"Welcome to Five Senses Coffee"

Life is funny sometimes.

We live in a world characterised by the accumulation of things or experiences in the pursuit of happiness. Every experience and every toy we collect along life’s journey is measured against the last. Our measure of contentment and satisfaction often becomes inextricably linked to the notion of each thing or experience becoming more complex, bigger, faster, shinier or more intense.

... and then you go camping.

Part of my life has been characterised by the accumulation of coffee things and experiences in the pursuit of defining and discovering the coffee ‘Holy Grail’. We often talk of experiencing the elusive ‘god shot’ and of tasting a coffee that elevates us to a new place. We play with brew temperatures on sophisticated machines and argue the merits of dosing and tamping techniques, all in a quest to create the perfect coffee sensory experience.

And then you go camping …. and what do you do then, hey? What do you do?!

Faced with the prospect of NO COFFEE AT ALL you cry at first, but then you pick yourself up off the floor and you pre-grind some coffee and pack a stovetop espresso is what you do!

You set up camp in Karijini National Park. Millions of bright stars give life to the crystal clear night skies and, during the day, the red rocks shift their hue as the sun rises and then lazily sets on another day, bringing dawn to yet another brilliant night.

A new day. Sunrays start to stroke us. The campsite is moving — slightly. It’s bitterly cold still. Beanie-clad heads poke through the canvas, then pause and disappear. “Good morning,” someone murmurs.

But you get out the stovetop espresso maker and spoon in the coffee. You enjoy the ritual — a surprise. You light the gas and place the espresso maker on top of the burner. The coffee starts to brew. You sneak a sniff at the liqueur — it’s warm and intense and it even smells like coffee. You feel compelled to fiddle — turn up the gas, turn it down, then turn it up again. The anticipation grows.

The brewing is complete and the coffee is poured into the enamel mug — bugger, forgot to preheat. A bit of boiling water on top and a splash of milk? Warm, yellow sunlight streams through the campsite. The mug is warm to hold. I sit and I sip and YES, YES, YES! The coffee is ooohhhhh, soooooooo good. It’s an experience that perfectly complements the moment.

I’m back from the bush. I haven’t made another coffee on the stovetop. I don’t think I’d enjoy it as much — despite it almost being a euphoric experience two weeks ago. I have, however, learned that sometimes the most simple and crude coffee experiences can be enjoyed equally as much as those created through the precision of science and artistry. I realise that most people who testify to enjoying coffee immensely don’t have access to the world’s most whiz-bang equipment. I remember when I was roasting (very badly) my coffee at home, thinking that the cup I was producing had to be the best tasting coffee in the world and now — I remember the experience of two weeks ago — stale coffee made by someone (me) who hadn’t used a stove top for years — tasting glorious.

Coffee is for everyone. The enjoyment of it should never be limited by budget or equipment but more by the effort one exerts to create their cup. We should never be too quick to dismiss people’s efforts or methods in creating their brew — whether it be by plunger, filter, stovetop, heat exchange espresso machine or in a state of the art PID’d multi boiler Synesso.

Keep it simple and keep it real.