But I never paid as much attention to the process of coffee as I did to the product. I kind of looked at it the way one justifies buying merino wool underwear: if it keeps me warm when it's cold out, cool when it's hot out, makes me feel good, and makes me perform better, then it is worth whatever price Starbucks (or Icebreaker, for that matter) is willing to charge me.
Even Mrs. Mechanic, who spent one of her past lives as a black-capped, green-aproned goddess of the grind, is a bit blasé about the making of coffee. Then again, she's like the MacGyver of the brew; she can make a great cup with duct tape, a match, and a Swiss Army Knife. She doesn't even need coffee beans. It's crazy.
But, alas, all that might change. My hometown paper is now lauding what the coffee cognoscenti have known, and kept to themselves, for some time: that with the right gear, you can make coffe at home that is better than anything you can get in Little Italy or Seattle. And that gear, believe it or not, isn't French, Italian, or even German. It is Japanese.
It is only fitting that the the Japanese have perfected technology that Europeans have thought to have mastered. It has happened throughout history in other industries; it was only a matter of time before it happened with coffee.
And, now that you can run to your local Williams-Sonoma and outfit yourself, rather than planning a trip to the Land of the Rising Sun to mule back a suitcase full of unwieldy fragility, otherworldly cofffe is within reach for anyone who has the time, money, and desire to invest in the process. Portlandians might turn their nose up and state that pour-over coffee has jumped the shark, but this might be just the ticket to take your brewing skillz to the next level.
Time for another cup.
