My mother purchased it in New Orleans, sometime between 1955 and 1958, shortly after she and Dad set up housekeeping. She probably got it in some drugstore and paid a couple of dollars for it. They used to be everywhere. I remember seeing a row of them on a hardware store shelf as late as the early ’70s.
It was a constant presence in the kitchen, usually resting in a simmering pan of water on the stove. Early in my childhood — especially during my father’s student days at Tulane — it was kept constantly filled, like a Russian Samovar, brewing strong coffee smoothed out with a touch of chicory. Sometimes, when his frat brothers came over to study, Dad would grate chocolate into the little strainer on top.
By the time I was in middle school, it was used to make the cafe au lait my brothers and sister and I all had for breakfast in front of the fireplace on schooldays. High school, it was there, college when I came home, it was there. Through much of my young adulthood, it would be there, on the counter when we came to visit.
A few years ago, after my father died, Mom sent it to me, each of its parts carefully wrapped. She did not include instructions, and searching the internet was frustrating. I would find pictures of similar pots, most of them badly battered, missing parts, and priced well over a hundred dollars. Many of them were photographed with flowers blooming out of the top. I saw at least one being used as a planter. Nobody seemed to be using them to make coffee.
Finally I broke down and emailed Mom, admitting I needed help.
You heat a shallow pan of water on the stove. You grind the coffee and put it in the attachment, top that with the smaller strainer, then set the pot in the simmering water. You heat more water just to boiling, and very slowly pour it in, stopping once the top section is filled, then allowing it to strain. Every now and then you pour in a little more boiling water.
The idea, back in the fifties, was that either Maman or MeeMaw or the maid would do this while making breakfast, pausing while frying the eggs or bacon to pour in splashes of hot water. It takes about half an hour to get a brewed pot. It’s worth it.
I don’t make coffee with it every day, but I do for special occasions — especially Christmas morning. Maybe I shouldn’t. The enamel on the outside is cracked, and who knows about its integrity inside? But I can’t bear to set it aside and use it as a mere ornament. It seems alive to me.
Pam Troy 