Ground coffee, water, and time. That's it.

Hello Again,

When I started making coffee, really making coffee, I had three things.

Ground coffee. Water. Time.

That's it. That's all there was.

I had a French press. No notches on the side. No markings. You just put the coffee in, pour the water, wait, press down. Sometimes the cup was good. Sometimes it wasn't. I never really questioned it. It was what it was.

And honestly? That was kind of beautiful. I didn't know enough to overthink it. I just made coffee and drank coffee and moved on with my day.

But then something happened. Something that I think happens to all of us eventually if we stick with this long enough.

I got curious.

The Hario V60 showed up. And suddenly there were decisions. Blooming or no blooming. Stirring or not stirring. One pour or multiple pours. I'd make a cup and think "huh, that was different." Something about it was more interesting than what I was getting from the French press.

And that's when the question appeared. The one that changes everything.

"Can I make this better?"

Once you ask that question, you can't unask it.

So I got a scale. And me being an engineer, I thought, this is exactly what I need. Now I can weigh my coffee down to the gram (that's about a quarter teaspoon if you're eyeballing it). I can measure my water precisely. I can put the brewer on top of the scale, zero it out, and know exactly what's going into my cup.

I started jotting things down. Recipes. What worked. What didn't.

And this is where it got exciting. Because experimentation became science. I could repeat what tasted great. I could eliminate what didn't work. If I made an incredible cup on Tuesday, I could actually make that same cup on Wednesday.

That was a game changer. After all those French press mornings of "sometimes good, sometimes not" with no idea why, suddenly I had control.

Then the kettle came in. A variable temperature kettle where I could set it to 190°F or 205°F and taste the difference with the exact same coffee, same grind, same everything else. Just the water temperature changed.

Completely different cups. Like, not even close.

That blew my mind. And it made me want to understand more.

So I kept going. Better grinders with precise adjustments. Different filters, paper versus metal, fast versus slow. I started reading about extraction. I got a refractometer, which is basically a little device that tells you exactly how much of the coffee dissolved into your water.

I was measuring everything. Controlling everything. And I was learning so much about what I liked. I figured out I prefer paper filters over metal. That I'm a medium and dark roast person, not so much light. That water chemistry actually matters more than I ever thought.

All of this precision gave me a toolbox that was overflowing. Grinders with micro-adjustments. Specialty water minerals. Gadgets I didn't even know existed a few years ago.

And here's where I need to be honest with you. Because this is the part I've been sitting with lately.

The Part Where I Make Fun of Myself

I have a device, with an app, that measures coffee extraction to the decimal point. I have grinders that let me adjust in increments so small I'm not sure my tongue can actually detect them. I have different water recipes for different roast levels.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, I forgot to just drink the coffee.

Like, really drink it. Be present with it. Trust what my mouth was telling me.

I stopped trusting my palate. Quietly. Slowly. I handed that trust over to the numbers, to the tools, to the measurements. And I didn't even notice it happening.

Here's what that looked like: I'd brew a cup. I'd measure the extraction. And if the number said it should taste good but it didn't taste good to me? I'd think something was wrong with the coffee. Or something was wrong with the brewer. Or something was wrong with my technique.

Never "maybe the number doesn't matter as much as what I'm actually tasting."

The tools were supposed to serve my palate. And instead, my palate started serving the tools.

That's a weird place to end up. Especially for someone who got into all of this because he loved how coffee tasted. Not because he loved spreadsheets.

Though, if I'm being real, the engineer in me does love spreadsheets a little bit.

What I Keep Forgetting

Don't get me wrong. I'm not going back. I'm already here. I love this stuff. I love understanding why a coffee tastes the way it does. I love being able to dial things in and experiment and push a coffee to see what it can do.

But I can loosen the bolt a little bit. I don't need to be so tight about every single variable that I forget why I'm doing this in the first place.

Because the thing I had before any of the gear, before the scale, before the grinders, before the refractometer, was my taste. My palate. My own weird, unique way of experiencing coffee and food and beverages.

That was always the real tool. Everything else was just supposed to help me use it better.

Here's What's Funny

If you're reading this and you don't have all this stuff, if you've got a grinder, a brewer, maybe a scale, and that's it? You might actually be in a better spot than me.

I mean that.

You don't have fifteen tools getting in the way. You don't have gadgets tricking your brain into thinking you're on the right path when your mouth is telling you something different. You have a bag of coffee, a couple of tools, and your palate.

That's it. And that's everything.

You have a couple go-to recipes. You're happy most of the time. When you get a coffee right, you write down what you did. Simple.

I look at that and think, man. That person has something I'm trying to get back to. Not the simplicity, exactly. But the trust. Trusting that what you taste matters more than what the numbers say.

Wherever You Are on This Thing

Whether you're just starting out with a French press and a bag of grocery store coffee, or you're deep in the rabbit hole like me with more grinders than any reasonable person should own, the lesson is the same.

Keep learning. Keep experimenting. Keep geeking out if that's your thing.

But let your taste be the guiding light. Let that be the thing that tells you whether what you're doing is working. Not the extraction number. Not what someone on the internet said the recipe should be. Not whether your grinder has enough micro-adjustments.

Your mouth. Your experience. That's the compass.

Because all the precision in the world is just a way to get to that moment. You know the one. Where the steam is coming up off the cup, and you take all the senses in, and you put it on your palate, and you're just there. Present. Not thinking about the numbers. Not thinking about whether you did it right.

Just drinking the coffee.

That's where we want to be. That's where all of this is supposed to take us.

I have to keep reminding myself of that. Maybe you do too. Or maybe you never forgot, in which case, teach me your ways.

Your Turn

This week, try something for me. Before you look at the scale, before you check the timer, before you measure anything, just smell the beans. Grind them up. Smell them again. Make your coffee however you make it.

And when that cup is done and the steam is rising, just be there for a second before you sip. Take it in.

Then taste it. And trust what your mouth tells you. Before you check any numbers. Before you compare it to a recipe. Just, what does it taste like to you?

That's what matters. That's what's always mattered.

Hit reply and tell me: where are you on this timeline? Are you in the French press "just vibing" stage? The "I just bought a scale and everything changed" stage? Or are you deep in the rabbit hole with me, trying to remember that you have a mouth?

I want to know. Because I think wherever you are, you've got something figured out that the rest of us need to hear.

Oke