Equal Parts Ketchup and Salt Make Smudged Copper Shiny.

Kaufmann Mercantile spoke with the erudite Mac Kohler, founder of Brooklyn Copper Cookware, the sole manufacturer of copper cookware in the United States, who explained.

KM: There are many formulas for polishing copper, with concoctions including lemon juice and ketchup as well as commercially available polishes. In your opinion and experience, what is the best way to clean copper?

MK: People misunderstand the patina on copper as damage or corrosion, but in fact it is simply the settling of molecules to a more stable order. The Statue of Liberty was initially sprayed with a vinegar solution in order for it to obtain its verdigris (the green pigment). Verdigris actually protects copper—once verdigris sets in, the copper will never corrode.

Natural patinas take years to build up and some chefs have wares that are envy-inducing.

The polishing process actually stirs up the molecules to a state of chaos. The sheen is derived from the prisms of the molecules.

My go-to recipe for polishing copper is equal parts kosher salt and ketchup. Squeeze out a big glob of ketchup and add salt in equal measure. Spread the solution on the copperware and work it with a soft cotton or hemp cloth—not polyester or synthetics, as that will scratch the surface. Buff it out with another natural soft cloth. If you have dark spots on your copper, it is likely a carbon stain from cooking something starchy, like pasta, The water has been taken out of the carbohydrates, creating just carbon, which is black. Carbon and copper bond easily and these spots require a stronger commercial solution. If they don’t come off, they need to be mechanically buffed, essentially breaking off the carbon on the copper surface. I’ve heard of people using a shoe buffer or an orbital sander with a buffing attachment.

Apply. Rub. Buff. Clean.

KM: While we’re talking about it, I was recently gifted a pair of vintage Moscow Mule mugs with the original Cock and Bull restaurant imprint from the 1940s. I’m so excited to use them but I notice they are no longer lined with anything. For example, all Brooklyn Copper Cookware is lined with tin. How important are the linings in copper cookware and is it dangerous if I drink out of my mugs in their current state?  

MK: Copper corrodes when exposed to acid, therefore copper cookware is always lined. You would have to ingest an exorbitant amount of copper for it to be dangerous, but it is better to play it safe and get your mugs relined. However, there is an exception when sugar is involved. The sugar from the ginger beer and simply syrup in a Moscow Mule will impede the copper from leaching into the drink. A good way to test the lining on your mugs or any other cookware is to apply a bit of tomato paste to the section of lining that you are concerned about. If it turns green in the morning, you know that the lining has been breached and your cookware will need to be relined.

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Growler Community Table. Image by Andrew Lamberson.

Beer enthusiasts can be a touchy bunch. The inexorable rise of the microbrewery, and selling craft drafts to discerning drinkers, has spawned an industry of self-styled ‘beer sommeliers’, always quick to point out the rich complexities of the latest brews to anyone who will listen.  They tend towards an air of defensiveness that wine experts shed many vintages ago.

So it’s no surprise that the latest squabble within the beer community has not only come to a head, but threatened to froth over completely and make a mess of the bar.

Growler IPA + Brisket Sandwich. Image by A. Lamberson.

This particular brawl is about growlers, those half-gallon (or more) jugs that can be refilled straight from the local pub or brewery’s tap, sealed and taken home to drink at your leisure, or within two days, whichever comes first.  Old timey, folksy-looking things that come with squeaky-green eco-credentials, the growler is back in a big way.

Like anything that achieves a certain degree of popularity, some folks have lined up to take potshots. The most high-profile growler naysayer is Garrett Oliver, brewmaster at Brooklyn Brewery and an internationally renowned beer expert. In a recent article in Bon Appetit, he shared some strong words:

“Growlers are basically beer destroyers. They’re often unsanitary, and the refilling process mixes in a lot of oxygen–the tiniest amount of oxygen kills beer so quickly. Then, if you walk across the street in full sunlight, with a clear growler, the beer will skunk before you get to your car.”

Fresh from the Tap. image by A. Lamberson.

Oliver’s comments prompted a stream of vituperative responses, some more bitter than a heavyweight IPA. According to one riposte, Oliver’s words are patronizing to beer drinkers who ‘understand the dynamics associated with this form of consumption… and don’t need someone reprimanding them like children.’ Other posters turned the screen blue with bilious volleys aimed squarely at the growler haters, espousing the many virtues of growlers in between hurls.

