CHAPTER XVII.
COFFEE.
After the dessert comes Coffee, and it is now fitting that I should make a few remarks on the best means of making that agreeable and stimulating beverage.
The coffee tree is a native of Arabia. The use of the berry extended itself to Mecca, Medina, and then to Cairo in Egypt. It continued its progress northward; and in 1554, under the reign of Solyman the Great, became known to the inhabitants of Constantinople. The Venetians introduced coffee to the western parts of Europe. In 1644 it was brought to Marseilles, and in 1657 to Paris. According to Le Grand D’Aussy, the custom of drinking coffee became general in Paris in 1669, through the example of Soliman Aga, ambassador of Mahomet IV. The coffee is an evergreen shrub, rising to twenty feet in height. The fruit is a round, fleshy berry, and great care is taken to conduct little rills of water in small channels to the roots of the trees. The berry grown in Arabia is smaller than that of the East and West Indies, but its flavour is much finer, because in Arabia the soil is rocky, dry, and hot. The trees are watered by artificial means, and therefore the proper quantity of moisture only is imbibed by them. Almost all studious, hard-working men love coffee; and this is not wonderful, as it is, when properly made, a delightful, innoxious, and exhilarating beverage. “It is a slow poison,” said some one to Voltaire, who saw him drinking strong coffee. “It must be a very slow poison indeed,” rejoined the wit, “as I have been taking it now for more than seventy years.” How often must a man who laboured as Voltaire did have required a beverage which excited the nerves and exhilarated the spirits, without producing the baneful effects of those stimulating liquids and narcotic substances which act on the brain? In cases of extreme heat or cold, coffee is the most salutary beverage, as it not only warms and exhilarates the system, but dissipates the languor produced either by fatigue or the influence of the climate or weather.
How many writers are there who have vaunted the good effects of coffee? Delille and Lebrun have praised its virtues in well-tuned verses. The poem entitled “Les Disputes,” by Rulhière, originated in coffee. Fontenelle, who lived more than 100 years, is lavish in its praise. Montesquieu has consecrated to the brown ambrosial berry some eloquent and sounding periods; and Rousseau, and Buffon, the most eloquent of prose writers, have not forgotten to record the brilliant inspirations which they owed to its influence. Nor are these the only triumphs of the brain-clearing beverage. Heroes, and statesmen, and philosophers, have bowed down before the filagree cups; and Frederick of Prussia and Napoleon, Talleyrand and Cambaceres, and Metternich, Portalis, Corvisart, and Cuvier, have all acknowledged and felt the inspiration and good effects of coffee.
One of the virtues, the dissipating the fumes of wine, has also been alluded to by Delille:—
In another passage, the same poet thus apostrophises the cheering yet not inebriating liquor:—
It is a remarkable fact that, during the retreat of the French from Russia, such soldiers as refrained from brandy, and took only coffee, escaped being frost-bitten, or any of the diseases arising from exposure to cold. There is no part of the world in which better coffee is sold than in London, more especially the Mocha coffee of Twining (which may be purchased, unground and unroasted, at 1s. 8d. the pound, and roasted, or ground and roasted, at 2s. 4d. the pound); yet there is no spot in this world, we verily believe, where coffee is generally so badly made, as in this great wilderness of a metropolis. This arises from several causes: first, the purchasing coffee ground and roasted. The consumption and sale of the article is so small in England, compared to France, that in many of the shops the ground coffee is a week, and in many a fortnight or a month old; and, being too frequently exposed to the influences of the weather and climate, the aroma has entirely evaporated. There is scarcely a shop in London where coffee is daily roasted; and, even if there were such a shop, the quantity purchased for private consumption is generally so large, and the use of it so unfrequent in families, that the flavour in so humid a climate is gone long before the coffee is consumed. The Turks, who are our masters in the art of making coffee, do not employ a mill to triturate the berry, but pound it in mortars, with pestles or mallets of wood. When these machines have been long used for the purpose, they are esteemed precious, and sell at a large price. Brillat Savarin relates the result of an experiment which he caused to be made as to the comparative merits of the liquid made from the pounded and the ground berry:—
“I roasted with care,” says he, “a pound of good Mocha coffee, and separated it into two equal portions, one of which was ground, and the other pounded in the manner of the Turks. I made coffee with both one and other of these powders, taking an equal weight of each, pouring on each an equal portion of boiling water, and in all respects dealing equally between them. I tasted these coffees, and caused them to be tasted by the best judges, and the unanimous opinion was, that the liquid produced from the powdered was evidently superior to the produce of the ground coffee.”
The second reason why the coffee is inferior in England is, that the berry is burned instead of being roasted, and is consequently bitter and burnt, instead of being fine-flavoured and aromatic.
The third reason is, that at hotels, coffee-houses, clubs, and even in private houses, enough of the coffee (even though it were good) is not infused; and the fourth reason may be found in the addition of an excess of water. Now, in the first place, the roasting of coffee should be carefully watched and superintended by an intelligent person. The moment the berry crackles and becomes crisp enough to pulverise, it is sufficiently roasted. Once taken off the roaster, it should be placed in several thick folds of flannel to undergo the process of cooling. This preserves the essential oil in the coffee, and prevents the aroma from escaping. When the coffee is cool, place it in an air-tight canister. Sufficient for the day should be the coffee thereof. In other words, never roast, if you can avoid it, more than for a single day’s consumption—certainly not more than for two or three days. Grind or pound your coffee not more than a quarter of an hour before you want to make the infusion.
