| |  | | Issue VI + October 6, 2022 | | Sense Memory | Ethiopia is a special place. And sure, I’m biased because of our family's deep ties there. But objectively, Ethiopia holds a rarified place in the world. They lay claim to (among many other things): the first humans, some of the earliest known people of the Christian faith, an insanely delicious and unique cuisine (Google Maps yourself to an Ethiopian restaurant, order the sampler, email me your gratitude), and THE INVENTION OF COFFEE. Coffee, as you may have guessed by the shouting, is the focus of today. A decade ago, during my first trip to Ethiopia, just as the afternoon sleepy-jetlag-haze started to hit, I picked up a strong smell of something wonderful, completely unknown, yet somehow still familiar. I made my way toward the smell, which led me to a courtyard and a group of people sitting around a small stove. One person was cooking something, and what I was smelling was the smoke from her creation. Next to the fire were a dozen empty espresso-size cups prepared for something, as well as a large pitcher that wasn’t in use yet but was clearly a part of the moment I’d stumbled into. As it turns out, I was drawn into a normal occurrence in Ethiopia and Eritrea called the coffee ceremony. As often as three times a day, coffee is prepared and savored as part of normal life. It’s not only practical because, you know, caffeine. But it’s also a communal, historical, and grounding moment that gives rhythm to life. If you’d like to watch all the ins and outs of this ceremony, here’s a 2-minute film that an interested traveler put together. But I’ll spoil the end of the video by telling you what I experienced firsthand - the coffee is mind-bendingly good. By American coffee standards, it’s basically espresso-level strong. But by any standards, the coffee is deeply dimensional. You can taste the individual parts of the bean, the smoke, the thousands of brew cycles that came before you, the purity of the sugar, the history, and the earth. And for the 30 minutes preceding the actual service of the coffee, you can smell it, hear the people talking, and feel yourself anticipating it. This whole daily occurrence opens your whole being to prepare for what’s about to happen. In America, I think the best context we have for this is smelling something slow-cooking for an afternoon. You may not be hungry, but you can anticipate in your nerves the goodness of what’s to come. That’s the power of sense memory. Back to Ethiopia. What I was drawn into was the part of the ceremony where a host takes green beans and literally roasts them in a pan. Now everyone in the U.S. gets very high-and-mighty about grinding your beans fresh before each brew. And that’s all well and good. But in Ethiopia–they roast the beans for each brew. Point, Ethiopia. |  | But here’s the real magic. When coffee beans start to roast, they put off a lot of very fragrant smoke. And instead of trying to manage that smoke and exhaust it into oblivion, the Ethiopian host takes a moment and walks the smoking pan of beans around the courtyard, through the rooms of the house, and into the senses of all those who are about to partake. It’s not enough smoke for alarms to go off; it’s just the perfect amount of incense from the altar of history. And in the location I was at, there were a lot of babies resting in cribs. And yes, the host gently moved the smoking beans over the cribs so the babies could smell it–and they loved it. They smiled, stared peacefully, clapped, and sat in the lingering haze of feeling that what had happened every day was going to happen again today. There was a softness to it, a knowing, a familiarity. It wasn’t coffee to the babies; they weren’t about to get a caffeine hit–it was a feeling of home. I got permission from Eve, my daughter, to tell you this next part. But just yesterday, like she’s done countless times before when I’m making my morning coffee, Eve just materialized by my side. Without either of us saying a word, I hold out the bag of beans, and she puts her face deep into it. She breathed in deeply and gave a knowing, “Mmmm, I like that.” Maybe she just likes the smell of coffee–it is a great smell. But maybe, and probably, that smell connects her to something deeper and more primal in her hard-wiring. All of us know the power of sense memory. I obsess over coffee not because I need the caffeine (though I do) but because a great cup of coffee takes me back to my years in Seattle, sipping Espresso Vivace out of a paper cup during a chilly morning adventure with Brianne. It brings me to a conversation I had with my friend Ben many years ago as he shared with me his