Here's a new variation on this
http://www.explore-mag.com/The-Happy-Camper-Bushcraft-Coffee-on-Scotlands-Spey-River
http://www.explore-mag.com/The-Happy-Camper-Bushcraft-Coffee-on-Scotlands-Spey-River
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Happy National Zipper Day (pat. 1913)! 🤐
Cowboy Coffee thoughts
- Thread starter Robin
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I used to work with Italians and they like Illy coffee, which is available online. It's expensive. When I think about you guys eating fresh fish and paddling the best canoes on the best paddling venues in the world, I am thinking that you might ask Santa for some fresh roasted beans to grind up for your next trip. And you could use it to barter for bacon or whiskey or ? with your friends. According to my Italian friends, using water that is boiling for coffee is as bad as using water that is not boiling for pasta ("oh my god, what are you doing?!").
You forgot breaking the pasta to fit in the pot and then cutting it on the plate.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUj59uaRODI
Don't forget the spoon for your pasta.
A reliable source tells me for better cowboy coffee, add the grounds after the water stops boiling.
Don't forget the spoon for your pasta.
A reliable source tells me for better cowboy coffee, add the grounds after the water stops boiling.
Look back into this thread. The coffee is added when the water is cold.
There are many ways to brew Cowboy Coffee
great thread, coffee is my no#1 vice. Been a percolator guy for eons though. Never really thought much about this or shared camps with anyone that use this method. Even the actual cowboys I know percolate their coffee. Gonna' have to give this a try.
Parents always put egg shells in their grounds too. They did this even after Mr Coffee was invented.
I'm also a big fan of Chickory coffee. Just went through a pound last week. Wife and kids hate it. I tell them they didn't eat enough dirt growing up to know whats good.
Slightly O/T but anyone roast their own beans?
Some people I know swear buying green coffee beans and roasting them yourself is the only way to get fresh coffee without owning your own plantation in Columbia. Being a DIY kind of guy this has piqued my interest of late too...
Parents always put egg shells in their grounds too. They did this even after Mr Coffee was invented.
I'm also a big fan of Chickory coffee. Just went through a pound last week. Wife and kids hate it. I tell them they didn't eat enough dirt growing up to know whats good.
Slightly O/T but anyone roast their own beans?
Some people I know swear buying green coffee beans and roasting them yourself is the only way to get fresh coffee without owning your own plantation in Columbia. Being a DIY kind of guy this has piqued my interest of late too...
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As a preface, after meeting the Conovers, early 2000soming, I spent 7-8 month out of the the next 4 years living under canvas, making "cowboy coffee" with my ancient Svea 123 stove. Cowboy coffee and the wait..creeps over to the side of ritual. For more mobile camps I've carried a french press, and have killed a half dozen of the plastic GSI presses. Fast forward to the present, I was waiting out rush hour at REI on Friday evening and came across a titanium coffee press made by Snow Peak. Usually I consider such things as fetish gear, but this little apparatus has no plastic parts to snap under the weight of impatience.It probably costs 3 times what the little GSI presses cost, but it looks like it might be worth it for the durability. And its titanium.
On our group trips we make cowboy coffee using different methods depending on whether the Swedes are watching. One thing that is constant is after at least 5 minutes of brewing everyone's cups are filled and the rest poured into a thermos to keep it piping hot. I am packing for a trip with one other person and he drinks hot chocolate. I still want real coffee in the morning so experimented with boiling the water and putting it in the thermos and adding the coffee. I shook it after putting in the stopper and laid it on its side for 10 minutes (probably over kill) and then put it upright for a few minutes. A great cup of very hot strong coffee and not a single coffee ground in the bottom of the cup. I will leave my large insulated cup at home and use the cup on the thermos so not much more space is needed. Having the thermos is great for when you pull over after paddling for a while and want to lean back and enjoy another cup of hot coffee. My friend will enjoy not having his water boiled in the coffee stained pot.
