What We Lost Along the Way
Before convenience conquered coffee, brewing was a skill passed down through generations. Your grandfather knew his grinder's quirks. Your mother could tell by smell when the water was the right temperature. Coffee was regional, seasonal, personal. It varied from house to house, from month to month, from season to season.
We traded all of that—the knowledge, the variation, the personal connection—for consistency and speed. And the really tragic part? We told ourselves it was an improvement.
The Skills We Forgot:
- How to judge grind size by feel
- When water sounds right for brewing
- How to adjust for weather and humidity
- What good coffee actually tastes like
- Why timing matters in extraction
- How to taste terroir in a cup
These weren't esoteric skills reserved for professionals. They were basic competencies that regular people developed through daily practice. They were part of being a functional adult, like knowing how to cook an egg or change a tire.
The good news—and the reason this book exists—is that the knowledge isn't lost. The tools exist. The beans are available. The only thing standing between you and genuinely excellent coffee is the willingness to admit that your current routine isn't working and to invest the time to learn something better.
This isn't about becoming a coffee snob or spending ridiculous amounts of money or turning your kitchen into a laboratory. It's about reclaiming a small piece of craft in a world that's trying to automate everything. It's about starting your day with something you made yourself, with your own hands, using skills you developed through practice.
The Chemex—which we'll meet properly in the next chapter—represents a different philosophy entirely. It assumes you want to participate in making your coffee, not just consume it. It assumes you have five minutes in the morning to do something mindfully. It assumes quality matters more than speed.
It assumes, in other words, that you're not willing to settle for the lie anymore.