Before bottles and cans, there were "buckets" of beer. Image from Milwaukee County Historical Society.

If it sounds like a storm in a beer-jug, it kinda is. But it turns out there really aren’t many detractors out there. And in the end, Oliver’s criticism doesn’t stand up to scrutiny. An unusual, cool-looking artifact from which you can drink beer suggests resourcefulness and austerity, connecting the present to an age before mass production. The retro-appeal, and the environmental aspect of a growler is also absolutely vital to the growler’s renewed status. The green glow of satisfaction you get from refilling your cask week after week beats hands-down the pang of guilt you feel when you’ve crushed and disposed of the fifth can of the night, dispatching it to the nearest landfill within days.

When the growler was born, beer bottles and cans simply didn’t exist. Instead, the local bartender would fill pails or buckets with around a quart of beer for regulars to take home. The etymology is unclear, but some sources suggest it was the conflict between the thirsty customer looking for a full can of ale, and the penny-pinching barman trying to fob them off with too much head, that lead to the name ‘growler’. Others say the name comes from the growling stomachs of factory workers, sated only by the bucket of beer provided (if they were lucky) by their employers.

Wherever the name comes from, the growler represents an economic exchange that was firmly out-of-fashion during the wasteful, disposable 20th Century. It harkens back to an age when people manufactured, sold and bought everything within their local community, a time when consumers and producers were face-to-face, accountability transparent. So if you want to know where your beer comes from, just visit your local brewery. Take your growler, treat it right, and you may never buy a six-pack again.

Dangerous Man Brewing Co. in Minneapolis. Image courtesy of Jeffrey Thompson.

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Image courtesy of History of the Heart.

I turned to Chad Lemke, stapler enthusiast and collector, to learn about the rich history and design quirks of paper staplers. Although he eschews the word “expert,” since 2007, Lemke has maintained Stapler of the Week, a site that “examines the memories and histories associated with” a single stapler from his collection each week. The site has been on hiatus for the past year, since as Lemke says “my one-year-old gets most of my waking attention these days,” but, as a childhood collector or erasers, I was delighted that he sat down with me via email to share a little of the vast world of staplers.

Swingline 77B (without and with base) steel and plastic chrome finish. Image by Chad Lemke.

What makes a great stapler? Can you walk me through the mechanics of it?

I think the test of any great object is if anyone will care about it beyond its initial owner. It has to be functional yet easy and pleasant to use or have a unique design or decorative scheme. If an object fails to meet these criteria, no one will save it and the manufacturer will more than likely discontinue its production. For my taste, a stapler has to have weight, presence and personality. Many of my favorite staplers evoke comparisons to other things such as animals or machines, without being actual representations of those objects.

The Pacemaker, offering Free Service. Image courtesy of Stapler of the Week.

The mechanics of a stapler are quite simple and can be broken down into three stages. The stapler user (1) depresses the plunger which (2) drives the staple through the paper before it stops at the anvil plate (3) cinching the staple closed. The only thing that has changed is the complexity and ease in which stage one is completed. A great stapler carries out this process with fluidity and concludes with a satisfying sound of the closing staple.

Parrot Speed Fastener Corp 'BABE' chrome finish with corrosion. Image by Chad Lemke.

Tell me about one or two of your favorite staplers.

I love a good plier stapler. Plier staplers are the mobile stapler. The Neva Clog J-series of plier staplers are really the strongest area of my collection. The Neva Clog J-series is a group of handheld plier staplers for office use. They are so named because one squeezes together the handles of the stapler like one does while using  pliers. I certainly don’t need any more, yet I continue to find more to add. Of all of them, my favorite has to be my first, which was a gift from my father-in-law. On the side it has the usual engraved Neva Clog insignia of a lowercase “n” and “c” joined at the middle with a staple but also an additional detail of a staple joining two sheets of paper. It’s only a few lines and besides being decorative, it instantly describes the stapler’s function.

Vintage Neva Clog Stapler. Image by Chad Lemke.

How has stapler design changed over time? Were there specific changes in design or materials that ended up having a lasting impact?

