PAYING HOMAGE TO THE BREW

Nothing beats a good cup of hot,  strong, freshly brewed  coffee, served in fine china. My love affair with the brew started when I was a  child who wanted to drink from the cup of the aromatic  local brew imbibed by all the adults at home, but off limits to me. 

The coffee drinkers would warn that coffee is no good for children. The view was coffee stunts a child's growth, so only the grown ups are privileged to partake of this black liquid. The fear of becoming a pygmy was enough to quell my desire, but I wanted to grow up fast so I could have my own cup. I did not grow tall despite the self imposed abstinence, so the adults were just kidding me. 

I had my first cup of native home grown coffee, at age fifteen. I had to apply a lot of work before getting the first taste. I had to grind the sun dried coffee beans in the "moliendo." There were no electric coffee makers during those days and grinding  was done using the manual grinder. 

The brewing process was quite simple. My mother would make me fill the pot with drinking water to boil in the stove. Upon reaching the boiling point she poured the fully ground coffee into the boiling water. The proportion of ground coffee to the amount of water would vary depending upon one's preference, which could either be light, moderate, or strong. The brew was allowed to boil for ten to fifteen minutes. By that time the sweet smelling aroma of coffee would emit from the spout, inviting you to drink. After allowing the brew to simmer, the next part was interesting. 

She would pour the brew in a filter cloth, which I suspect was a piece of my unused cotton shirt, sewed up as filter snout, into the serving pot. The first concoction she made for me was lightly brewed because I was still starting out to be a coffee drinker. That was my first introduction to the brew, and since then I was hooked. I introduced my eldest son to the brew the same way. Things have changed since then and coffee has become good business. My son would scout and check out all the coffee shops around the city. A coffee shop would pass his recommendation if it exceeds the taste of my formula. I still prefer the locally produced Arabica, Liberaca and Exelsa. Among the coffee shops I still prefer the lowly "kapehans" in the public markets, where the masses gather in a cacophony of conversation over cups of coffee. Here there are no class distinctions and the uniting spirit is the steaming cup nursed by each one, savoring each drop.  

Lately my friend from Batangas famous for its "barako" gave me brewing tips and sent me his home grown beans. Since this is a closely guarded secret which Starbucks might covet, only the coffee samurais are entrusted with it, who are sworn to  secrecy. To them there is nothing more liberating than injecting the brain with caffeine boosting the mind to greater heights of alertness, stimulation and prodigious activity, as in a dazzling movement of swordplay.

  

.