  AFTER constant supplications to my mÉnagÈre, I have obtained at last a valuable receipt of the method of making my coffee at home, which I must say she may well be proud of, having been continually complimented by my guests on account of its excellence. It was only by touching her vanity, and assuring her that it was not to oblige me but the public at large, that she permitted me to give it publicity, on the condition, however, that her name be appended. “Buy your coffee not over-burnt; grind it at home if possible. Have a middle-sized filter like ours, which holds a little more than a quart, and came from Jakes’ or Benham’s, I forget which (but that is of little consequence, as you merely want the receipt), pour about a pint of boiling water into the filter to heat it through, then empty it, and put a quarter of a pound of ground coffee on the filter; then put on the presser, and lastly the grating; then pour about half a pint of quite boiling water over it, put the cover on, and let it drain through. “After three or four minutes pour by degrees a pint and a half more boiling water, and when well passed through pour it from the filter into a very clean stewpan; set it on the corner of the fire, and when a little white scum rises to the surface (not letting it boil) pour it a second time over the filter, and when passed through pour either into the silver cafetiÈre or the cups. Serve boiling milk or cream in two small jugs, and white or brown, or sometimes candied sugar.” After promising her a fine gown for her kindness, I gave her a pen to sign her name. “But stop,” says she, “I forgot that for your breakfast the next day I used a system of economy which I think will please: as soon as I have poured the coffee from the coffee-pot, I put another quart of boiling water over it. This I find saves me an ounce of coffee by boiling it instead of water, and pouring it over as before.” (Signed) |
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