And by that, I mean coffee.

Coffee is a key part of my day – every day. It is, without exception, the first thing I do after rolling out of bed. I start my coffee and tidy the kitchen. Every. Single. Day. I struggle to think or function without that first cup. A hotel room without some sort of coffee maker, no matter how tragic, is a travesty. I simply cannot, and do not want to learn to, shower and dress and start my day until after that first cup of delicious (or mediocre) coffee.

I drank coffee for the first time when I was 19. From that very first day, and that very first cup, it has been black coffee for me. Adding milk to coffee can be acceptable. I have come to enjoy a cappuccino or latte from time to time though even then, my first cup of the day is black. No exceptions. I can’t even talk about sugar in coffee and have been known to dump a cup if even a few grains have found their way into a cup..

This love of black coffee really worked for me when I travelled the world. It was tough to find a pitcher of milk or cream at the top of a mountain in the highlands of Papua New Guinea. And even though I savour a wonderful cup of coffee, I am not so particular that I was unable to drink whatever dark beverage passed as coffee in some of those far off locations.

There have been a few coffee substitutes along the way. Instant coffee is ubiquitous though horrendous for anything other than a flavoured addition to baking. Yet, I will drink it if there is no other option. My baking cupboard contains a high end instant espresso from Gourmet Warehouse for its value in enhancing a chocolate dessert. In desperate straits, I could actually drink it.

And then there is chicory… which bears no resemblance to coffee beyond being a similar shade of brown. If there is absolutely nothing else, I will drink it and try to imagine coffee (though a soggy, used teabag in warm water would probably still be preferable).

One thing travel has taught me is the real value of coffee. I have had times where I was more invested in mainlining caffeine to overcome jet lag and long work days, than in the flavour of the coffee itself.

I drank a good deal more tea than coffee on my many trips to Japan. However, there is no substitute for a can of hot coffee purchased from a vending machine on some random street at 3:00 a.m. when it is impossible to sleep.

Many moons ago, the office drip coffee machines were the only real source of daily coffee. This was long before the customized servings of Americanos, cappuccinos and mochas delivered by high tech machines in offices and airports. I was never really a fan of those early machines but with no real alternatives available – I made peace.

While pregnant with my first child, I gave up coffee. This was not because of any intention to the ‘do the right thing’ as coffee consumption was not on the list at that time; I simply could not bear the smell, or taste, of that rancid office coffee, sitting in a glass pot on a warmer for far too long.

At some point I began making drip coffee at home. I bought beans I loved, ground them, then did a pour over cup with a small plastic filter rather like this one. I used it for years. Now I have a much more attractive one from Fable that I use in Ucluelet on those days when there is time for what I now call a “slow” cup of coffee. Some degree of patience is required.

Travels to France, Italy and Spain is where I truly began to enjoy the experience of coffee. There are few activities more simple and appealing to me than sipping a delicious cappuccino, often accompanied by a local bakery specialty, while seated at a small table on the street, watching the world go by. It is the ultimate slow coffee.

In recent years, we have been heavy users of a small Nespresso Pixie. It is convenient and fast to use when one only has a few minutes between meetings to grab a cup. The pods come in a nice variety of flavours and intensities. It seems the dark roast Italian-inspired ones are almost always my first choice.

I am generally satisfied with the coffee we have today, interspersed with a Starbucks latte or something a bit more interesting from one of our myriad of local coffee shops. Mighty Oak is our neighbourhood shop and has been a regular dog walk stop for a beverage and bakery treat for more years than I can count. Le Marche St. George is my personal favourite, for the coffee and the food. It has been the last stop after many, many long runs and a few virtual half marathons. I will always have a soft spot for their dirty chai and 1/2 of a shared butter tart.

Coffee and I had found a comfortable, predictable, and long standing relationship. And then… this happened.

Holy cow! Happy birthday to me! Thank you Andrew and Tori!

Once unboxed, this machine scared the crap out of me. I rushed to set it up, read the entire manual, and watched the online videos. And then, for 2 lonely days, it sat. I walked by it explaining to myself that I did not have enough time, but what I really meant was “am I actually prepared to start my life as a barista?”

On the 3rd day I came down the stairs at a ridiculously early hour, turned on the coffee machine and began. (I originally typed “started the coffee machine” because honestly that was more reflective of how it can feel. Like I was about to start the engine of an F1 race car ….)

Loading the hopper – easy. I decided to leave the grind size and time alone. I weighed the coffee carefully once the basket was full and achieved the recommended 18g in the double wall 2 shot basket. I tamped the damn thing within an inch of its life because what the hell is 22-30 lbs of pressure? Ready. I pulled my first shot and it was… poor. The crema looked great, but the shot was thin and bitter.

Restart. How does one actually get a recalcitrant used coffee puck to fall gracefully out of the basket? Was it something I did?

With a cleaned and dried basket, I attempted shot #2. Better. Though to be honest I had no idea why. I was not confident enough to adjust the grind or the time, as the relationship between the two was still unclear.

Four attempts later, I was moderately happy with the result and caffeinated within an inch of my jittery life. And, I was still dealing with that puck that refused to let go.

Wanting to do better – I went back to Youtube. And down the rabbit hole. There are hundreds, no thousands, of videos on how be “dialed in” and pull a perfect shot. My head was spinning. I knew I probably needed better beans. (I now have 4 bags of different beans in my cupboard.) Although I would say there is some difference, after paying attention to the roasting date, the biggest impact was the roast itself. Buh-bye medium and hello dark roast.

I have definitely adjusted the grind (finer), and the grind time (longer). I have confirmed that 18-20g of coffee in the double basket is the right amount. I still have found no consistency when I use the single basket.

I have started to weigh my results. I like the ristretto range, which means that the final shot should be 1.5 times heavier than the weight of the ground coffee that went into it: 36-40g. Yep. Who knew there was so much math involved? And I have confirmed with certainty I don’t actually like Americanos – the water ratio is too high for my liking.

I have also started timing the extraction, absolutely verifying that too short extractions are sour tasting and too long extractions are bitter. Get it right and it is a cup of dreamy perfection with a touch of natural sweetness.

Puck quality is a thing and impacts the flavour of the coffee. Here comes the physics. Channeling, which impacts water flow, is talked about a lot! Exactly how influential it is remains to be seen IMHO. Poor puck prep, related to channeling in some mysterious way, also comps up frequently. (I am convinced there is a relationship between puck prep, channeling and pucks that will not let go!)

After the first few weeks, Rick just came down the stairs one day and dove in. I gave him a lesson, which probably took waaaay too long for his focus window, and he was off to the races. I can hear him in the kitchen in this very moment exclaiming “Perfect!” followed shortly by “That was a good one”. He makes mochas. Maybe its cheating the system; some high end chocolate syrup and milk will bury a multitude of espresso shot sins…. Or maybe he has a natural gift that my weight scales and timers are unable to compete with.

Once every cup, or seven, I actually achieve the perfect shot. It is a thing of magic and diligence (and science and math and luck).

I will keep watching videos, weighing and measuring, and making notes in my phone. I do want to make a cappuccino next. And then, maybe, some latte art. I may have to wait for retirement before attempting that last one. One thing I know for sure, if learning new things staves off dementia, I’m set for a while.