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   A few short paragraphs from "A Gentleman in Moscow" by Amor     
   Towles.  Plenty of references to coffee in the novel, but this     
   one seemed to describe an interesting ritual of the whole     
   process of preparing and waiting for it to brew.   
      
   "1930   
      
   "Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov stirred at half past eight to   
   the sound of rain on the eaves. With a half-opened eye, he   
   pulled back his covers and climbed from bed. He donned his robe   
   and slipped on his slippers. He took up the tin from the   
   bureau, spooned a spoonful of beans into the Apparatus, and   
   began to crank the crank.   
      
   "Even as he turned the little handle round and round, the room   
   remained under the tenuous authority of sleep. As yet   
   unchallenged, somnolence continued to cast its shadow over   
   sights and sensations, over forms and formulations, over what   
   has been said and what must be done, lending each the   
   insubstantiality of its domain. But when the Count opened the   
   small wooden drawer of the grinder, the world and all it   
   contained were transformed by that envy of the alchemists-the   
   aroma of freshly ground coffee.   
      
   "In that instant, darkness was separated from light, the waters   
   from the lands, and the heavens from the earth. The trees bore   
   fruit and the woods rustled with the movement of birds and   
   beasts and all manner of creeping things. While closer at hand,   
   a patient pigeon scuffed its feet on the flashing.   
      
   "Easing the little drawer from the Apparatus, the Count poured   
   its contents into the pot (which he had mindfully primed with   
   water the night before). He lit the burner and shook out the   
   match. As he waited for the coffee to brew, he did thirty   
   squats and thirty stretches and took thirty deep breaths. From   
   the little cupboard in the corner, he took a small pitcher of   
   cream, a pair of English biscuits, and a piece of fruit (today   
   an apple). Then having poured the coffee, he began to enjoy the   
   morning's sensations to their fullest:   
      
   "The crisp tartness of the appleÿ.ÿ.ÿ.   
      
   "The hot bitterness of the coffeeÿ.ÿ.ÿ.   
      
   "The savory sweetness of the biscuit with its hint of spoiled butterÿ.ÿ.ÿ.   
      
   "So perfect was the combination that upon finishing, the Count   
   was tempted to crank the crank, quarter the apple, dole out the   
   biscuits, and enjoy his breakfast all over again.   
      
   "But time and tide wait for no man. So, having poured the   
   remnants of the coffee from its pot, the Count brushed the   
   biscuit crumbs from his plate onto the window ledge for his   
   feathered friend. Then he emptied the little pitcher of cream     
   into a saucer and turned toward the door with the intention of     
   placing it in the hall-and that was when he saw the envelope on     
   the floor.   
      
   --   
     ../|ug   
      
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