Espresso and the Mighty Moka Pot
It’s a lovely — if not slightly muggy — June evening and I’ve just returned from a long day at the shop. We were busy making lists, assembling various pieces of furniture, perfecting our barista skills and making more lists in preparation for our grand opening. We are only a week or so away and the excitement of finally being able to share what we’ve been working on is building. The transformation of the space and the journey to get to this point has been incredibly satisfying and of course more than a little tiring.
To reward ourselves for seven months of non stop grafting we each took a short break away to recouperate and prepare for the final push to open. Colin headed to Hong Kong and I took my family for a long wekend to Capri — an island off the Amalfi coast that is strikingly beautiful and was the location for ‘Le Mepris’, a 1963 film featuring Bridget Bardot.
On the morning of our arrival, the hotel manager asked if I’d like a coffee. I agreed and he dissapeared behind a bar and fired up the well loved coffee machine. He returned with a lovely looking espresso that had a strong nostalgic aroma to it. I haven't visited Italy for at least five years and as I sipped the espresso, memories of my very first visit some 15 years ago came flooding back.
This story begins in my formative years studying in London. As a university student, nocturnal living became a “normal” way of life for me. In order to meet essasy deadlines, read through the essential weekly literature, complete art projects and work a part time job, one had to make use of at least 18–20 hours of each day (or at least most days) and the best method I found for doing that was caffeine. Up until this point in my life the only coffee I really knew about was Greek coffee (see story here), french press coffee and fancy coffee-shop-coffee. The latter was a rarity, mostly because they were closed when I needed a caffeine kick, and Greek coffee preparation was fairly time consuming and fiddly to get right so I usually opted for a cheap bag of ground coffee and a french press I stole (I like to say borrowed) from my parents. I would brew coffee at around 8pm and slowly sip it until the cafetière was empty or until I had finished the task at hand. It worked well for me. I finished many projects and indeed my final dissertation in the early hours of the morning with cheap black coffee as my companion. Caffeine was officially my go-to beverage to wake me up in the morning and keep me up at night. It was the very beginning of my obsession with coffee.
In the summer of ’02 my then girlfriend (now Wife) and I backpacked across Europe with an ‘Inter-rail’ train card. It was a wonderful time to travel; the exchange rate was greatly in our favour, we were young, perhaps a little naïve and happy to go wherever the wind blew us (pardon the cliché). We flew to Greece and worked our way back to London visiting over eight countries and countless towns and cities. On our travels, we spent a vast amount of time in Italy. It really is a magnificently diverse country, steeped in history, culture and beauty. And it was in Italy that I discovered two ground breaking things 1) Espresso and 2) the glorious Moka Pot.
The Italian coffee bar was a love at first sight encounter. I vividly remember the first I visited. It was after a greulling 20 hour boat journey from Greece to the Italian town of Ancona. I was tired from not being able to sleep on the open deck of a boat and, as we had a long train journey to make that same day, I knew I needed my regular caffeine kick. So we found a bustling little cafe that seemed to have no tables, chairs or any kind of order. The barista was in full swing; pulling down shiny levers on the machine, wacking used coffee out of portafilters and taking orders from herds of loud Italian men. All the while, we were there, unkempt, big bags on our backs (and under our eyes ), looking bemused wondering how we’d solicit a coffee and where we could sit. It was chaos, but it was brilliant! I timidly approached the bar with a raised hand clutching a €5 note “B…Buon…Buongiorno”. Suffice to say, the barista didn’t notice my pathetic attempt at greeting him the way I’d been practising the night before on the boat. I mustered up a little courage, puffed out my chest and in a louder, more assertive voice, said “Buongiorno, un caffè per favore!”. It worked. He glanced at me, gave me a nod and proceeded to extract a shot of coffee for me. A few moments later, the dainty cup of espresso clinked as it was brashly placed on a saucer and slid over to me. I mimicked the lcoals by sipping the first half and swigging the remainder in an overly macho way. The shot was strong, dark and rich, almost like syrup laced with a hint of cigar ash. Cupid had fired his caffeine soaked arrow and it had hit me straight in the heart. “Grazie” I said proudly with more gusto than when I had first entered the establishment. “Prego” came the automatic response from the barista as he continued thrashing about the machine for the next shot he was going to pull. It felt good. The combination of a warm meditaranean climate on my skin, the slightly smokey flavour lining my throat from the thick coffee and the energetic morning atmosphere of Italy as men and women scurried around like extras on a film set was truly a spectacle to behold! I would go on to perform this ritual at least twice a day for the remainder of my time in Italy in various bars up and down the country.
The second discovery, and perhaps most revolutionary for me, was that almost every household in Italy owend a moka pot. The moka pot is, in essence, a stove top coffee machine. It’s a cleverly designed gadget that extracts coffee using pressurised steam from boiling water. I should add the design of this mighty little contraption is really first-rate — iconic infact.
These little machines have been used for decades and during our stays in smaller B&B’s we were always given a freshly brewed pot of this coffee with our breakfast. The coffee produced from these pots is really a very good standard and the flavours very close to quintessential Italian coffee; dark, tobacco like, with an ever so subtle burnt taste. Obviously these arent always the preffered characteristics of coffee — in recent years I tend to lean towards lighter roasts with nutty notes and a buttery mouthfeel or sweet and rich coffee with floral tones. Upon my return to London I quickly invested in a moka pot and it would serve me my daily brew for the next deacade. In fact I still have the very first moka pot I purchased all those years ago in my coffee cupboard at home. It works but hasn't been used for a good five years.
So back to the present day. I sit here tapping on the keys trying to think of a clever way to end this post as the sun sets on this muggy June evening. I’m no longer the caffeine induced night owl I once used to be so I’m struggling for a nice way to tie this up. Drinking coffee stops way before 5pm as I sleep early and rise early and opt for a more natural circadian rhythm (my children are up from 5am most mornings so every hour of shut-eye counts). The late night coffee drinking was the start of my passion for coffee and my trip accross Europe was fuel for that fire and so as I contemplate the next step in this journey and opening our doors in the next couple of days I wonder if our shop will one day inspire a young twenty-something (or any one at any time in life) to follow his or her passion.
I hope this post was interesting and/or helpful in some way. I’d love any feedback you have. If you have a spare minute please do leave a comment.
James
Stantons Coffee
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