The Anatomy of an Early-morning Ritual

The world fades in gently as my first thought of the day zips through my brain—perhaps a task carried over from yesterday’s to-do list or a Sabrina Carpenter song my daughter had on repeat—giving me a tingle of energy. My face senses the chilly air of the bedroom, making me appreciate the warmth built up under the comforter. My body wants to hibernate longer, but it’s too late. My mind is churning and soon I’m sliding carefully out from under the sheets, not wanting to disturb my wife. My feet go into slippers as I wonder, “Which beans today?”

I shuffle into the kitchen. Outside, drizzle and fog hang gray in the air. It’s February, the rainiest month in the Valley, so there’s a certain vibe I’m looking for. A dark roast to shake me awake? A single origin to ease me into the day? A holiday blend that’s been hanging on for a few extra months?

I prep my gear like a surgeon’s instruments: grinder, electric kettle, scale (with timer), and Chemex. Forty-five grams of hard, round beans whirrrrr into delicate flakes. Their nutty, sweet aroma, now fully released, hits my nostrils and I take a second to savor the moment. The house is quiet. My actions feel clandestine. It’s like I don’t exist, but the warmth trickling through my limbs says otherwise.

The grounds go into the filtered Chemex. I start my timer, grab the kettle, and the next five minutes are bliss. 

:01, :02, :03…

Hot water, in concentric circles, soaks in and bubbles. My first pour done, I pause. Steam rises from the earthy silt, the umber deepening, the scent intensified by the alchemy of water and bean.

:15, :16, :17…

Oh, the alchemy! Its wonderful chemistry drips off the pointed tip of the conical filter, filling the basin with a translucent brown that gradually becomes opaque as it grows in weight.

:29, :30…

More water: 300 grams. Then I can relax for a bit. Outside, the other early birds have joined me, chirping. If only they could smell it too—they’d give up worms forever.

2:21, 2:22, 2:23…

Oops, I was daydreaming. I should’ve started my final pour at 2:00, but it’s fine, I’m not that fussy this early in the day. I top off and set the kettle back onto its platter as the water drains through the beans, leaving behind a cavernous hole of grounds. 

Mugs. I go for ceramic. Something about the weight and the earthiness feels right. We have a collection, like most aficionados (or addicts—a fine line). Most gathered through our travels, like a forest green one from Banff, Canada; others for their aesthetics, like a pyramid-shaped one that holds deceptively more than you’d think.

The depleted beans go into the compost. I swirl the Chemex by its neck, its insides sloshing and aerating like a fine wine. I fill my mug. I take a sip. I am present, and the wintry sun on the horizon greets me.

Richard Lowe brews his coffee in Studio City, where he lives with his wife and two daughters. His favorite Valley roaster is Laidrey in Encino.