The Perfect Filter Coffee
The water sizzled angrily. I kept it waiting as I tried to make up my mind on exactly how much coffee powder to add. Finally, I gave up, and threw in some unknown quantity. Pressing it gently, I poured hot water into the filter.
Despite the anxiety it caused me, I enjoyed the process. The shining brass coffee filter, the smooth feel of the powder, smell of which wouldn’t leave your fingers, the sound of the boiling water as it pours down, the burst of aroma that fills the room and takes over the senses, rich black decoction and the resultant frothy mixture worthy to be served to the Gods. But before that, it had to be judged by my harshest critics.
"Too watery," Patti made a face.
"You have poured too much water. The decoction turned watery." Amma pronounced the verdict.
"Or the coffee powder was less." Patti added.
My coffee wasn't perfect today either. Yesterday it was bitter. The day before, it didn't smell coffee enough. If it wasn't too sweet, it was too milky. One day I managed to get just a few drops in the name of decoction. Today, it was a stream.
I turned to Appa. As always, he had a nice word for me, "Piping hot, just the way I like it."
Trying to prepare the perfect filter coffee was getting on my nerves. And it didn't end at that. My mother and grandmother ganged up against me. They decided that I needed to perfect my cooking skills, beginning with the coffee.
"You are going to marry some day. What will you feed your husband?" Patti was concerned that I might starve my future husband.
"I was a perfect cook by your age." Amma declared. "You just have to try a little harder."
Honestly, I could only cook for survival. I am definitely not meant to be a multi-cuisine chef. This attempt of the ladies to turn me into a "perfect cook" scared the daylights out of me. With every passing day, my misery grew, for their judgement never seemed in my favour.
“For heaven’s sake, it’s just coffee.” I exclaimed.
“It’s not just coffee, it’s THE filter coffee.” Patti retorted.
“We are judged by the coffee we serve. It has to be perfect every single time.” Amma said.
Sensing my frustration, Appa called me aside, "One will never find the perfect filter coffee, because there isn't any. There are just many types of coffee. So stop worrying. Perfection is nothing but perception. That's why it's difficult to find a perfect something. You see, everyone perceives it differently. What you deem to be lacking might be perfect for someone."
I pondered. Indeed. Cooking is an art. And like any art, a little deviation doesn't make it bad. It merely creates a new variant, which is an art in itself. There is no right or wrong, just many ways of doing it.
On that note, let’s have some coffee.