Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Filter, home

“Filter, home.”

Sheesh. I had better start coming up with some more interesting-sounding titles for any blogs related to drinking a “Filter, [at] home”. Unfortunately, there will be a lot of them. I use the filter a lot. In the last five months it has usurped the Aeropress's throne in the royal court of Coffee Method City. Aeropress is still around, he's just more of a backbencher these days, sitting up on the windowsill with the less-used coffee apparati and other miscellaneous things that seem to belong on the almost-unreachable windowsill in the kitchen: two stovetops, a can (as in aluminium) of black coffee that I dare not open, a jar of iSnack 2.0 that I dare not finish, an hand-me-down ice bucket that I would I use more if I were Hugh Hefner (though the ice-tongs come in pretty handy as regular tongs), a few empty Illy tins, and the impressive-yet-useless box that a bottle of Talisker came in that I figured was too impressive a cardboard box to immediately throw out. So as you can see, Aeropress is in strange company, but always just an armslength away. It's a great invention, but the filter is so much more of a no-brainer to operate, and that can be useful first thing in the morning when my brain hasn't woken up yet.

To be more specific, it's a Swiss Gold filter. I have no idea why it needs to be gold. Or Swiss, for that matter. But it is both. Here's how it works: it fits over your cup, you put in some ground coffee, you pour some water into the other bit, and the water slowly drips through. That's it. It's very easy. The only variables* seem to be "how much coffee" and "how fine is it?". You could spend hours agonising over these, but I've had pretty good results from "about ten seconds worth" at "whatever the grinder is currently set to". For the times when I either:
  1. can't be arsed waiting for the espresso machine to heat up, or 
  2. really feel like a black coffee that takes up the whole cup
this really hits the spot. I much prefer this to a long black which, both literally and figuratively, is a very watered-down espresso.

* ignoring water temperature, room temperature, wind speed, light levels, barometric pressure, nearby wormholes, etc.

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