Stapler design has followed staple design and for over a hundred years the wire staple has been king. The first staplers were single load machines. Single load staplers are the muzzleloaders of the stapler world.  Each staple is hand loaded for each use. The competition for a leading magazine stapler came down to three designs: the wire staple, the strip staple, and the wire spool feed staple. The wire staple we know today is held together with adhesive and can be easily separated. The strip staple is stamped and formed out of a flat piece of metal and must be severed from the strip in the stapling process. Many strip staplers have a rubber pad on top of the plunger and were made of cast iron due to the force needed to separate the staple from the strip. The wire spool feed stapler cuts and forms the staples from a spool of brass or steel wire. As one can imagine, the process of manufacturing the staple from wire in the stapler is a bit more complex and requires a bigger machine.

Many stapler patents of then time were innovations to prevent or clear staple jams. In the end, wire staples won out for ease of manufacture and better performance. Most stapler manufacturers adopted the wire staple and over time a standard size staple came to be used. In many ways, this is the point in stapler history where the internal mechanics of the stapler become less visible and the appearance or shell of the stapler becomes the selling point. Staplers with nicknames and sleek designs took over the office market, whereas industrial stapler design tended to remain utility focused. Sadly with a few exceptions, the office market has followed the industrial markets lead and most staplers resemble the drab plastic hand-me-down stapler that sparked my obsession with good stapler design.

What are some notable design features of staplers that have popped up over time?

Beyond the aforementioned innovations in staple design, most additions to stapler design have been cosmetic. Most stapler companies found a way to work a built-in staple remover or staple compartment into a model or package a stapler together with a tape dispenser or sharpener. To my eye, these efforts come off as gimmicky. The best stapler design stays true to its purpose.

Read more about Chad’s musings on stapler models here.

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Marion Baur is the owner and chief weaver at Flax Mill in Derrylane, Ireland. She’s been weaving Irish linen for over two decades, and has watched the industry transform.

A brief background: Irish linen production started in the 17th century, when the Irish textile industry became the sole economic trade in many parts of Ireland. In the 18th century, every town or village in Northern Ireland had a mill or factory for making Irish Linen. But by the end of the 20th century, the industry had shrunk to ten companies, and there are only 8 mills left today.

Over email, Marion helped me wrap my head around it.

Marion Baur weaves Irish Linen at her loom at the Flax Mill. Image by flaxmill-textiles.com

KM: First off, what is “Irish” Linen?

MB: The old definition used to be that in order to call a fabric Irish Linen it had to be at least woven and finished in Ireland. In recent years they have tried to change that and water it down to “at least finished here…” I don’t accept that at all. Any fabric which is of woven nature should be called after the country it is woven in, I would never call linen which is woven in China and then bleached and dyed here Irish linen. But that is done often now.

An Irish Linen Guild Campaign, 1954. Image courtesy of the Irish Linen Guild.

KM: What about the production? Compared to other linens, it has such a unique texture.

MB: The climate [in Ireland] suits the production of linen, from growing flax, the raw material, to spinning the yarn and especially the weaving of linen, which favors high air humidity. The experience of making linen direct in Ireland is huge, too. I have learned more from “old hands” at linen making than any book in the world could teach you. The designs – especially the colors we use – are influenced by the beautiful landscape. Try to dye a fabric in the color of heather, to give just one example: Nobody in the world will get it as close and as nice to the real thing as the Irish who have 60% of the country covered with bogs where the heather is the main plant. Last, the unique quality of water we use for washing the yarn, the woven fabric, for dyeing, etc. The water here is softer than anywhere in Europe and as a lot of it comes out of the bogs, has certain ingredients which the linen favors.

Our own mill also produces a small proportion of the  linen from our own raw material, we grow the flax and get it spun here. That – a real rarity now- type of cloth is probably one of the most sought after items on these islands now.

Mechanical Linen Loom. Image courtesy of Alice Bernardo.

KM: How did you get started with Irish linen? Was it in the family?

MB: There is an old textile tradition in my family, my father’s father and so on, but I don’t want to “thrive” on that.

I was trained in Germany where I was born and – I suppose like any trainee-weaver in the world – learned about the huge industry and the very high quality of the Irish fabric.  The mill I was trained in and worked for in Germany produced cotton, wool and synthetic fabrics but no linen, which, I suppose, increased my curiosity. Twenty-four years ago I bought Flax Mill here in county Derry and have been making linen since. I am very fond of the fabric, it’s different from anything else I’ve woven, hard to weave though.

Image by Alice Bernardo.

KM: Why is linen so hard to weave?

