Chapter 99: Brewing my own coffee
"You’ve heard the man," Selia turned to me and gave me a small nod and a smile. "Get moving! They are losing money as we speak!"
The more food the kitchen would cook, the more customers would get their bang for the money they were leaving at the inn. And the faster they got the food, the happier they would be and thus more likely to return to this place rather than paying a visit to any other tavern in the town.
In this way, giving up on one of the few stoves they had was a lot worse to the business than just the sound of it would make one believe.
Which is why, even without Selia hurrying me up, I rushed to my task.
Right now I was riding on the goodwill generated just by her name. And the only way to stop the locals from actively pouring their dislike, long-term, on me over tonight’s potential losses and the burden of watching me stumble around...
The only way to minimalize the damage was to just make myself scarce as soon as possible.
Which is why I cranked the heat on the stove to the absolute max before pulling out my pouch and dripping some of the scrapped meat from the beans upon the hot plate seared by the flames coming from the stove below.
The results were quick and readily apparent.
The flames, as if sensing the presence of the fuel, surged. But kept away by a metal plate, they could only transform their heat to the oily bean-meat I’d covered it with.
And before long, the hot plate was properly prepared.
’It’s going to make for quite the intense taste, but I can cut it down by adding more milk.’
As usual, the more of something one used in the process of making something, the more intense the results would be. And by frying the coffee seeds on the oil extracted from said coffee beans...
All that was left for me was to drip some drops of it into the flames directly.
If only not for a dozen or so hateful stares thrown my way whenever someone happened to stumble upon me, their routine disturbed from the unusual presence in the domain of their kitchen.
Still, for all that it was worth, the frying process wasn’t all that long.
And once the plate would sizzle away every drip of water I dropped on it, I knew it was the time.
Without modern equipment, I only had my eye and gut to control the intensity of the flames.
Back on Earth, I could set the stove to a desired heat for a desired time and then forget all about it. But here?
Here, I used a random piece of wood as a spatula as I moved the beans around on the plate, never letting them rest in a single place for too long.
Before long, I forgot about all the world around me.
The difference in the technology didn’t matter.
Right now, the fate of those poor seeds was in my hands. And seeing their green color, my heart was splitting in pain.
’Come on, it’s okay my sweetlings,’ I thought, my mind going to quite the weird place the moment I could sink right back into my hobbyist habits.
Then, I added some coals and stepped on a foot-cranked bellows, pushing more air into the fire and thus bringing up the temperature at which it burned.
’That should be enough...’
The plate turned properly hot. And even by lying down in the oils of their own meat, the seeds started to make a slight, sizzling sound.
’It’s going great so far,’ I thought as I hurriedly stirred all the seeds, turning them all over before letting them rest on the heat once again.
I continued the whole process for several minutes, watching how those lovable, green beans slowly turned darker, into the light brown.
Then, the first of the seeds cracked, its shell losing too much moisture to maintain its former springiness and thus collapsing under the lack of volume in its structure.
Then another seed, just like popcorn, popped open, revealing a long crack on its shell.
One by one, the seeds started to pop.
I, on the other hand, merely moved to stir them faster.
"Get me something to gather them," I called out, not caring for the proper forms or the potential harm in addressing others without their proper titles.
Right now, I mentally reverted back to the kid who fell in love with the taste of the coffee so hard, he ended up geeking the shit out of it.
Right now, the only thing that mattered was this precise timing when each of those seeds would make its voice known again.
From off to the side, someone’s hand passed me a small bowl. And right at the very same moment, as if to test my reaction time...
Pop!
One of the seeds popped for the second time!
’You are mine!’
With my eyes squinting down, I locked in on my target before skillfully bashing at its side with my makeshift spatula.
The seed jumped up, bounced on the plate twice... And then fell straight into the bowl.
The first piece of treasure, with more to come!
Soon, the seeds started to repeat their pop all over the place, pushing my hand to its absolute limit.
In my view, this second pop was the sound of perfection. A roast level that would bring out the coffee’s mildness and flavor, while not allowing it to get all too sour. Still, the lovers of the more savory taste of their drink could also find it aplenty, but in a strict balance of the coffee’s natural, almost herbal flavors.