There are various methods of preparing the infusion. Any one of them would have the effect of producing very tolerable coffee, if the directions I have given touching the roasting and grinding of the berry were attended to, and a sufficient quantity of the powdered coffee used. But unfortunately English servants, who drink tea or beer, are ignorant of or insensible to the true flavour of coffee, and as they do not partake themselves of the beverage, become indifferent to its preparation. The coffee produced by them is, indeed, drowned in a deluge of water, and deserves the title given it in an old tract called the “Petition against Coffee,” namely, “a base, black, thick, nasty, bitter, stinking, puddle water.”
The best coffee in the world, taken altogether, is certainly made in Paris, though I have occasionally tasted at private houses in England, where the master was a gourmet, and the servants disciplined, finer coffee than was ever brewed either at the Café Foy or the Café Corrazza. And the only wonder is, that it should not be always so; for, as was before observed, the very finest qualities of coffee come to the London market.
For the last forty years, a great deal of fancifulness has prevailed in Paris as to the best manner of making coffee. Much of this arose, no doubt, from the inordinate love which Napoleon exhibited for coffee; as everyone was desirous to improve upon the favourite beverage of the little Corsican and great conqueror. Projects of all kinds were started: to make coffee without roasting it, without grinding it, to infuse it cold, to make it boil three quarters of an hour, &c. Another mode was to run the cold water several times through the powder; another, to infuse the coffee over night. But, notwithstanding these vagaries, coffee is generally well made in France. It is true, that it is most commonly adulterated by the admixture of chicorée, but there is nothing noxious in the endive; it merely adds a bitterness to the coffee, and is adopted in nine instances out of ten from motives of economy.
The most usual method of making coffee in France is à Dubelloy, which consists in pouring boiling water on coffee placed in a porcelain or silver vase, cullendered or pierced with very small holes. This first decoction is poured off, heated to boiling heat, passed again through the coffee-pot, when a clear and exquisite coffee is produced. More than a full-sized tablespoonful of coffee should be allowed for each guest in making a small cup of coffee after dinner.
The most complete apparatus for coffee making ever invented in England, is said to have been the production of Mr. Jones, of Bond Street, ironmonger; but, as I have never tried it, I will not speak of its merits. The ordinary English tin coffee-biggin succeeds tolerably well if the coffee be properly roasted and ground; but the disadvantage is, that the filtering occupies so long a time, that the coffee is half cold when ready to be poured into the cups.
The cylinder for roasting coffee, which one cannot pass through the streets of Paris without seeing constantly at work, has been in use since 1687. The love of novelty is so great in that capital, that when coffee was first introduced, two methods were adopted of preparing it: one, the ordinary method now in use; the other, a method said to prevail in the seraglio at Constantinople, for the mistresses of the Grand Signor. This consists in boiling for a certain time in hot water, not the grain itself, but the shell or pod which envelopes it. This method affords a liquor of an agreeable colour to the eye, but it yields a pale and flavourless coffee, though decorated with the name of café à la sultane. Blegny invented, in 1687, a distilled coffee water, an oil, and a syrup of coffee. Under the Regent Orleans, coffee sweetmeats were invented, to appear at dessert; and a few years afterwards the distillateurs of Montpelier made a liqueur, produced after dessert, which they called eau de café, whose odour resembled roasted coffee. There were also tablettes de café, which were eaten before the liqueurs. There were and are medical men who, from the time of its introduction to our day, have not ceased to sound the alarm as to the unwholesomeness of coffee; but I think with old Lémery, that “coffee fortifies the stomach and brain, promotes digestion, allays the headache, suppresses the fumes caused by wine, makes the memory and fancy more quick, and people brisk that drink it.” This last effect, says he, has been observed by the shepherds of Africa, who took notice, that before coffee was used, and that their sheep fed upon this kind of pulse, that they skipped about strangely.[24]
I shall close my observations on coffee by giving a receipt of Dr. Roques for a café à la crême frappé de glace. It is a delicious breakfast during the summer heats. Here it is:—“Make a strong infusion of Mocha or Bourbon coffee; put it in a porcelain bowl, sugar it properly, and add to it an equal portion of boiled milk, or one-third the quantity of a rich cream. Surround the bowl with pounded ice.” Doctor Bonnafous, of Perpignan, recommended this beverage to such persons as had lost their appetite, or who experienced general debility. This agreeable epicurean one day said to a patient, Dr. Roques, who was himself in the profession,—“Study, my friend, that which is good, that which pleases your palate. Try to become a little friand; commence a series of gastronomic experiments without infringing a regimen. You will be the better for it, and in certain circumstances you will exercise on sickly people inclined to gourmandise an unlimited power. Breakfast during July, August, and a part of September, on iced coffee, and in winter on woodcock soup. This is a regimen with which I restored to health and sense an aged canon who had nearly lost all appetite, and who was disgusted with life.”
Brillat Savarin recommends that coffee should be taken in the dinner-room, as thus served it is hotter. This may be so in establishments where there are an insufficient number of servants; but in good houses in England, where there is a regular establishment of servants, coffee is served quite as hot in the drawing-room, library, or salon, as in the dining-room or salle a manger. Coffee should be hot, clear, and strong; and, like every other good thing, be taken in moderation. Morin, in his “Manuel d’Hygiene,” says, “Quelle que soit son action sur l’estomac, il en est du café comme de toute autre chose, il faut en user et ne pas en abuser.” Tea is much more generally taken after dinner in England than coffee, and it is a beverage deemed more wholesome and more agreeable by the great majority of Englishmen. Cowper’s lines in the “Task,” on the winter evening cup of tea, will recur to the reader.