The French Press and Being a Better Expat — Too Foreign For Home

Anyone who has had the great pleasure of meeting me in real life, knows that I am prone to drinking copious amounts of coffee. Every morning, a completely full pot is brewed despite me being the only coffee drinker in the house. Whether I’m at home or out running errands, there is always time for a cup of joe. And I’ve never been one to be a snob about my choice of java juice. Throwing some grounds in the machine and hitting the button was the extent of my coffee journey. That is, until I found the French press.

For those unfamiliar with the French press, there’s a picture just above this. It has been around for nearly a century in its current form with variations existing another 50 or so years before that. Most of us have seen the contraption in various media and kind of dismissed it as overly high brow. I mean, who wants to separately boil water in a kettle or pot and then use this weird European gizmo when an all-in-one Mr. Coffee does the same thing without the fuss?

As I mentioned above, I drink a lot of coffee. So much so, that I have been known to even drink it late at night. Before making the switch to decaf, or “fake coffee” as I saw it for a long time, I had to find ways to dissuade myself from brewing up a pot. That’s where the French press came into my life. I figured if it was a chore to make it, I would be less likely to drink an after-dinner cup or five of coffee. And if I did go through the hassle, it would be only about two cups worth.

By now there must be a decent amount of confusion as to how this has anything to do with being an expat. Well, I’m an expat and I use a French press. Thanks for reading.

In all seriousness, I was making my nightly decaf coffee while I thought about what I would be writing about for today. As I filled up my electric kettle with water, my thoughts drifted to my recent move to Casablanca and the things I needed to get done to finish settling in. My mind filling up with different tasks, I shook myself out of it and told myself that I had to wait. Like the coffee made in my French press.

With every successive move, I meet newbie expats who have gone abroad for the first time. They come from all different sorts of places with unique experiences, but their inexperience comes shining through it all. Whether it’s complaining about how things aren’t like home or bringing their bad Western habits with them and being pushy, their naivety about how the world works outside their bubble can be abrasive.

I equate that first bit of time to the aforementioned coffee maker machines. Cheap plastic that quickly blasts blazing hot steam at grounds, scalding them and making things a bit bitter. Only the results matter, quality be damned. As more experience is gained, though, more care and thought goes into actions. Perhaps scorching everything around you with the unworldly grace of a sledgehammer is not the best way to be successful abroad.

That’s the thing about being an expat that I’ve harped on time after time; it’s a process that takes time, like French press coffee. You have to wait for the water to boil while you get the necessary pieces together. Beaker and plunger checked to make sure they’re clean and ready to be used. Appropriate amount of grounds put into the bottom of the beaker. And then you wait for the water to be done so you can pour it in and cap it with the plunger. Then you wait again.

It’s a lot of procedure and waiting for something as simple as a cup of coffee, but for some, it’s worth it. That’s the same mentality I find makes me a better expat. There’s a lot of little things that need to get done, but sometimes all I can do is wait. Not letting the water get hot enough or not allowing the grounds to steep for long enough leaves you with weak coffee. Trying to speed things up and cut corners can leave you with a bad taste in your mouth, both figuratively and literally.

Originally published at https://tooforeignforhome.com on August 11, 2021.