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Hey Deerfly, I've never roasted beans myself but I worked at an appliance manufacturer for a while and I had one boss that told me about trading in his $150 roaster for a $500 roadster. Seems crazy but then some folks think having more than one canoe seems crazy. We sometimes get 5 pound bags of recently roasted coffee beans from a local coffee place.
Sweeper - breaking the pasta and also cutting it on your plate do sound like serious pasta violations. The Italians I worked with also had to put up with Americans that always had to take pictures of their meals.
I also remember being told that Starbucks failed in Italy because Italians are not looking for 100 varieties of flavored coffees or 20 ounce servings...just a single short espresso and they triple park for it on the way to work. I think there is some analogy to wood/canvas canoes but I could be wrong. I also remember being told that a real Italian never drinks cappuccino after noon.
I like pretty much all coffee except really bad coffee like they have at our favorite little breakfast place in town.
Sweeper - breaking the pasta and also cutting it on your plate do sound like serious pasta violations. The Italians I worked with also had to put up with Americans that always had to take pictures of their meals.
I also remember being told that Starbucks failed in Italy because Italians are not looking for 100 varieties of flavored coffees or 20 ounce servings...just a single short espresso and they triple park for it on the way to work. I think there is some analogy to wood/canvas canoes but I could be wrong. I also remember being told that a real Italian never drinks cappuccino after noon.
I like pretty much all coffee except really bad coffee like they have at our favorite little breakfast place in town.
I love the look on whatever they call their servers faces when I'm stuck having to order my B-L-A-C-K coffee from them
I usually try to support Ma & Pap coffee shops
I usually try to support Ma & Pap coffee shops
I've made "cowboy coffee" at home but I used a recipe for Armenian or Turkish coffee, and I also had a neighbor show me how she makes coffee in Columbia. Both methods put sugar in the water to be boiled and then add the coffee. It came out good and I didn't get any grounds in my cup.
not sure about all that, but you need to tell us more about those manly slippers. Looks like vintage Hush Puppies from the 70's
It's funny how you get attached to things. Isn't it simply a perfectly practical approach of "I don't really want to have to replace this." Or is it really pragmatism? Maybe it's a fondness for memories tattooed into our selves having enjoyed using certain things over time (scratched canoe, chewed paddle, smokey old tarp, trusty sharp tool, old felt hat...) I was surprised how attached I felt to my battered and beaten pots and pans, and especially protective of my coffee percolator.
The other evening our son asked about borrowing some camping gear for two upcoming trips, the first to a small town music festival camping in the urban provincial park, the second with friends canoe camping in Algonquin Park. I had no problem piling sleeping bags and sleeping pads, and even a dependable largish old tent, but for some weird reason I balked at the kitchen kit. My son had given me a brand new GSI Dualist pot set for Christmas one year, which I haven't "broken in" yet, and when I cautiously offered it to him he pointed at my other stuff. "What about that pot set? It doesn't look like I can do any harm to those." I failed to see the humour in that. My old aluminum pots wear scorch marks, dents and dings like campfire battle scars carefully earned over the years. All of a sudden I felt...protective. "Well son, you will be careful with these. They may look unloved but trust me, they're irreplaceable." "But dad, you already have. Remember this new GSI pot set I bought you?" "Oh, yeah, well, I'm being extra careful with that one." I held my breath and stuffed the old set into a cloth cozy (keeps the black smudge off the rest of the gear). And then he asked "How about a coffee pot?" I eagerly offered a single plastic french press, but he explained he would be making coffee for several people, and that's the moment we both stared at my patinated pot, it's jaunty little glass hat looking clear and unblemished, sitting all on it's own away from the gear pile (where it won't get hurt). "How about your perc'? It looks the perfect size!" "Oh. Um. Well, okay. But be careful. I don't really want to have to replace that."
The usual droning of directions followed, such as "Don't lose any tent pegs. Don't break any tent poles. Keep my sleeping bags dry. Careful not to snag the zippers. Take some of my duct tape in case you puncture the pads. Keep an eye on the propane Coleman, it's your mom's favourite stove. Handle the old pots with care...and don't let anyone else near the coffee pot." And then I made one last pitiful plea "You know I can show you how to make cowboy coffee instead in the GSI and save you the bother of taking my perc'?!"