MB: Being a bast-fibre it hasn’t got the flexibility of wool or the softness of cotton. It’s stubborn, needs exactly the right air-humidity and temperature (not warm in the weaving shed), a very high tension on the warp. When weaving wool you get away with changing humidity etc., linen won’t let you make any mistake at all.

Irish Linen Guild Advertisement, 1957. Image courtesy of the Irish Linen Guild.

KM: What kind of training did you receive to become a genuine Irish linen producer?

MB: Like any other trade you have to do apprenticeship – normally three years – after which you can do specialised further training like for damasque weaving etc. Some people do textile science at university as opposed to apprenticeship. I find they often lack practical experience. I have trained several weavers here at the mill in recent years.

Once you finish apprenticeship or uni-course you may be qualified, but to really master the trade I would say you need at least another 5 or so years of practical work. I have been weaving for over two decades now and still would not class myself as perfect or at the end of learning.

KM: You’ve been weaving a long time now. How have you seen the Irish linen industry change over the years?

MB: Like many other good textiles, the industry has lost a lot of its ground to the cheap and nasty stuff, often made under terrible conditions for the textile workers. Especially cheap cotton from India and recently China has done a lot of damage, and our government’s done nothing to help or protect the linen industry.

But I’m involved in linen weaving because weaving is my livelihood and living in Ireland, linen is one of the main products here for a weaver – despite all the problems the now-small industry has. The industry is small compared to the past. But we are alive and kicking. The growing trend towards using healthier and longer lasting textiles suits linen well, it is the strongest and most lasting, and the healthiest (zero static loading) fabric we can make.

Irish Linen Loom, in action. Image courtesy of KathleenCurtisWIlson.com

KM: Are there efforts being made to bring the industry back?

MB: There are no real efforts made by the authorities to bring it back in a bigger way. But the days of linen being known as little white table runners with bits of lace and embroidered shamrocks on them are long over. We make shirting, suiting, very trendy table-ware, upholstery fabrics….the lot.  Being “written off” by the powers to be has not just done harm. It has also made us more stubborn and determined to keep what’s left. A hard craft to keep going it is – those of us who are still at it have taken on that challenge.

I suppose, if you produce decent quality for a long time, people will want your product.

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Bacon-wrapped rabbit, the bounty of the hunt.

The cool breeze snuck in through the old fly screen window and broke my deep slumber. It had been a very hot few days here in Australia. Sometime in the night a cool change had come in from the south, and it was very much welcome. It’s been a hot summer, dry too with a handful of local bush fires and dangerously fast grassfires. Thankfully the old school house has got away unscathed with most of the fires being far away enough not to be a concern. But it is a sign that things are dry. 

I rubbed my eyes, sat up in bed and convinced myself to go for a walk. Out here there is plenty of walking space. It’s country. I can walk uninterrupted without seeing another person for hours if I choose. As soon as the track turns from bitumen to gravel then enters the bush it’s No Man’s Land. Just me and the beasts. A far cry from my days living in the city, where there is no option but to bump into people, and it’s so packed this is often literal. Out here I can really sink my teeth into the serenity.

Lately I’ve been taking a rifle on the morning walks as I figure that I may as well bag a few furred beasts for the pot while I’m walking. The rabbits being an introduced pest from Europe have learned that the Australian summers are far too hot to hang out in during the daytime, so they’re active from dusk to dawn. This suits me well as it’s the time when I’m more available to hunt them. My days are often spent working on the garden or doing odd jobs. Daylight is precious as we don’t have street lights or outdoor illumination other than the moon and the stars.

I slung the rifle over my shoulder, fastened a belt of ammunition and with a pat of the dog I was off. The cool air was such a blessing, all yesterday I’d been hot and bothered, I’m often as cranky as a meat axe on the hot days, so being up at dawn in cool weather made me a pretty happy bloke. The first thing I listen for when I start my walk is the noises of the real world, the birds, the stock, the breeze through the grass and leaves and the unavoidable sound of summer insects starting their day or just finishing their evening. It reminds me of living in the city where I’d see late night revelers coming home just as I was heading off to work in the morning. It’s the same thing here, only it’s birds insects and beasts coming home from their late night party.

