But the craving faded when I began to pay attention to how I make coffee at home. Which meant paying attention to the professionals, the vanguard of the coffee nuts driven by a sense that whatever they brew could probably be brewed better. I understand that some of you are put off by proselytizing — you want coffee, not a sermon — but where others perceive smugness and superiority, I see enthusiasm and curiosity, which is what we ask of our chefs: cooking isn’t stuck in 1990, or we would still be sitting down to menus with honey-mustard glaze and sun-dried tomatoes. Why should coffee be any different? Really, the question is, why do so many people think coffee is Italian? Or French? Or Turkish? Why fixate on a notion of authenticity so tied to a particular country that nothing else could measure up? I thought about this when I followed the lead of the professionals and started buying gear — a grinder, a drip cone, a pouring kettle — that was simple, functional and beautiful. They were low-tech, high-fidelity gadgets that cost $15 to $50 and changed how I make coffee. For the most part, the key components came from Japan.
Yes, Japan.
One of the most important coffee markets in the world, Japan imports more than 930 million pounds of it each year — more than France, less than Italy. It’s not a fad. There are coffee shops in Japan that date to at least the 1940s and traditions that reach back even further; it’s a culture that prizes brewed coffee over espresso (although that’s changing) and clarity over body. Coffee is as Japanese as baseball and beer.
Until just a few years ago, much of the coffee gear that made it to the United States from Japan was brought here in suitcases. It wasn’t contraband, just obscure, a trickle of kettles and cones picked up by coffee obsessives or their well-traveled friends who didn’t mind lugging the extra bulk.
One adopter — and importer — of Japanese gear was James Freeman of Blue Bottle Coffee in Oakland, San Francisco and now Brooklyn. Freeman and his wife, the pastry chef Caitlin Williams Freeman, recounted a visit to Chatei Hatou, a Tokyo coffee shop where brewing coffee isn’t exactly a ceremony but is ceremonious. They said beans were weighed, ground, emptied into a filter and preinfused with a little bit of water that let the coffee bloom and release carbon dioxide. Cups and saucers were warmed, a slice of chiffon cake was set in the fridge to firm up. Only then was the coffee brewed, slowly. “They’re going for a mastery of technique, then a mastery over all the important details of service,” Freeman said. “It adds up to an incredibly elusive experience. It’s hard to manufacture splendidness. It seems as though they have something very difficult figured out.”
In 2007, Freeman started paying close attention to the swan-neck kettles used for filter coffee. The narrow spout produces a thin, precise stream, and the handle brings your hand into a naturally balanced position — instead of flooding the filter and letting it drip, you deliver a measured amount of water over a period of several minutes. It might sound precious or tedious, but the control is enthralling. It’s like picking up a drafting pen after only writing with Magic Markers. More important, the coffee tastes different. The flavors can be distinctive and bright, even sweet. A “bean” is really the fermented seed of a cherrylike shrub, and if coffee is roasted carefully and brewed correctly, you can taste the flower and the fruit.
By 2009, pouring kettles and other gear were stocked by Blue Bottle Coffee and other independent shops like Ritual Coffee Roasters in San Francisco, Intelligentsia in Chicago and Los Angeles and Barismo in Arlington, Mass. The supply was inconsistent — unlike the planned scarcity of limited-edition sneakers. If store ran out of what you wanted, you went back until a shipment came in. It took commitment to join the club. Owning something made by Hario, Kalita or Bonmac was proof of membership.
That all changed in the fall of 2010. Williams-Sonoma started to carry a selection of specialty brewing equipment and accessories from Hario, a glass-manufacturing giant that’s the Pyrex of Japan. Not only does Williams-Sonoma sell a pouring kettle, grinder and filter cone, it also carries the more unusual slow drippers and woodnecks. The rollout was nationwide. The Japanese coffee gear is stocked at most of the company’s stores, more than 250 locations in all, and on williams-sonoma.com. Now picking up a pouring kettle is as easy as swinging through the Mall at Green Hills in Nashville. The kettle is the “pour” part of “pour over,” which these days is the accepted term for the technique, although Jaime van Schyndel, one of the owners of Barismo, prefers “hand pour,” which may describe it better: coffee made by hand, usually one cup at a time. To be frank, it’s not for everybody. Some will enjoy the ritual. But others will always consider coffee a convenience, a button to push or, once you learn how to set the timer, one that clicks on automatically. I have no doubt that countless pouring kettles and slow drippers will be used three or four times, then boxed back up and put on a high shelf, the fondue sets of our day.
But the sudden rise and widening acceptance of what was unfamiliar marks a permanent shift. The hierarchy has been shattered. Already, a few of the same people who once traveled to Tokyo and Kyoto are now talking and posting on Twitter about a country that draws on a variety of traditions, an emerging coffee culture that might also have something to teach us: Korea. For more info about our Coffee selection check SHIROCOS.COM OR VISIT OUR SHOP AT 216 1ST. ST BENICIA. 