The other evening our son asked about borrowing some camping gear for two upcoming trips, the first to a small town music festival camping in the urban provincial park, the second with friends canoe camping in Algonquin Park. I had no problem piling sleeping bags and sleeping pads, and even a dependable largish old tent, but for some weird reason I balked at the kitchen kit. My son had given me a brand new GSI Dualist pot set for Christmas one year, which I haven't "broken in" yet, and when I cautiously offered it to him he pointed at my other stuff. "What about that pot set? It doesn't look like I can do any harm to those." I failed to see the humour in that. My old aluminum pots wear scorch marks, dents and dings like campfire battle scars carefully earned over the years. All of a sudden I felt...protective. "Well son, you will be careful with these. They may look unloved but trust me, they're irreplaceable." "But dad, you already have. Remember this new GSI pot set I bought you?" "Oh, yeah, well, I'm being extra careful with that one." I held my breath and stuffed the old set into a cloth cozy (keeps the black smudge off the rest of the gear). And then he asked "How about a coffee pot?" I eagerly offered a single plastic french press, but he explained he would be making coffee for several people, and that's the moment we both stared at my patinated pot, it's jaunty little glass hat looking clear and unblemished, sitting all on it's own away from the gear pile (where it won't get hurt). "How about your perc'? It looks the perfect size!" "Oh. Um. Well, okay. But be careful. I don't really want to have to replace that."
The usual droning of directions followed, such as "Don't lose any tent pegs. Don't break any tent poles. Keep my sleeping bags dry. Careful not to snag the zippers. Take some of my duct tape in case you puncture the pads. Keep an eye on the propane Coleman, it's your mom's favourite stove. Handle the old pots with care...and don't let anyone else near the coffee pot." And then I made one last pitiful plea "You know I can show you how to make cowboy coffee instead in the GSI and save you the bother of taking my perc'?!"
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Hi, my name is Barney, I'm a coffeeholic................. I will gladly share a pot of coffee with any of you folks on this forum. Every time this thread re-surfaces I re-read it, while drinking coffee. I finally found a use for starbucks via, mix it in with a pouch of Swiss Miss hot chocolate for a pretty fair Mocha.
I never drank coffee until I was 26, I made it through three years, nine months and twenty eight days in the military and another four years of college. It wasn't until I spent a spring trapping beaver, with a genuine old school old time trapper, that I learned to drink coffee. He was a coffeeholic, about every two or three hours, he would throw off his sun bleached Duluth pack, dig around in it, pull out a battered, blacken coffee can with a wire snare threaded on it for a bail. He would fill it with whatever water that was available (this was before giardiasis was known about), throw in a hand full of generic coffee grounds and dangle it a from a green sapling over a small twig fire that I helped kindle. I would watch him drink a couple of cups, smoke a couple of Camel cigarettes, and listen to his wonderful stories. Then one cold, wet, windy, spitting snowy day when I was probably on the edge of hypothermia (that was something else we didn't know about yet) I too, filled a tin cup with his brew in a effort to warm up. It worked, and I became addicted, to the point of becoming a coffee snob. I never took to being a trapper, but I loved that life out in the wilds, I still do and I love a cup of real coffee ((fresh ground Yirgacheffe beans) while sitting on a log or rock, overlooking a favorite creek, river or lake.