A second on the pan after the second pop?
I had to resist the urge to separate those inferior seeds from the rest.
Sadly, I only had a single cup to gather them in, and I wasn’t wasteful enough to throw away the imperfect ones.
Still, one by one, the seeds landed in my bowl, soon allowing me to put it away and then swipe a special rag across the hot plate, cleaning it off with a sizzling sound of rapidly vaporizing water.
Thankfully, the rug was thick and wet enough that by the time the exploding heat got to my hand, I already dropped it down to let it cool down.
"There," I muttered, grabbing the small bowl between my hands as I took a step back and looked around.
’Something like a pressing hammer now...’
There were ancient methods of cracking the seeds with one’s teeth. Then, there was the ingenious design of a mortar and pestle.
And in a kitchen that fit the age of the world it was in, having a mortar wouldn’t be all that weird!
Locals, purely out of financial concerns, would much rather press their own herbs and spices rather than buying expensive bags of processed ones from the merchants.
My eyes pretty much lit up when I saw what I was looking for.
Blind to the world around me, I charged in and grabbed the device before anyone else would dare to take it away from me.
Then, with a furious slam of the pestle against the bottom of the mortar, I started to expertly crush the beans into finer and finer powder.
At first, I focused on just breaking apart the bigger pieces by striking them down, only for their broken-off pieces to scatter throughout the mortar before falling down to its bottom.
Then, once not a single big piece was left behind, I started to grind the pestle down, pressing the half-powderized coffee against the rough, jagged shape of the mortar’s bottom.
Finally, I lost myself in the art of constantly swinging my pestle, until I could no longer feel any unevenness with it.
I raised my eyes and looked into the mortar.
Quite obviously, it wasn’t a perfect grind. The fact that I couldn’t feel rough parts in it through the pestle alone merely meant it was a very rough grind.
But for my intents and purposes, it was enough.
"This doesn’t have to be the most efficient, developed or pristine cup. All is well as long as it works!"
I already started to talk to myself.
"Quick!" I shot my hand out, as if ordering troops on a battlefield.
Then, it struck me.
’What the hell am I actually doing?’
I raised my head and opened my eyes, shedding the locked-in, geeked-out delusion.
The kitchen pretty much stopped, with everyone just staring at me.
There was only one exception.
Selia moved deeper in to bring in a small pot with boiling hot water!
"Ah..." My eyes widened, my cheeks cured with red. "I’m really sorry, I’ve got really into it..."
In my attempt to wave my hands to dispel all the attention, I shook my head far enough to see the insides of the inn.
And by all means, my performance wasn’t noticed by just the people in the kitchen - through the open doors, a considerable part of the hall was watching!
’Gulp.’
My throat moved as I swallowed my saliva.
"Here, water," Selia quickly announced, gently putting the kettle down on the nearby stand.
"Come on, boy," the kitchen’s leader stood there with his arms crossed, staring me down with a look of the faintest of interest in his eye. "Just show us what you’ve got."
I squinted my eyes a bit.
"Get me a cup, honey and some milk."
My face grew serious.
And after a momentary stare, the inn-keeper merely waved his hand, getting his cooks to fetch what I asked for.
Before long, I was already scooping out a precise amount of the powder into a set of glasses before filling them up with hot, slightly cooled-down water, all to a very precise level.
Then, after a few minutes of letting the magic happen, I added a bit of milk to half of all the cups I’d prepared and then some honey to half of the white and half of the black coffees.
"It’s done..." I muttered as I took a step to the back.
Now aware of my audience, however, I knew my role wasn’t over just yet.
"The black drink is strong, sour, but will wake you up like a slap to your face. The cream-like drink is milder. The ones with the honey will be sweeter... You know the drill."
I didn’t even know why I was explaining the effects of adding milk or honey to a drink to a bunch of cooks right in the middle of their kitchen.
Regardless, I quickly reached out and grabbed two cups, quickly stuffing one - both milk and honey - into Selia’s hands before helping myself to the sweetener-less, white coffee.
And as soon as I took a sip, I had to resist the desire to throw my fist high up to the air.
The taste wasn’t there yet but...
But there was no denying it.
I’d managed to brew a proper coffee from the seeds we grew with Selia together!