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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Coffeeneuring 2020 Week #6: Lookout Mountain Adventure Loop

hike-a-bike

Coffeeneuring: riding bikes, drinking coffee, seven times, seven places, seven weeks; there's some rules.  

 

 

About the ride: The Book Club Boys ride again! At the northern end of Lookout Mountain, a proverbial smörgåsbord of gravel and singletrack can be linked together by a series of gravel paths, singletrack, hike-a-bike, and a scenic highway. I call it the Lookout Mountain Adventure Loop and it is my favorite local ride. It's roughly 32 miles and I decided to ride it for coffeeneuring week #6 and my annual birthday "challenge.*" 

 

We rendezvous'd at Reid's at 6:30 and caught the sun rising from the Guild Trail. Mid-November changed the dynamic of the ride completely. The sea of leaves that carpeted the trail made the finer gravel of the Guild-Hardy system lovely and made the extra chunky stuff on the Upper Truck and the CCT's techy singletrack... exciting. The flowy part of Upper Truck, the scenery along Jackson Springs Trail, and the sustained descent down Ochs Highway are highlights for me. Such a fun ride with friends.

nice dirt road

About the coffee: We made coffee at the Gum Springs Trail intersection and got lots of strange looks from trail runners. Just some dudes in the woods making coffee. The moka pot is my first coffee love, however it's been largely neglected the past year. This week I returned to my roots and rekindled an old flame. The only "fancy" methodology used here was pre-boiling the water before filling the chamber and placing an Aeropress filter between the grounds and the gasket. The paper filter cuts the acidity and bitterness that the moka pot can be known for but still produces a bold and powerful cup. We split it three ways and cut it with water for trail americanos. Everyone approved. 

Date: 11.14.20

Location: 35°00'17.2"N 85°21'12.4"W

Bike: Shanina

Coffee: moka pot americano

Miles: 32 (strava)

book club boys

*I do this loop regularly and recognize that 32 miles on a bike is not all that impressive. Therefore, this birthday challenge is neither spectacular nor particularly physically challenging. This year, the focus was FUN. 

Coffeenuering 2020 Week #5: Missionary Ridge

 

Shanina on the Ridge, with Lookout in the background

 

 Coffeeneuring: riding bikes, drinking coffee, seven times, seven places, seven weeks; there's some rules. 

On November 25, 1863 federal forces, commanded by General Ulysses S. Grant, sandwiched Confederate troops on a small ridge on the eastern edge of Chattanooga. Maj. General William Tecumseh Sherman attacked from the north and Maj. General Henry Thomas from the south. It was a decisive victory for the Union that changed the tide of war and opened the South up for Sherman's march to the sea.

On November 7, 2020 Rebecca and I rode our bikes up and along the ridge, following the same trajectory many of General Thomas' soldiers did. As a social studies teacher and lay history nerd, this fact is not lost on me.  

About the ride: This is my favorite city ride which circles the "main" part of Chattanooga. The ride begins with a climb up and then along the rolling Missionary Ridge (S --> N). It passes luxurious homes, 19th century cannons, plaques, monuments, and statues and aside from six-mile long history lesson, Crest Road offers up endless views of the city valley, Lookout Mountain, and Tennessee River. North Crest ends with an exciting and fun descent down into the Glass Farms neighborhood before it rides along South Chickamauga Creek. Finally, the ride cruises along the river-walk and around the city and ends back home in Ridgedale.

This was Rebecca's longest bike ride and it was so much fun to hear her cooing at the hard-earned views laughing through the well-deserved descents. She was even talking about a half-century and another triathlon by the time we got home! I truly loved sharing this ride with her. 

#coffeeoutside at the Bragg Reservation

About the coffee: We stopped at the Bragg Reservation at the southern end of the ridge and made coffee in beneath beautiful autumnal leaves and a monument to the union forces from Illinois. No specialty or fancy coffee this week, just some tried and true coffee made in my trusty aeropress; standard brew method with a 14:1 ratio. I ran out of fuel before I got a good boil going but plenty of "fisheyes" in the pot was hot enough. Aeropress recommends 175 degrees anyway, right? A little kid wished us a "good picnic... or coffee business... or whatever you're doing!"

Date: 11.7.20

Location: 35°01'09.1"N 85°15'48.9"W

Bike: Shanina

Coffee: Publix Premium Dark Roast, Aeropress (standard), 14:1   

Miles: 20.02 (strava) 

funhogging

A Guide to Coffee in the Backcountry

Figure 1.A

I like good coffee. I have a Chemex, a Bialetti moka pot, three variously sized but mostly neglected French presses, my beloved Aeropress and even the new Aeropress Go. I like small coffee shops and local coffee roasters and I prefer to grind my own beans. But I'm no coffee snob. I buy most of my beans from Aldi and I actually like "bad" coffee. I like left-on-the-burner-all-day gas station coffee. I like that hot, brown, water Waffle House calls coffee. And I like Folgers-industrial-grade-teacher-work-room coffee. Whether pretentiously artisanal or strictly utilitarian, I just really like coffee.

Like many backpackers, alpinists, or dirtbag climbers coffee is an essential piece of gear. It fuels all of my outdoor pursuits. "No coffee. No sendee." (Is that on a shirt? It should be.) And, like many backpackers, alpinists, or dirtbag climbers, it can be difficult to enjoy a good, well-crafted cup of coffee that meets the utilitarian necessities of the backcountry.

