There’s a lot of coffee paraphernalia floating around. You can expend large amounts of your disposable income on bur grinders, gooseneck kettles, and exotic blends. Or you can be like me, content to drink supermarket coffee as long as it is brewed in some fashion and is not instant. (I did see an article in the New York Times hinting that maybe a select few modern instants were marginally okay. I ignored it.) My equipment consists of an electric kettle, a Melitta filter holder and some filters (organic), a bigger filter holder and filters for when company comes, and a largely unused but fancy French press which requires a degree in engineering to operate. The coffee itself will be Chock Full o’Nuts or Café Bustelo if I’m feeling adventurous. My moka pot is deceased.
Almost a year ago, my home began to be graced by weekly visits from Em. She serves as housekeeper and friend, helping me with the heavy cleaning chores, housework, and laundry that I can no longer do. She also has my undying gratitude. Em is a graduate of the Culinary Arts Institute and a well-qualified pastry chef who does not choose to work in that field. Instead, she blesses me with bits of arcane and insanely useful kitchen knowledge.
This summer, she cast an eye on the newly acquired large can of Heavenly Coffee. “You know,” she said. “You could be making cold brew from that.” The mercury hovered somewhere in the mid-nineties as she spoke.
Cold brew! I had been trying to puzzle through the Web’s instructions for cold brew since the year after God was born. They spoke of grams and milliliters, of pure water and $500 grinders. Of exotic blends whose beans had been through the digestive tracts of civet cats. Of cheesecloth, for Pete’s sake. Who keeps cheesecloth in their kitchen unless it’s Thanksgiving?
I swallowed hard, paused for a moment, and swallowed again before addressing Em as nonchalantly as I could. “Really? That sure would be nice on a day like this. Have at it and let me know what to do.”
Quiet sounds drifted from the kitchen. Em reappeared shortly saying, “Just let it sit there. I’ll be in tomorrow.”
Sure enough, 24 hours later, we were enjoying iced coffee. Perfect tasting well brewed coffee, only headachingly cold, perfectly brewed, with that special coffee bite and kick. I like milk in my coffee. I had milk, and it wasn’t watered down. I decided I wanted hot coffee first thing. A few arrangements in the mug, a trip through the microwave, and there it was—delicious, and much smoother and more luxurious than what I’m accustomed to.
So how is it made? Well, I’ve learned to do that. First of all, I advise that on Day 2 you go ahead and make your regular brew. The exercise requires a little thought and a very little bit of math. I don’t need my calculator, but I did scratch my findings on the back of an envelope. Here you go:
The Coffee
Day One: You’ll need a quart jar like a Mason or large mayo jar with a lid. A small pitcher that will hold one quart will do. You’ll also need a one-cup measuring cup, a long-handled kitchen spoon, your favorite coffee, and water. If your water doesn’t taste good out of the tap, use filtered or purified or whatever you normally drink.
Measure an 8 oz measuring cup of your coffee from the can into the jar or pitcher. Begin to add cold water, stopping occasionally to stir furiously with the spoon. The coffee rises to the top and sits there, dry, looking very weird. Push it down a bit. You want as much water in there as you can get to bring it close to one quart. One quart to one measuring cup seems to be the magic key. Let it sit on your counter or better yet in your fridge for 12-24 hours. I find that 24 hours is better, giving a stronger concentrate.
Day 2: You’ll need a pitcher that will hold at least one quart. You’ll also need to filter out the grounds that are in your concentrate. They manage to go everywhere if you’re not careful. You can use several layers of cheesecloth for your filter. Other options are one of those gold mesh filters in a holder, a holder holding a couple of paper filters, a basket with filter from a drip coffee maker, a kitchen sieve lined with cheesecloth or coffee filters, and I’m sure there are others. Give your coffee jar a shake to de-clump the grounds, and pour it carefully through the filter into a bowl or your pitcher. My simple arrangement involves a pitcher with a round lid, a #4 Melitta holder, and two paper filters. The Melitta sits right on the pitcher. Go slowly, and in a very short while you’ll have nice, gunk-free, very dark coffee in your pitcher.
Now you get to experiment. What you have there is very strong coffee essence, the kind you pay megabucks for at the supermarket. You’re going to want to dilute it to make your favorite cup. I like pretty strong coffee, and 50/50 is fine with me. I just pour in another quart of clear, well filtered water. If you are a twosome or more, you may want to leave your coffee essence as-is and let each person experiment to find the ideal ratio. Don’t forget, if you’re drinking this iced, it’ll be diluted as the cubes melt. I never add milk until the last minute and don’t figure it into my dilution. Nuke some in your mug or make up your preferred iced coffee.
Any way you look at it, with a bit of practice and some enjoyable tasting, you’ll have arrived at something very like your regular coffee but smoother, with a deeper and different flavor, and just plain richer. Don’t forget to raise a toast to Em. She’s a genius.
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