It was several months ago that a friend was in search of a new coffee maker.  She’d had the brewer that used individual pods to make a perfect cup one cup at a time.   I shared with her the joy that my French press had given me for years.  It is simple, safe for the environment, and takes up no space on my counter when not in use.  The coffee grounds go into the compost and all is right with the world.

                I do so love when someone embraces my approach to anything.  Of course, this was not the case.  My friend warned me that use of my French press could be killing me.  Seriously?

                Off to Google land I went to read about studies that showed drinking 7 or more cups of French press coffee a day could lead to health issues; all due to the poor filtration of the press.  Hmm…  I followed the article with a search for the perfect coffee maker.  Low and behold, coffee brewed through a filtered cone was the purest.  Bachelor coffee, that’s how I’ve always referred to it.  But, of course, there was a brand above the rest.  The cone filter system that could brew whole pots of coffee and not simply one at a time as in true bachelor coffee.  Interesting.

                I shared my findings with my friend then justified my use of the press because I never consumed 7 cups of coffee in a day.  I was safe, and my beloved French press remained.

                As fate would have it, one morning, weeks later, my French press broke.  I was crestfallen.  Rick, provider of love, support and Aztec Mochas (yes Leo, on fire, but that’s another story) rushed to the coffee shop.  My hero.

                Thus, my personal coffee maker mission began.  I remembered the filtered cone coffee maker and consulted google one last time.  Then it was off to the market.  There on the table was a French press, exactly the style of my recently departed.  As I held it tenderly, I noticed on the same table, a very cool looking pot, the top in the shape of a cone.  One would have to buy filters separately, but they were conveniently on the same display.  I’m not sure how long I stood at that table.  In the end, I apologized to the French press, “we had a good run,” and walked away with my shiny new cone filtered coffee pot. 

                The next morning, after reading the instructions thoroughly, it was time.  It was rather entertaining making the giant square filter into the perfect cone shape for my pot.  I ground my coffee beans but before I added them to the filter,  I poured a bit of just-off-boiling water through to warm the pot. (They thought of everything when writing the instructions.)  After discarding the water, I measured my ground coffee and placed it into the filter.  (Okay, I didn’t weigh the beans, but I did follow the rest of the instructions.)

                Coffee in filter, just-of- boiling water in hand, I poured, in a circular motion, just enough water to wet each little ground, then watched.  When the water had filtered through , I counted to thirty and watched shiny bubbles form and pop atop the moist grounds, releasing some, no doubt, unsettling gasses.  As I watched I threw in some thoughts of gratitude, they fit nicely.  Then I began to pour my just-off-boiling water, carefully, in a circular motion atop the grounds, keeping the level well below the top of the pot.  I watched as it dripped through to the pot.  I waited patiently as room was created for more circularly poured water.  I did not time it but did realize that the French press required much less of my attention.  Thoughts of things I would do while coffee brewed in the press floated through my mind.  I let them go.  I breathed, I focused, I poured, I waited, I breathed in, I breathed out and the thoughts floated through.  “With the press I could have dusted the floor, with the press I could have brought in the paper, with the press I could fed the rabbit…”  the thoughts floated through. 

                Eventually it was ready, grounds set aside to cool for the compost.  I poured the crystal-clear brew.  I had never seen such clear coffee.  No oil or sediment was visible to the human eye.  Wow!  It as delicious.  I raved to Rick about my theory on Zen and the art of coffee brewing.  These folks had nailed it.

That was then, this is now and in between I have tried slipping in a chore, a day dream, a text or a phone call,  the problem lay in losing my focus.  As I followed my busy brain through this thing and that, I would realize my pot stood waiting for me, and return to pour not quite just-off-boiling water over the grounds.  I’d try jiggling the filter to see if it would speed the process.  I vowed to remain focused, so we would have hot, or at least warm coffee sometime that day. 

                The immediate gratification girl within me truly misses the French press but I do not listen to her.  There is pleasure in the sparkling coffee grounds, striving for the perfect flow of just-off-boiling water and simply breathing.  Thoughts float through, I focus and, voila, a lovely pot of coffee appears.  What joy!

                It never ceases to amaze me the many ways the universe provides me opportunities to practice and embrace patience. 

Isabella Stewart