I never drank coffee until I was 26, I made it through three years, nine months and twenty eight days in the military and another four years of college. It wasn't until I spent a spring trapping beaver, with a genuine old school old time trapper, that I learned to drink coffee. He was a coffeeholic, about every two or three hours, he would throw off his sun bleached Duluth pack, dig around in it, pull out a battered, blacken coffee can with a wire snare threaded on it for a bail. He would fill it with whatever water that was available (this was before giardiasis was known about), throw in a hand full of generic coffee grounds and dangle it a from a green sapling over a small twig fire that I helped kindle. I would watch him drink a couple of cups, smoke a couple of Camel cigarettes, and listen to his wonderful stories. Then one cold, wet, windy, spitting snowy day when I was probably on the edge of hypothermia (that was something else we didn't know about yet) I too, filled a tin cup with his brew in a effort to warm up. It worked, and I became addicted, to the point of becoming a coffee snob. I never took to being a trapper, but I loved that life out in the wilds, I still do and I love a cup of real coffee ((fresh ground Yirgacheffe beans) while sitting on a log or rock, overlooking a favorite creek, river or lake.
odyssey, great post about life. I go through the same drill with my son borrowing camping gear too. Every time I remind him this stuff is older than he his and it watched him and his sister grow up. Regardless of my attachment to the stuff I take solace in that I've passed the love of the outdoors on to him and he's doing it with his generation. Pretty good ROI on a what amounts to a bunch of nostalgic yard sale junk.
Boreal - My dad had me drinking coffee at around 10 yrs old. He'd wake me up at 3:30am or so on the weekends to go fishing or hunting and have me sip a cup. Been a ritual ever since, did the same with my son and daughter, both away at college, but coffee lovers too. Marveling at the outdoors with a cup of coffee in hand is my favorite too, especially around daybreak
Boreal - My dad had me drinking coffee at around 10 yrs old. He'd wake me up at 3:30am or so on the weekends to go fishing or hunting and have me sip a cup. Been a ritual ever since, did the same with my son and daughter, both away at college, but coffee lovers too. Marveling at the outdoors with a cup of coffee in hand is my favorite too, especially around daybreak
The solution I subscribe to is backups. "Dad I need a coffee pot."
"Sure anyone but that one."
Even then I have backups to that (the Blue Enamel one on the right)
P1250234 by Kevin French, on FlickrJust figured out how to downsize the pic on Flicker. There's hope yet, PB still sucks.
I thought I was being clever when I found and purchased my mint condition perc in a flea market type place, only a few years ago. At that time I could only find the new retro blue enamel ones in outdoor and hardware stores. Several times I've almost bought vintage enamel ones, but the rusty edges and chipped spouts put me off. Who wants tetanus with their morning joe? And then over time I started to see the same aluminum pots showing up everywhere. Did I start a trend? Well if everyone starts wearing work boots and grubby shirts we'll have our answer, but I doubt it. The perc has been around for a long time, it's just seeing a retro revival. Deja vu all over again.
We were a tea drinking family growing up; except at breakfast. In my early years the perc was on the stove by 5 am gently blurping away in time for dad's bacon and eggs. We kids weren't allowed the grown up stuff like coffee, bacon and eggs; but tea was okay especially after school and on weekends. Must be our British roots showing. My parents kept up with the times too. The automated electric coffee machine came about a decade later. The way they kept it polished you'd think we'd just gotten colour television. Actually, come to think of it we just had. That was mind blowing too. Ma and Pa Kettle meet George and Joan Jetson. lol. Mom went from cotton print dresses to polyester pant suits, and dad went from work clothes to...well, work clothes never go out of fashion. And then what came next was the Mellita drip pot. It wasn't any faster, didn't cost any less, but it was the newest latest coffee craze. And finally the time saving saviour of all foods entered our house...instant coffee and it's equally repulsive partner coffee whitener. I don't believe it's any coincidence that round about that time Rice-a-Roni and HamburgerHelper also made their appearance. Fresh brewed coffee with real cream and home cooked meals from scratch all replaced by modern. All those coffee contraptions were pushed further and further back into kitchen cupboards, and never really thrown away. Lives change and with them tastes, fashion and habits I guess.
