Classic percolator conjures warm memories

Not long ago I was browsing the aisles of a local discount store looking for coffeemakers when I stumbled upon a relic from my past: an old-fashioned stainless-steel percolator.

The no-fuss 12-cup model looked a lot like the ones I remembered from my childhood: shiny, sleek, feminine and slightly retro, with a curved handle and classic midcentury-modern good looks.

It reminded me of the percolator in my grandmother's kitchen, a coffeepot that consistently turned out the darned near most delicious coffee I ever tasted. I loved the way that percolator looked and the way the kitchen smelled those mornings I padded downstairs early just to drink coffee alone with my grandmother in her cozy breakfast nook.

Those long-ago coffee klatches included talk about school and boys and life over a decade that stretched well into my 20-something working life.

Chancing upon this percolator the other day made me miss those mornings with my grandmother. I felt homesick for her 1950s kitchen with its well-used accessories to match: red plastic and glass salt and pepper shakers; the set of metal flour, sugar and tea canisters; the matching ceramic rooster she and my grandfather brought home from Portugal.

I realized that I hadn't seen a percolator in eons; nor had I tasted home-brewed coffee so good for as long as I could remember.

The percolator was the only one the store carried. It was by outnumbered and outmuscled by more than a dozen coffeemakers offering to perform all sorts of complex tasks besides brew a simple cup of coffee: Some ground the beans for you or dripped the coffee right into a sealed carafe, while others offered automatic timers and temperature controls.

Me, I can do without any of it.

From a strictly aesthetic point of view, nothing looks uglier on a kitchen counter than a bulky coffeemaker. And lately, I've come to realize that the reason I pine for the sublime coffee my grandmother used to make has less to do with the brand (she used plain-old Folgers) than with the way we make our coffee. No doubt the percolator began to lose its way after the invention of the Mr. Coffee in 1972.

The drip process and paper filter must have seemed new and exotic to a generation of Americans raised on percolator coffee.

In retrospect, I don't think the coffeemaker and the percolator ever belonged in the same ring.

I don't claim the knowledge of a barista or the expertise of a coffee snob, but people who still swear by percolators say the silver brewers make the best coffee they ever tasted. And, they insist, you can use cheaper coffees and keep a pot plugged in all morning without ending up with coffee that tastes like burned sludge.

Over the years, I've met people who collect and display percolators around their kitchens like beautiful museum artifacts. Thankfully, I'll need just one in my cupboard — a good thing considering their scarcity on store shelves.

In an essay called Percolator Love, food writer Michael Ruhlman opines adoringly on his blog, ruhlman.com, about his never-ending affair with the nine-cup General Electric percolator circa 1950. The first belonged to his father. He now buys them secondhand on e-Bay.

Starbucks might be closing 600 U.S. stores this year, but I won't mourn the loss. The truth is, I long for a good cup of morning coffee in the kitchen with my grandmother. I miss the beauty of her humble percolator, its simplicity and its rightful place on the kitchen counter.

Elizabeth Bettendorf can be reached at ebettendorf@hotmail.com.