Over the last year, I’ve found myself going back through John Gierach’s books. If there are two things one would learn from reading any of them, the first is that the man was fly fishing incarnate. The second thing is also just as clear– the man was a coffee fiend. A specific kind of coffee fiend, too. He was a student of the old ways, and therefore was a percolator guy.
Historically, I’ve always been a Jetboil-and-instant-coffee man myself. It’s hard to beat the convenience, speed, and self-contained nature of the Jetboil assembly. Boil water, stir in the powder, and you’re in business 120 seconds later… or less. At home, I have a $5 drip machine that does, indeed, technically make coffee as well.
But after going through Trout Bum, Sex, Death, & Leaky Waders, and The View From Rat Lake, along with the realization that my drip machine was probably filling me full of Chinese BPA and pthalates, I finally broke down and parted with $12.
I bought an old Coleman 9-cup aluminum percolator. Something with class, style, and a few adventures already under its lid.
Here’s the deal.
I am a full-time skeptic, but what they say really is true — percolator coffee is not just “better.” It’s a different experience entirely. Upon my first sip of the freshly perc’d first batch, I immediately threw my drip machine in the trash.
After some trial and error (rough job, I know), I think I’ve landed on my preferred method.
Before the tutorial, let’s get one thing straight: I’m a quantity-over-quality man when it comes to coffee. Gierach nailed it when he wrote something to the effect of: “yes, I just spent $300 on a fly rod, but I can’t see spending even a dollar more for more expensive coffee.”
I use plain old Folger’s ground (currently, it’s a Black Silk kick). With even these most pedestrian of beans, you will be rewarded with excellent coffee.
That said, we do keep a few bags of Cowboy Joe’s Rodeo Blend around the house for special occasions. If you want to treat yourself to an absolute world-class cup of coffee, this is what I’d recommend.
Inside my coffee container, I keep a regular-sized teaspoon. For a typical brew, I’ll fill the percolator up to the eight-cup line, then heap in seven full spoonfuls of grounds into the basket. The 1:1 ratio of cups to scoops will get you pretty close, and you may find that you can go a little bit less, like I did. I guess you can use a paper filter if you want, but I see no need.
From there, I crank the heat and wait for that friendly rumble from inside the percolator. Once the bubbling starts in the sight glass, I drop the heat down to just about medium, and set a timer for about nine minutes. I want it to still be hot enough to perc, but not be at a full-on boil. I’m told while brewing coffee bitter flavors begin to emerge over 200 degrees; not sure what temperatures I’m hitting once I drop the heat, but I certainly have no complaints on flavor.
When the timer goes off, I kill the heat and let it rest. Five to ten minutes is probably ideal to let the grounds settle, although I don’t pay too much attention to how long it sits after I shut the burner off. I can’t drink scalding hot coffee anyway.
They say one reason for the superior taste and aroma of percolator coffee is the higher temperature of the brew, which releases more essential oils and things of that nature. That all checks out to me, I guess.
One pro tip: if it’s real cold out or you are a bit more pressed on time, you can preheat your water in a Jetboil, and then add that to the percolator.
Of course, the most aesthetically-pleasing way to make camp coffee is to hang the percolator over a roaring fire or nestle it down into the coals. I live in Nevada, the driest state in the country; on a related note, I also live in a perpetual state of being terrified of causing a wildfire. So more often than not, at my old aluminum Coleman percolator ends up on the old two-burner Coleman stove instead.
I guess that’s fitting. All in the family.
