The Elixir of Life
Making coffee at 4800m in the Peruvian Andes.
I love coffee. It took
me a while to discover the real thing, but when I did there was no looking back
and it has been a constant companion on my travels.
As a child in the sixties we used to have a bottle of ‘coffee’ in the larder called ‘Camp’. This was clearly pretty exotic stuff as the label had a picture of a moustached, red jacketed solider wearing a kilt, being served by smart turbaned Indian, probably his servant. The solider has a cup and saucer in hand and is clearly enjoying a brew of ‘Camp’. Although my parents called this weird tasting stuff ‘coffee’ and we always had it with plenty of milk, on the bottle it said chicory essence. I later discovered this was ‘coffee’ made from a plant that French made coffee from when they couldn’t get the real thing, like in the worst days of WW2. Only the British drank it thereafter.
As time went by we had instant coffee, even though I was unaware that there was any other kind of coffee, what was non instant coffee? By my teens I considered myself a fairly sophisticated coffee drinker by insisting we had Gold Blend, and always using the cream off the top of the milk bottles. As I travelled I discovered more about coffee, drinking Turkish coffee in Turkey, and meeting foreigners who could knew about blends and exotic things like Java.
The real breakthrough came when I was a student ambling one day along the Kennington Road in London and I walked into an little Italian Mom and Pop delicatessen; for here they not only sold real coffee but real coffee starter packs. Hats off to the marketing executive at Melitta who dreamt this idea up, he’s certainly created more addicts that most drug dealers. In the pack you got a 1 x 2 cone, a dozen filter papers and a small bag of real coffee and you were off, on a lifetime of discovery or addiction depending how you look at it.
Until well into the late eighties, real freshly ground coffee could only be bought at delicatessens; and drinking it was a very special treat, not something you could do every day. It was still Gold Blend for many years after.
When I lived in the Sudan I used to make my own coffee from scratch. The souk sold beans in their raw, green state so firstly I had to roast them on our charcoal burner; a delicate process as they had to be kept moving and carefully watched so that they roasted evenly and didn’t burn. When they had cooled I ground them, a small handful at a time, in a wooden mortar using a track rod from a Toyota as a pestle. The ground coffee was then scraped out with a spoon.
After a long time, and the whole process took most of the afternoon, I had enough to make a pot of coffee. I used the jug method, putting the ground coffee in the pot then adding hot water. We then all sat around the table in anticipation, waiting for the grounds to settle. And it was worth the wait, the coffee was strong and very good. Despite that I didn’t make it very often, as it took an awful lot of work to produce not a lot of coffee; and the stuff was like rocket fuel, the whole house would still be awake at three in the morning, totally wired.
As I started travelling more I always tried to have real coffee to drink at the start of the day. So I started to carry my coffee kit, the paraphernalia to make real coffee. The real breakthrough into making this happen came in China, as it was/is the one place on earth where there is nearly always a supply of hot water to hand. Chairman Mao must have made this a manifesto commitment in the little red book, because every hotel, restaurant, shop and even bus always had a large thermos flask of hot water tucked away, so that people could freshen up their mugs or jars of tea, which nearly everyone carried. It’s a basic human right. So travelling in China all had to do is ask for hot water and it appeared. In fact I know words for hot water in about ten languages.
As a child in the sixties we used to have a bottle of ‘coffee’ in the larder called ‘Camp’. This was clearly pretty exotic stuff as the label had a picture of a moustached, red jacketed solider wearing a kilt, being served by smart turbaned Indian, probably his servant. The solider has a cup and saucer in hand and is clearly enjoying a brew of ‘Camp’. Although my parents called this weird tasting stuff ‘coffee’ and we always had it with plenty of milk, on the bottle it said chicory essence. I later discovered this was ‘coffee’ made from a plant that French made coffee from when they couldn’t get the real thing, like in the worst days of WW2. Only the British drank it thereafter.