Figure 1.B

For a long time backcountry coffee drinkers were faced with a series of trade-offs. Like economists, we were caught in an opportunity costs dilemma: a well balanced, silky smooth cup of java or a piping hot cup of bitter brown water. Good coffee was coffee at home or in town. Bad coffee was in the dirt, under a tarp, or from the back of a truck (Figure 1.B). This was the paradigm I inhabited for quite sometime as a snooty, snarky, ultra-light backpacking snob. As a mountain guide, a halfway decent cup of joe was mandatory to maintain sanity in the mountains with teenagers all summer. But it was dirtbagging around the American West, living out of my truck with the comfort of a two-burner camp stove, a moka pot, and a decent bag of beans that broke me out of the either-or binary and opened my eyes to the tasty potential of camp coffee.

Coffee is, after all, a fluid and should be thought of on a spectrum (Figure 1.A).

Circumstances often dictate where on the spectrum of artistry and utility your coffee falls. At the artistic end, Velo Coffee Roasters in Chattanooga will make you an Americano with espresso filtered back through an Aeropress before adding water. It is one of the finest things I have ever tasted. But as far as climbing is concerned, it isn't very utilitarian. On the utility end, you have the dregs of a Love's truck stop "house blend" pot somewhere in Missouri or Kansas. But between those two ends, there is a vast and fluid scale of artistry and utility and, I have learned, backpackers and alpinists and dirtbags don't necessarily have to give up one, artistry or utility, for the other. You can, at least to some degree, have both.

For example, it is easy to produce a delicious cup of coffee from the tailgate of a truck with a camp stove, a moka pot, and your favorite beans. Add some left over hot water you boiled to make oatmeal and you've got an Americano that will not only impress your climbing partner but also get them to have their morning constitution before you are about to tie in at the base of your project. The Aeropress is a delightful coffee travel companion because of its portability and versatility made only more-so by the new addition of the Aeropress Go. The original model already has a dedicated social media cult driven to post images of the Aeropress mid-brew on airplanes or beaches or mountain summits. More on the "Go" down below.

It is the ultra-light backpacking or 3:30 A.M. alpine start scenarios that often force us to sacrifice artistry and taste for utility and efficiency. I admit that in my more legalistic light and fast days on cold and starlit mornings in the Colorado Rockies, I would forgo the cup and bean all together and hustle down a couple espresso flavored energy gels instead. But this grotesque and troglodytic consequentialist behavior was an unnecessary trade-off imposed by a false sense of binary either/or choices. 

Once, in the Linville Gorge, my friend Russ and I filled two water bottles with water chilled in the North Carolina winter air and dumped in a packet of Folgers instant coffee each. Together, we pounded one and then stashed the other with a cache of cams while climbing 3,000 ft in a day. We'd stop, take a couple swigs, grab the gear we needed, and run to the next route. It may not have been technical cold brew steeped overnight by your local coffee shop, but it served its utilitarian purpose (and it didn't taste terrible either).

The Aeropress Go is a nice addition to this "light, fast, and delicious" category. I have taken mine bouldering and I am dying to take it backpacking. One push through the Aeropress Go can make three servings of espresso-like concentrate; add water to taste or inject it straight into your veins to jump start your central nervous system. However, I imagine that its weight (11.4 oz fully packed) will deter the ultra lightweight super zealots among us.

The MSR MugMate is, for me, and for Backpacker Magazine, the gold standard of taste and efficiency equilibrium. For efficiency, this little pour over weighs just .98 ounces, fits inside your cup, cleans easily, and makes little to no waste because it does not require a paper filter. For taste, it is what you make it. Pour over coffee allows you to experiment with the temperature and amount of water as well the roast and grind of the bean. The best brew is to bloom the coffee in boiled water for a few minutes and then pour it through the filter. Mmm! It's fast, light, efficient and tastes great too. My summers spent as a backpacking guide in Colorado were fueled by the MugMate and I stand by it. (The GSI Ultralight Java Drip is another lightweight option for delicious drip.)

A new trend in the Outdoor Industrial Complex, are artisanal instant coffees. Start ups like Kuju and Alpine Start market pre-packaged instant coffees marketed as "speciality grade" (Kuju) "that actually taste good" (Alpine Start). Alpine Start comes as a stir-in packet and Kuju as a disposable pour over. I picked up a handful of Kujus while trying to use up an REI gift card and I was unimpressed. It creates a lot of trash and at approximately $2.50 per serving you'd be better off with literally any other option.

Figure 1.C

Figure 1.C illustrates various camping coffee options rated on multi-axis scale: more efficient to less efficient and more tasty to less tasty.  Efficiency is determined by ease of brewing, pack-a-ability, weight, and waste. Taste is relatively subjective, but it remains an objective truth that the french press sucks (this includes the ESPRO travel press, GSI Java Press).  There is almost always a better option available than the French Press.

While the french press may be nice for brewing for groups, I find it bulky to pack, difficult to clean, and the coffee just too dang weak. The coffee to water ratio, for me, is too wasteful. If you want it to taste remotely more powerful than Waffle House, its coffee to water ratio must be astronomical. A youtube video swears you can brew a tasty, silky, balanced cup but it takes upwards of nine minutes! Which is nice for a rainy Saturday at home but won't cut mustard if you're trying to beat the crowds to the Valhalla Wall at Ten Sleep. Finally, LNT clean up is a chore, especially when compared to the moka pot or Aeropress. I reserve the right to be wrong about everything but I will not be convinced otherwise.

Figure 1.D

 Lastly, Figure 1.D ranks various camp-coffees with more value placed on efficiency than taste. This scale is useful for the ounce counters -- be they alpinists or ultralight backpackers. Since taste ought to be king, it is given more weight (10 pts) but ease of brew, weight, packability,  and waste account for twice as many points. Under this ranking system, GU espresso pouches score higher than my beloved moka pot while the Aeropress Go outscores the MSR Mugmate by a point.

Camp coffee isn't your granddad's Ozark Trail blue enamel percolator anymore. And while Sam Elliot-style cowboy coffee may be a crucial skill, backcountry coffee doesn't have to be that either.