All of the recent discussion on Coffeecrew.com about the Saeco Classico (Colinís review of June 20, Judyís blog two days later) has led me to reflect on the only espresso machine I have ever owned, a Saeco Aroma Bianco (essentially the same machine as the Classico) which I purchased a decade ago, in 1994.

More precisely, it was purchased by my wife for my birthday.  I came to coffee relatively late in life, when at the age of 26 I started a new job in an office where coffee was the lingua franca.  It was the one thing everyone in the office had in common, the glue that held the place together (the ìglueî description was more apt some days than others, unfortunately).  I felt I had to learn to drink coffee if I was going to fit in.  I mean ìlearnî in a literal sense: I set aside Sunday mornings in my basement bachelor apartment to make this hot brown liquid from Presidentís Choice coffee in a cheap Moulinex coffee maker.  I poured it into one of the two coffee mugs I purchased at Eatonís, added enough cream to make it the same colour as the coffee my best friend at work drank, and sat in front of the TV, watching Charles Kuralt and sipping at this stuff.  I tried to adjust my cola and fruit juice-addled taste buds to accept this pungent, earthy, sometimes bitter brew.

It is interesting how addictions begin.  I have long since moved on from that office, but the coffee habit stuck.  More than stuck, coffee became one of the small things in my life that I really cherish.  As any reader of this would know, once you get hooked on the flavour of coffee, the mild caffeine buzz, the comfort of the ritual, it becomes a lifetime habit.  And, as a social democrat, I appreciate the fact that while I canít afford the worldís finest wines or cognacs, pretty well anyone can manage to occasionally treat themselves to a coffee as fine as millionaires drink.  It is a democratic luxury.

And so, in my late thirties, as I began to look back on my life and think about those things that really brought me pleasure and joy, coffee was definitely on the list.  While I drank almost exclusively drip coffee, I did enjoy the occasional cappuccino (when it was available: this is 1994 in Ottawa Iím talking about), and so I thought I was at a stage where I was justified in indulging some of these pleasures.  I didnít know much about espresso, but I did know it was an Italian thing, and so I headed down to Ottawaís Italian Village to shop around.  I wandered into an Italian gift shop, and there I met Matteo.  A wonderful man, warm and relaxed, and he knew espresso machines the way Scotty Bowman knows hockey.  His shop was tiny, and he only had a few machines amongst all of the china and kitchenwares that make suitable wedding gifts.  But he understood quality, and he could disassemble and reassemble an espresso machine with his eyes closed.  He said the Saeco Aroma was a good machine, and I took his word for it. 

I took the machine home, found it a place on the counter, got it up and running by following the instruction booklet and Matteoís advice, and tried to make a cappuccino.  Armed with (once again) Presidentís Choice espresso coffee and a small stainless steel measuring cup, I got brown liquid out of the machine, and added milk that was hot and agitated (if not ìmicrofoamedî).  It was drinkable, but hardly a revelation.  After many months of essentially the same, I freed up some counterspace by storing the machine, to be brought out for special occasions.  Yeah, right.  My coffee world returned to drip machines and pre-ground coffee.

Flash forward to about two years ago.  Coffee is as much a part of my life as ever, and so my eye catches an article in the local paper about a coffee revolution that is arising in society.  Suddenly, coffee is a hip drink amongst young adults.  But not just a paper cup of Tim Hortonís.  All the various styles of coffee: French Press; Moka Pot; Vacuum pot; and of course, the ultimate expression of coffee flavour, espresso and espresso-based drinks.  This is coffee taken seriously.  The article refered to coffee websites, including CoffeeCrew and CoffeeGeek.  I checked them out.

There, laid out for any and all to view, were the lessons learned from diligent research and experimentation.  Through careful study, the Commandments of Coffee begin to emerge:

1. Coffee is like any other food.  If it isnít fresh, it loses a lot;
2. Get a good grinder.  Period;
3. What do great espresso/cappuccino and Carnegie Hall have in common?  You get to both of them the same way: practice, practice, practice;
4. Take responsibility for whatís in your cup.  Buy Fair Trade coffee, or at least buy beans that paid the grower Fair Trade prices;
5. In spite of all the rules (and there are as many as you could care to consider), the ultimate rule is your own taste.  If you like it, nothing else matters.

There is, of course, much much more.  But it was enough to inspire me to retrieve and descale my Saeco Aroma, and find it a new permanent home on the kitchen counter.  Then, I bought myself a Solis Maestro grinder, modest enough from a coffee geekís perspective, but over-the-top to the uninitiated (by which, of course, I am referring to my spouse).  Undaunted, I pressed on (no pun intended), found an all-wood tamper that a woodworking friend modified to fit my 53 mm portafilter, and started buying whole bean coffee from Starbucks and Second Cup.  And I began to practice, practice, practice.

I find the process to be a genuine ritual, much like a Japanese tea ceremony.  Heating the machine; grinding the beans; tamping the grounds; frothing the milk; pulling the shot; and assembling the drink.  It is extraordinarily sensual (the sound of the grind; the scent of the coffee; the cold of the frothing pitcher; the heat of the shot; the taste of the cappuccino), and the deliberate, measured nature of the process is extremely calming.  No multi-tasking allowed here.  Just you and the coffee.  A tiny zone of tranquility and purpose. 

This is where my journey truly begins.  I now make a genuinely enjoyable cappuccino, but  I am far from finished my journey  I having been roasting my own beans for about six months now, learning the difference between a Kenya AA brought to second crack and a Mexican Fino Altura just off the first crack.  Family and friends donít understand the obsession, but they respect it, and they share their appreciation of the results.  I have, however, managed to get one or two colleagues at work as hooked as I am.  Misery, indeed, loves company.

So I have, as Robert Frost said, miles to go before I sleep (if ever).  Upgrade fever will undoubtedly strike me, just as liver disease plagues boozehounds.  A better grinder.  A non-pressurized portafilter for my Saeco.  A real tamper (· la Reg Barber). 

A new espresso machine?

Maybe.  But I recently took my Aroma Bianco back to Matteo for a tune-up (all new gaskets, etc.) and asked him if he thought I would be better off getting a new machine.  He looked at me as if I had just landed from Mars. He gestured towards my Saeco. 

ìYou gotta brass boiler.  You gotta good pump.  You gotta beautiful, sturdy portafilter handle.  The machineís running like new.  What do you need a different machine for?î

Why indeed.  As both Colin and Judy concluded, the Saeco Classico is a great starter machine.  Even if you are still starting after ten years.