As time went by we had instant coffee, even though I was unaware that there was any other kind of coffee, what was non instant coffee? By my teens I considered myself a fairly sophisticated coffee drinker by insisting we had Gold Blend, and always using the cream off the top of the milk bottles. As I travelled I discovered more about coffee, drinking Turkish coffee in Turkey, and meeting foreigners who could knew about blends and exotic things like Java.
The real breakthrough came when I was a student ambling one day along the Kennington Road in London and I walked into an little Italian Mom and Pop delicatessen; for here they not only sold real coffee but real coffee starter packs. Hats off to the marketing executive at Melitta who dreamt this idea up, he’s certainly created more addicts that most drug dealers. In the pack you got a 1 x 2 cone, a dozen filter papers and a small bag of real coffee and you were off, on a lifetime of discovery or addiction depending how you look at it.
Until well into the late eighties, real freshly ground coffee could only be bought at delicatessens; and drinking it was a very special treat, not something you could do every day. It was still Gold Blend for many years after.
When I lived in the Sudan I used to make my own coffee from scratch. The souk sold beans in their raw, green state so firstly I had to roast them on our charcoal burner; a delicate process as they had to be kept moving and carefully watched so that they roasted evenly and didn’t burn. When they had cooled I ground them, a small handful at a time, in a wooden mortar using a track rod from a Toyota as a pestle. The ground coffee was then scraped out with a spoon.
After a long time, and the whole process took most of the afternoon, I had enough to make a pot of coffee. I used the jug method, putting the ground coffee in the pot then adding hot water. We then all sat around the table in anticipation, waiting for the grounds to settle. And it was worth the wait, the coffee was strong and very good. Despite that I didn’t make it very often, as it took an awful lot of work to produce not a lot of coffee; and the stuff was like rocket fuel, the whole house would still be awake at three in the morning, totally wired.
As I started travelling more I always tried to have real coffee to drink at the start of the day. So I started to carry my coffee kit, the paraphernalia to make real coffee. The real breakthrough into making this happen came in China, as it was/is the one place on earth where there is nearly always a supply of hot water to hand. Chairman Mao must have made this a manifesto commitment in the little red book, because every hotel, restaurant, shop and even bus always had a large thermos flask of hot water tucked away, so that people could freshen up their mugs or jars of tea, which nearly everyone carried. It’s a basic human right. So travelling in China all had to do is ask for hot water and it appeared. In fact I know words for hot water in about ten languages.
Making coffee in a Bangkok hotel room.
My coffee kit consists
of my old Army issue plastic mug, a cone usually 1 x 2 as it takes less space,
filter papers, and of course coffee. While travelling the quest is always to
find new sources of coffee. Although China had plenty of hot water it didn’t
have real coffee and it’s the only country where I’ve had to resort back to
Nes’. Coffee is enjoyed and grown in most tropical regions, with best supply
being in the ex colonial countries where it was planted as a cash crop. Often
it took some finding, and in countries with a sweet tooth like Malaysia, often
came with sugar already added. In a few places like Burma and the Coorg Hills
of southern India, you could buy it directly from the plantation. As coffee
culture and supermarket chains have swept the world there are very few places left
where you can’t buy real coffee. Quality however is another matter, and I’ve
learnt to take the rough with the smooth.
The other consumable I was always looking out for were filter papers, which were often a challenge to find. I was ridiculously happy one time in Phnom Penh after I discovered a shop that sold them, it was like finding gold. It was one of those shops that cater to NGO types and a good rule of thumb is that if there are lots of white Land Cruisers around, you are going to find a shop packed with western goodies. The NGO crowd always like their comforts. Of course, the filter papers are one use only, so a constant supply is needed, I always stocked up everywhere I could. On one trip in South East Asia, I couldn’t get them anywhere so used what the locals use, a sort of gauze sock, rather like an aquarium fish net made from cotton. You just put the coffee in the net and poured the water over it. Although it was more environmentally friendly, it was also very messy and the net had to be cleaned and dried out after each use. It also went a disgusting brown colour.
