Fighting Depression with the James Hoffmann Method
Boil the water.
I feel a bit like this kettle this morning: resting one moment, steaming the next. Yesterday night’s ruminations have become today’s worries, continuing to simmer and rattle my mind from the bedside to the kitchen. This moment feels grey, tinny, as blurry as the room reflecting off the side of the pot. There is something that must be done in times like these: Take it all for what it is and make the best cup of coffee possible.
Two and a half scoops.
When I started this little brewing trick, it felt more like a science. Fifty grams of grounds here, eight-hundred grams of hot water there, combined in the carafe with care and precision, just the way the frantic little barista in my brain might do. But months of slow rising and glasses-free breakfasts have turned this into more of a ritual, a practice, a meditation. I am learning to make this coffee not for Mr. Hoffmann, or my friend in Colorado who taught me the technique, or even my partner waiting for her cup in the next room over. No, no. This one’s for me.
Pour slow, all the way to the top. Don’t scald the grounds. Wait four minutes.
I’ve started drinking decaf these past few months. Sad to say, but the stronger stuff makes these early hours more frantic, dizzy, anxious. With all the dark clouds and rain showers fogging up my head, the last thing I need is a clap of thunder. What I’ve lost in caffeine, though, I’ve tried to make up for in time. If I can give myself a moment to wake, four minutes to wait, an hour to sip and get this storm together before the day begins, that’s enough. I can choose to take that same pace elsewhere as I move along, rather than attempting to blaze ahead and risk burning up the good with the bad.
Get a spoon. Break the crust and stir the grounds.
Yes, I’ll take as long as I like and let it all spin and swirl. I’ll scoop out the bits and bubbles that can’t help but make their way to the top and deal with them in their own time. I’ll watch the color of what remains get darker and deeper until I can pour it out into my favorite mug, adding sweetness, coolness, spiciness until I recognize what it is: A part of me, made for me, to be anything that I want it to be. All things — in my hands, in my mind, in my life — can be made better with time.
Yes, what a few minutes can do to a cup of coffee.
