Chapter Thirteen
The morning began far too early, and I slowly unpacked my espresso supplies. I wouldn’t be able to make a complete beverage, but I needed something to lift my spirits.
“What are you doing?”
His endless questions usually annoyed me, but I smiled. “I’m going to make an espresso. Would you like one?”
“I wouldn’t object,” he mused.
“I don’t have everything I need to make one, but I took some ground coffee before we left.”
“I see you have your priorities in order.”
If he didn’t stop making me smile, one would soon accuse me of being a happy elf. I said nothing, merely scooping ground coffee into the little porta filter basket I held. The fire came to life as I thought about the heat this drink would need, and I sat down to ready the espresso puck preparation.
“What are you doing with the needles?”
“These aren’t needles.”
“Well, whatever they are, what are they for?
“This is called espresso puck preparation—it is a vital step. It removes clumps and levels the ground, creating consistency in your puck. If you do not do this step, the lazy water can just move through the easiest path. This way, the water has multiple pathways, and you can get the most from your grounds.”
“That’s fascinating.”
Out of all the things Aleixo had experienced in this realm, the making of an espresso was not what I would refer to as fascinating. But if this was how he felt, who was I to judge? After all, my whole life revolved around brewing espresso.
I slowly tamped the coffee. “You must always apply an even thirty pounds of pressure when you tamp. That is how you create the perfect amount of pressure.”
I dusted off the area around me by sending a small gust of wind through, then set aside the porta filter. “This step is a little different since I don’t have my machine, but I do have this press. It’s similar to what I was using when you arrived at our brewery. Hand me that boiling water.”
“What boiling water?”
I gestured to the travel-sized pitcher that rested by our feet. “That one.”
“How did you do that? It hasn’t even touched the fire yet.”
I went through the final steps in silence as I filtered the water through my press, then presented Aleixo with his cup. “The fire isn’t for the espresso.”
“Then what is it for?”
“It is not a morning with espresso if there is not a warm fire to enjoy it next to.”