Getting hot water could also be a problem; I had to chivvy hotels into boiling some first thing in the morning, if they were reluctant I used to say it was for my medicine, which wasn’t too far off the truth; sometimes I had to pay for it, which I never minded as long as I got it, but sometimes it just couldn’t be had. Many times it wasn’t hot, at least not hot enough to make a decent cup of coffee and my goal was to find a solution to this problem. I needed control over the hot water supply.
Travel kettles are too bulky and break too easily to be much use to the backpacking traveller. Years before I had seen a traveller with an immersion heater, the element part from inside a kettle that could be immersed in a cup or jug and just plugged into a socket. I asked in every electrical store but no one seemed to have them until one day I tracked one down in a small shop in Crete. As a receptacle to boil the water I used a copper wine jug, and dented and bashed it travelled with me all around the Americas and Africa. I now have two of immersion heaters, one is 110v version I managed to find in Peru, and they are treasured processions. The reason they are so difficult to find is because they are not earthed and so present a Health and Safety hazard. I don’t know the exact details but someone managed to electrocute themselves using one, and so they were banned. I can’t imagine this has stopped the Chinese banging them out in a factory somewhere but you will look in vain for them in most parts of the world. If anyone knows any different, let me know. Needless to say using them is risky, practically when you are in a hotel room where the socket is hanging off the wall by its cable. There have been lots of blue flashes and sparks and I have tried to lower the risk by wrapping everything in insulation tape and wearing flip flops when I’m plugging it in. But with the water heater I now have control over the whole process, so if the bus is leaving at 5am, no problem, I can still get up earlier and have that morale boosting cup of coffee.
It was when I was living in Hong Kong in the mid nineties that I first became aware of the wave of quality coffee sweeping out from its spiritual home in Seattle. The city had coffee shops where they sold real coffee and coffee papers. When I arrived back in the UK in ’98, Starbucks and the rest of their tribe were firmly established. Before I’d left (in ’94), coffee was served up in Italian sandwich shops, a frothy, murky liquid that looked and tasted like dishwater. They had to sharpen up their act or be swept away as people everywhere now demand decent coffee. So now wherever I travel, I don’t have to track down back street coffee merchants; the western chains and their local equivalents are in every city and large town; and many of them will grind your beans in store.
At home I have become quite conservative in my coffee tastes. While working out of an office in Soho in London I discovered one of the capitals shopping gems, the Algerian Coffee Store. This shop hasn’t changed for a hundred years, small with its original brass and wooden fittings it sells every kind of coffee, tea and associated beverage you can think of. Beans are scooped out of large wooden drawers and exotic teas fill large glass jars. Paul the Italian owner sends out newsletters in the post with their latest offers and news about the family and there’s always a friendly welcome when you go in. Not surprisingly it’s regarded as one of the best food shops in London. I’m not sure anyone knows what the connection to Algeria is, because as far as I know they don’t grow much coffee there.
My coffee of choice these days is Algerian Special, their own secret blend, and it’s all I drink when I’m at home. When going on a trip I stock up, depending on how long I’m away but I usually pack a kilo in sealed 250g bags. This will usually last me about six weeks, and then I have to adjust my tastes to what’s on offer in the country I’m travelling in.
In the end it’s the comforting ritual as well as the taste and the caffeine hit that makes coffee drinking so pleasant. The water drips through the filter, the aroma rises, the first sip; the same everywhere from sunny veranda, bleak hotel room or cold mountainside. Sipping and reading or just sitting, and thinking about the day ahead. Hopefully with the sun on my face, taking in my surroundings and feeling how good it is to be alive, with my best friend – coffee.
The other consumable I was always looking out for were filter papers, which were often a challenge to find. I was ridiculously happy one time in Phnom Penh after I discovered a shop that sold them, it was like finding gold. It was one of those shops that cater to NGO types and a good rule of thumb is that if there are lots of white Land Cruisers around, you are going to find a shop packed with western goodies. The NGO crowd always like their comforts. Of course, the filter papers are one use only, so a constant supply is needed, I always stocked up everywhere I could. On one trip in South East Asia, I couldn’t get them anywhere so used what the locals use, a sort of gauze sock, rather like an aquarium fish net made from cotton. You just put the coffee in the net and poured the water over it. Although it was more environmentally friendly, it was also very messy and the net had to be cleaned and dried out after each use. It also went a disgusting brown colour.