dream of opening a coffee shop that would serve as a creative and philanthropic center for the people of Orlando. He did it, by the way. I drink coffee and remember my grandfather sitting with me in his study, educating me on how to lower my tax liability. I was 13. I drink coffee and am back in Ethiopia in a room full of happy babies. Of course, there’s a dark side to all of this, as my senses are often at odds with my better angels. Eating, drinking, feeling–they are sometimes connected to pain, and that mass pulls a lot of gravity from the healthier parts of me. But not always. And this morning, as I write this and sip coffee from my newest brewing obsession (more on that later), I feel good. And this weekend, as I fire up the smoker to slow cook some ribs, every part of that 8+ hours of wafting smoke and being outside will be a dance with the best parts of life. What the Ethiopians have known for most of the world’s history is what I seem just to be getting clued into: Ceremonies of the senses drive us towards community, peace, joy, and even home. What an honor to drink from that cup. | | |  | | Moccamaster I recently Tweeted out this little gem… |  | I assumed I’d get the typical tepid response to my very hot social media inquiries–but this was different. As it turns out, people are obsessed with this coffee maker and really wanted to tell me about it. I got texts from people I haven’t heard from in years, emails from total strangers, DM’s (which I probably ignored). The overriding conclusion: There’s something about this Moccamaster that I’ve been missing out on. Yet I was left to wonder, why? Like, it’s just a coffee pot with a good design, right? Well, yes. But also, as I’ve now come to learn, it’s a damn masterpiece of a machine. Virtually unchanged for decades, this machine is meticulously engineered to keep temperatures inside a perfect range, disperse coffee at the ideal rate, and essentially put a robot barista on your kitchen sink. Then things got really crazy… I reached out to Mocchamaster to tell them I was going to talk about their machine on the world-changing Doing the Best We Can with Eddie Kaufholz newsletter + podcast, and they: - Sent me a Moccamaster KBGV Select. C’mon, that’s insane! It’s literally on my counter right now. My robot barista has been rocking my AM’s (and sometimes PM’s) for a month. - Asked if I’d like to chat with Will, Director of Sales for Moccamaster USA, who has a cool English accent and knows everything about this masterpiece. Obviously, I said yes to that invitation! You can hear our full coffee-nerd deep dive today on the podcast. -Said they’d love to give out a Moccamaster KBGV Select to one of you! That’s right, we’re giving one of you a Moccamaster, which you will love more than you’ve ever loved anything or anyone. |  | Here’s how to enter… Please do all of these things: 1- Tell a friend about Doing the Best We Can using THIS LINK. Only THIS LINK will work for the contest. 2- Follow Moccamaster on Twitter 3- Follow Moccamaster on Instagram I’ll randomly pick one winner by Noon EST on October 13th. To be entered, you have to do all three of the aforementioned steps. Terms and conditions are here. Please read so I don’t end up in the slammer. Look at us drinking good coffee together–good luck! | | |  | | Feedback from Issue V - Fall into Feelings Without getting too personal, I’m very much in the middle of a “season” right now. But the reminder that it may not be forever was exactly what I needed to hear. Thanks Eddie.
-Douglas
@EdwardorEddie thanks for what you said about seasons today. I struggle to codify my life in seasons, and your candor about the same was refreshing.
-@ryplane I read to the end and I am so glad I did because that Lorne Michaels quote really rounded out the whole message. Well done and kudos to the quote selector.
-Jocelyn If you’ve got feedback… - Go to EddieKaufholz.com/feedback and write or record feedback.
- Instagram or Twitter using the hashtag #TheBestWeCan And just to make sure we’re on the same page: Anything you send me isn’t private and may be shared in any manner of public content. Also, I may not reply personally to every piece of feedback - though I’d like to. | | | | | “When it comes to beats, well, I’m a fiend / I like my sugar with coffee and cream”
-Beastie Boys | | | A note about links: Some are affiliate links and I may be receiving some measure of compensation. Some are just regular links and I’m getting zero compensation. No matter what kind of link, I won’t put anything in front of you that I don’t fully endorse and get borderline obsessed about. | |
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