on the door and says, “Who is it?”, knowing I am on the other side. When I open the door, she greets me with a smile. Simply adorable.
From that point forward, the next hour and fifteen minutes are dedicated to getting her to school. That means everything from putting on her clothes to making her lunch and packing snacks for the day. Mom assists us along the way since, she too, is running out the door to beat the traffic into the city. On our way to school, Hazel and I sing songs from “Beauty and the Beast”. I walk her to her room where she gives me a big hug and tells me goodbye.
Speaking of dads and routines, for more than 40 years, my father starts his day with Transcendental Meditation (TM). When I was a kid, he had me indoctrinated me in the ways of the Maharishi but, unlike my dad, I never really took to it. However, I’ve gained an appreciation of my dad’s discipline. I witnessed it create a space for him to focus his mind and channel his energy.
For those that follow me online, you’ve seen my obsession with coffee firsthand. Most notable are the pictures I take of pour overs from my Chemex, a glass coffee maker that looks like something you’d find in a laboratory. I enjoy sharing my coffee content with you for no other reason than it’s fun. Plus, it’s extremely relatable, even if you don’t like coffee. However, all this coffee talk has got me to thinking (and shaking). What is it about coffee that I love so much?
Perhaps, making coffee is my version of meditation. When I make it home from dropping Hazel off, things are very calm and super quiet. It’s a stark contrast from the commotion caused by her general excitement and thirst for life, making it the perfect time to clear my own mind. For fifteen minutes, I precisely measure, grind, filter and pour a stellar cup of coffee. The entire process is as calming as it is rewarding. I call it Transcendental Percolation.
Perhaps, it’s more of an exercise in control. For all the things that are outside of our control, making a cup of coffee is something within my control. I like that even though there are a multitude of variables involved in brewing coffee, I can influence almost all of them, thus affecting the overall outcome. I get to decide how coarse a grind I use or how fast of a pour I make knowing that the final result is the direct result of my decisions. The better the decisions, the better the cup of coffee.
In some existential way, it could be that coffee is just one giant metaphor for life. After all, coffee beans are the fruit of the coffee tree. We both mature over long periods of time, developing depth and complexity while enduring the elements that surround us. We’re hulled and polished before being tossed into the fire where we garner individual characteristics that make us who we are. Finally, we extract and savor the flavors of our journey. Its consumption warms our souls.
The more I think about it. The more it all makes sense. Coffee is life.
One year when I was in high school, after a holiday dinner at my grandparent’s house, I found myself at the dining room table with just my grandmother, post-dessert. We were sharing in a cup of coffee. Hers black and mine loaded with cream and sugar. How disgusting, I thought to myself. It was bad enough that coffee tasted like dirt to my then unsophisticated and immature pallet. Why would grandma punish herself by drinking it black?
Never the bashful one of her three grandsons, I decided to ask if there was something I was missing or some secret she was hiding. My grandma smiled and said to me, “Next time you have a cup of coffee, use a little less sugar and a little less cream. Take even less on the next cup and again on the cup after that. Keep doing this until you can drink it black and taste every note and every favor. Then, you will understand why I drink my coffee black.”
I never got to share a cup of black coffee with my grandma, but each day since I’ve stared making my pour overs, I’ve added less cream and less sugar to each cup. I want to experience what she did in every sip.
Special thanks to all my friends and Joeys (their baristas) at Joe Coffee Company who have kept me caffeinated throughout all my adventures in New York City. You’ve literally been there for everything. From your outpost and coffee cart in Grand Central where Heather and I started our careers, to your original store front outside business school on Waverly Street. You even followed us to our first apartment on the UWS only to pop-up once again right outside my office in WTC. What would I do with out you?
Want to make your own pour over? Here’s what you’ll need to get started:
1x Chemex Coffee Maker and filters
1x Electric gooseneck kettle
1x Kitchen scale and timer
1x Burr grinder
1x Bag of your favorite beans (preferably from Joe Coffee)
