On the Moka Pot: A Meditation in 4 Parts

Ten Sleep Canyon, Wyoming

 

First, a story:
I remember the morning alpenglow on the limestone walls of Ten Sleep Canyon, the cool air, and the wildflowers scattered throughout the meadow.  Or maybe it was the morning wind blowing through the piñon pines of El Rito, New Mexico's high desert? I can't remember the place. But I do remember the dull roaring of a Bialetti moka pot precariously situated above a pocket rocket stove and the rustling of a waking Josh from his tent. That morning, like every morning, I'd pour Josh a cup of addictive legal stimulant.
 

All summer Josh commented about my coffee, which was strong, dark, and viscous. It was the kind of coffee your machismo uncle said, “would put hair on your chest.” Josh sipped the velvety dark brew, shuddered, and then stared, bewildered, as I unhesitatingly guzzled it down. 

Making moka pot coffee was my morning routine for years both at home and in the woods. But that morning in Wyoming or New Mexico or possibly Colorado, I mentioned that I had always been confused about my beloved coffee gadget. It was marketed as a “six cup” stovetop espresso maker but each brew barely filled one coffee mug; what was the deal? Josh, still in his sleeping bag and a fresh cup warming his hands, began to laugh as he put it all together in his head. “Six espresso cups,” he chortled. “Chet, you’ve been drinking six servings of espresso every time you use this thing.” 

 

That would explain the jitters and my long love affair with big, bold, and borderline bitter coffee.
 

 

Now, a clarification:
The moka pot does not make actual espresso. There's not near enough pressure. However, it is still quite strong, it makes a kind of "crema," and is a worthy working-class simulacrum. And if it’s good enough for a 60.36 million Italians, it’s good enough for you. 

Then, a haiku:
black blood of the earth
trickling downward the altar
life unto the world

And finally, a recipe:

This recipe is inspired by Velo Coffee's Americano, which pushes the espresso shot through an Aeropress. The double paper filtration removes the bitterness but keeps the robustness that the moka pot is known for. It produces a strong but smooth cup of coffee that will supercharge your Monday.

1. Grind the beans somewhere in between espresso and drip; more coarse means less bitter. Brighter and lighter coffees work nicely but avoid the extra fruit-forward stuff. I like espresso roasts but avoid the big box store, pre-ground kind. If you live in Chattanooga, Velo Coffee Boneshaker is my absolute favorite coffee roast. So dang good. 
   
2. Brew the coffee in the moka pot. This Reddit user has provided a Moka Pot Master Guide; I wholeheartedly recommend using it. The three following bits are crucial: (a) boil the water before pouring it into the base (b) use a knife, finger, or Aeropress paddle to level the coffee with the lip of the basket but don't pack it down! (c) adhere a rinsed Aeropress filter to the gasket of the upper chamber.
3. Cool the bottom half of the moka pot in cold water (in a bowl or under the tap) immediately after the coffee has gurgled its way into the upper chamber. This prevents the beans from "cooking."
4. Pour the brewed coffee into an Aeropress as you would using the standard brewing method (upright and unturned).
5. Plunge slowly. This is a good rule of thumb for all Aeropress recipes but especially so here. Be particularly mindful as you near the bottom of the chamber. Since the only thing in the chamber is liquid there is not much resistance. Press too fast and extremely hot liquid will spew out the air vents in the bottom of the Aeropress.

Dang, I can barely write this without getting giddy. Give it a taste and let me know what you think!

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