Hester Poole - Six Cups of Coffee

Hardly second in merit to this method is the use of the French "biggin" or "grecque." A tin cylinder, furnished with two movable and one stationary strainers, is set on a coffee-pot. Dry, fine coffee goes into the upper vessel in the proportion of a half-pint cupful to a quart of boiling water poured on this, and left to filter through once, twice, or three times, as a moderately or very strong infusion is desired. The pot should be made hot by scalding before the cylinder is fitted on, then stand on the hot range or hearth, while the liquid drips through the strainers. But this must not boil then or afterwards.

Persons accustomed to Vienna or French coffee do not relish that cooked in the old-fashioned style, but as many still cling to the latter, it is well to know how to obtain the most satisfactory result offered by it.

Allow to each even cupful of ground coffee a quart of boiling water. Mix the coffee in a bowl with half a cupful of cold water and the white and shell of an egg; stir all well together before putting the mixture into the boiler. Add the boiling water, and let it boil fast ten minutes after it begins to bubble. Throw in one-third of a cupful of cold water to check ebullition; draw to one side, and let the decoction settle for three minutes before pouring it off gently from the grounds into the urn.

Send hot milk – cream, if you have it – to table with coffee. A teaspoonful of whipped cream, laid on the surface of each cupful, adds to the elegance of the beverage.

PERHAPS the two should read twenty, and it would, were it any part of my present mission to give every possibility of method with the berry from bush to pot or filter. But I deal to-day only with two, and they define themselves at once, sharply and decisively – a good way and a bad way; and as, according to a famous moralist, we take more interest in the faults than in the virtues of a friend, it is with the bad way that we begin. It is a way susceptible of many variations, as my own eyes have seen, but all reducible to the one formula, – bad. Moreover, they all emanated from a source supposed to represent the acme of good housekeeping. It was in New England, far to the east, and the quiet house where a part of a summer was spent had every charm but that of good coffee. Paint, walls, and floors were spotlessly clean. The sheets smelled of green grass and all growing things, and, like every washable article, dazzled one with the whiteness and purity of their cleanliness. Bread and butter were perfect, and innumerable pies equally so. But the coffee! Freakishly, mysteriously, variously bad; but bad inevitably. Why and how one act could have such manifold effects became the problem, and gradually, by means of much patient observation made from my place by the south window in the room, which was both dining-room and sitting-room, I found out.

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