Years later I sat with my widowed mom at her kitchen window. Together we looked out on her new yard; like the house it was smaller and easier to care for with dad gone. With my brothers we'd helped to thin out the furniture, keep-sakes and clutter, but the pots and pans, dishes and coffee mugs were all the same. Some things you just don't throw away. Rivulets of rain trickled down the window and the sun peered through the grey; a warm blush of daylight reflected broken rainbows across the room. Mom asked "How about a coffee dear?" I said sure, I'd like that. Expecting to see the jars of instant and whitener pulled out of the corner Lazy Susan, I was surprised when she reached instead to another cupboard. She plunked down a brand new small electric single cup drip coffee maker. She pulled a can of ground coffee from another shelf and quickly fired up the machine, murmuring "This was always our favourite." In a couple of minutes we had two steaming cups of coffee. We warmed our hands holding the mugs looking out at the rain. I said "That's a new coffee maker?! I like it. It's fast and the coffee tastes great." She said the obvious thing that hurt to hear, that she no longer needed a bigger coffee maker, now with dad gone, had to keep up with the times... I tried to turn the talk around to something happier, for the both of us. I mentioned how much I'd love being able to make a cup of coffee on a job site sometimes, that she'd had a great idea buying this; but she was miles away lost in thought. I left her there, and tidied up the kitchen. Kissing her on the cheek, I quietly left out the side door promising to call in again soon. Less than a week later she pushed a package into my hands, telling me to hurry up and open it. A few minutes later I was firing up my own little coffee machine and keeping up with the times.
We were a tea drinking family growing up; except at breakfast. In my early years the perc was on the stove by 5 am gently blurping away in time for dad's bacon and eggs. We kids weren't allowed the grown up stuff like coffee, bacon and eggs; but tea was okay especially after school and on weekends. Must be our British roots showing. My parents kept up with the times too. The automated electric coffee machine came about a decade later. The way they kept it polished you'd think we'd just gotten colour television. Actually, come to think of it we just had. That was mind blowing too. Ma and Pa Kettle meet George and Joan Jetson. lol. Mom went from cotton print dresses to polyester pant suits, and dad went from work clothes to...well, work clothes never go out of fashion. And then what came next was the Mellita drip pot. It wasn't any faster, didn't cost any less, but it was the newest latest coffee craze. And finally the time saving saviour of all foods entered our house...instant coffee and it's equally repulsive partner coffee whitener. I don't believe it's any coincidence that round about that time Rice-a-Roni and HamburgerHelper also made their appearance. Fresh brewed coffee with real cream and home cooked meals from scratch all replaced by modern. All those coffee contraptions were pushed further and further back into kitchen cupboards, and never really thrown away. Lives change and with them tastes, fashion and habits I guess.
Years later I sat with my widowed mom at her kitchen window. Together we looked out on her new yard; like the house it was smaller and easier to care for with dad gone. With my brothers we'd helped to thin out the furniture, keep-sakes and clutter, but the pots and pans, dishes and coffee mugs were all the same. Some things you just don't throw away. Rivulets of rain trickled down the window and the sun peered through the grey; a warm blush of daylight reflected broken rainbows across the room. Mom asked "How about a coffee dear?" I said sure, I'd like that. Expecting to see the jars of instant and whitener pulled out of the corner Lazy Susan, I was surprised when she reached instead to another cupboard. She plunked down a brand new small electric single cup drip coffee maker. She pulled a can of ground coffee from another shelf and quickly fired up the machine, murmuring "This was always our favourite." In a couple of minutes we had two steaming cups of coffee. We warmed our hands holding the mugs looking out at the rain. I said "That's a new coffee maker?! I like it. It's fast and the coffee tastes great." She said the obvious thing that hurt to hear, that she no longer needed a bigger coffee maker, now with dad gone, had to keep up with the times... I tried to turn the talk around to something happier, for the both of us. I mentioned how much I'd love being able to make a cup of coffee on a job site sometimes, that she'd had a great idea buying this; but she was miles away lost in thought. I left her there, and tidied up the kitchen. Kissing her on the cheek, I quietly left out the side door promising to call in again soon. Less than a week later she pushed a package into my hands, telling me to hurry up and open it. A few minutes later I was firing up my own little coffee machine and keeping up with the times.
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