Twelve Hours and Worth It

It started because I was tired of spending three dollars on iced coffee every time I ran past the coffee shop on my route. Not resentful-tired, just the kind of tired where you do the math in your head on a Tuesday and think, okay, there has to be another way.

The other way turned out to be a mason jar, coarse-ground coffee, cold water, and the patience to leave it alone overnight. That's it. No machine, no special equipment. I read about it somewhere, the ratio is something like one cup of grounds to four cups of water, stir it once, cover it, refrigerate it for twelve hours minimum. I used cheesecloth to strain it the next morning and felt disproportionately accomplished about that step.

The jar sat on my counter while it steeped and I kept walking past it like I was checking on something important. Which I was, I think. There's something satisfying about a process that just runs on its own while you're doing other things, going for a run, composing sentences you'll half-forget before you get home, making lunch. The cold brew doesn't need you. It's fine without you. It's ready when it's ready.

The setup. Mason jar. Coarse grind. Patience.

I poured it over ice this morning and the first sip was one of those small, uncomplicated good things that you want to write down before it evaporates. Smooth. Not bitter at all. Mine. Summer in a glass.