Getting hot water could also be a problem; I had to chivvy hotels into boiling some first thing in the morning, if they were reluctant I used to say it was for my medicine, which wasn’t too far off the truth; sometimes I had to pay for it, which I never minded as long as I got it, but sometimes it just couldn’t be had. Many times it wasn’t hot, at least not hot enough to make a decent cup of coffee and my goal was to find a solution to this problem. I needed control over the hot water supply.
Travel kettles are too bulky and break too easily to be much use to the backpacking traveller. Years before I had seen a traveller with an immersion heater, the element part from inside a kettle that could be immersed in a cup or jug and just plugged into a socket. I asked in every electrical store but no one seemed to have them until one day I tracked one down in a small shop in Crete. As a receptacle to boil the water I used a copper wine jug, and dented and bashed it travelled with me all around the Americas and Africa. I now have two of immersion heaters, one is 110v version I managed to find in Peru, and they are treasured processions. The reason they are so difficult to find is because they are not earthed and so present a Health and Safety hazard. I don’t know the exact details but someone managed to electrocute themselves using one, and so they were banned. I can’t imagine this has stopped the Chinese banging them out in a factory somewhere but you will look in vain for them in most parts of the world. If anyone knows any different, let me know. Needless to say using them is risky, practically when you are in a hotel room where the socket is hanging off the wall by its cable. There have been lots of blue flashes and sparks and I have tried to lower the risk by wrapping everything in insulation tape and wearing flip flops when I’m plugging it in. But with the water heater I now have control over the whole process, so if the bus is leaving at 5am, no problem, I can still get up earlier and have that morale boosting cup of coffee.
It was when I was living in Hong Kong in the mid nineties that I first became aware of the wave of quality coffee sweeping out from its spiritual home in Seattle. The city had coffee shops where they sold real coffee and coffee papers. When I arrived back in the UK in ’98, Starbucks and the rest of their tribe were firmly established. Before I’d left (in ’94), coffee was served up in Italian sandwich shops, a frothy, murky liquid that looked and tasted like dishwater. They had to sharpen up their act or be swept away as people everywhere now demand decent coffee. So now wherever I travel, I don’t have to track down back street coffee merchants; the western chains and their local equivalents are in every city and large town; and many of them will grind your beans in store.
At home I have become quite conservative in my coffee tastes. While working out of an office in Soho in London I discovered one of the capitals shopping gems, the Algerian Coffee Store. This shop hasn’t changed for a hundred years, small with its original brass and wooden fittings it sells every kind of coffee, tea and associated beverage you can think of. Beans are scooped out of large wooden drawers and exotic teas fill large glass jars. Paul the Italian owner sends out newsletters in the post with their latest offers and news about the family and there’s always a friendly welcome when you go in. Not surprisingly it’s regarded as one of the best food shops in London. I’m not sure anyone knows what the connection to Algeria is, because as far as I know they don’t grow much coffee there.
My coffee of choice these days is Algerian Special, their own secret blend, and it’s all I drink when I’m at home. When going on a trip I stock up, depending on how long I’m away but I usually pack a kilo in sealed 250g bags. This will usually last me about six weeks, and then I have to adjust my tastes to what’s on offer in the country I’m travelling in.
In the end it’s the comforting ritual as well as the taste and the caffeine hit that makes coffee drinking so pleasant. The water drips through the filter, the aroma rises, the first sip; the same everywhere from sunny veranda, bleak hotel room or cold mountainside. Sipping and reading or just sitting, and thinking about the day ahead. Hopefully with the sun on my face, taking in my surroundings and feeling how good it is to be alive, with my best friend – coffee.