There are some mean old sounds some birds make, like the shrill call of the black shouldered kite. It’s eerie and devilish at the same time, the prehistoric call of the Black Cockatoo, the sweet tweets from the fairy wrens….I could go on. Suffice to say that it’s the best way to start the day, listening to all the beauty that is our natural world. Makes me sad to think that the lifestyle of the western population has a detrimental impact on this beautiful world with our unquenchable appetite for natural resources. But enough of my discontent with the modern world, this morning was going to be all about a hunt.

Bagging Rabbits

I headed down towards old Bill’s place, a farm consisting mostly of grain and potato with the odd paddock of spring lambs, feeding on the lush grass of summer not far off from going to market. The rabbits tend to stay where they are protected by cover, anything that provides them shelter from birds of prey, feral cats and red foxes. The wild blackberry that provides us with abundant fruit in late summer is a common hide out for skittish bunnies and on this morning it was the blackberry bushes that hug the fence line of Bill’s paddocks that provided me with my first shot.

A new season rabbit, not large in size but perfect for the plate. The older rabbits, especially the males, are often a harder to cook with, a bit chewy really! The young bunnies however, cook to perfection. Though the meat is of wild origins it cooks superbly if cooked gently enough. And this is what I had in mind for dinner, a young rabbit marinated in pimenton, fresh thyme, sage and garlic, wrapped in fine bacon and slow cooked in the hooded BBQ. It’s my favorite summer recipe for rabbit.

I bagged a two rabbits early in the piece and decided to leave them in the grass save me carrying them all morning, as I planned to trace my foot steps back home and I could pick them up later. I walked down the hill of the paddock, bagged one more then, then another, until I was carrying 4. This was more than I needed so I convinced myself that this had been a good walk, a good hunt, nature had been kind to me and it was time to turn around and head home for a hearty breakfast. I followed my track back to the spot I’d shot the first few rabbits to retrieve them, but also some cheeky foe had nicked one. This has happened a few times, you’d think I would have learnt by now. Last time it was an owl that swooped down and took my rabbit dinner, this time it was a fox. Well as frustrated as I was I only had myself to blame. It was a stark reminder that as nature will give, she will also take.

I collected the sole remaining rabbit added it to the bunch and tramped off home. Tonight there would be rabbit on the table, full bellies and happy hearts.

All images were taken by Rohan Anderson. Find him at www.wholelarderlove.com

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Folding a pocket square with two points

Jay Arem and business partner Jack Fischman founded their men’s accessory line, the Knottery, over a shared love of telling jokes and menswear. Their designs include ties, belts, and that oldie-but goodie: pocket squares. “When I was wearing a pocket square eight years ago, my friends would look at me like I was crazy,” Arem said. The pocket square, developed originally as a handkerchief during Grecian times, “isn’t functional. I mean, I wasn’t wiping a woman’s tears with it.” He paused. “Not that I go around making women cry.”

But, Arem notes, it’s all about details, and that’s where the pocket square comes in. Disposable tissues may have replaced cloth handkerchiefs for everyday use, but “We’re in a post-Casual Friday world. We have a culture of being fit and healthy, and the next logical jump is to start caring about the way you look, too.”

Patrick Ryan and Miriam Zelinsky started Lazy Jack Press to bring a bit more personality into menswear. “Pocket squares for us are a nice complement to the ties, because some people just don’t wear ties ever,” said Ryan. “For a regular guy, a pocket square is a place where you can express yourself in lieu of a tie.”

Pocket squares are for women, too. “I wore one of our pocket squares for a trade show we did last week,” said Zelinsky. “It looked really jaunty, and just as good as it would on a guy.” Her partner agreed. “I think it looked good,” said Ryan. “I think she should do it more.”

Choosing Fabric

The texture of the fabric is every bit as important as the color and pattern. The polished gleam of printed silk, for example, makes it an excellent choice for formal occasions, and its smooth hand also makes it perfect for some of the jauntier, more casual folds. ”I change it up, depending on my aesthetic,” said Aren. “A silk paisley one if I’m feeling dressy, or for work I’ll wear a linen handkerchief. I personally own over 50 pocket squares.”

The crisp lines of cotton and linen make tidy businesslike folds look clean and well put together. Linen’s coarser texture is nicely shown off against a blazer with a smooth fabric.

“It really depends on the rest of the outfit,” said Ryan. “You know, mixing of texture is a huge thing right now. If you’re wearing a knit wool tie, you can play with texture along with your pocket square. You might wear a pocket square of a lighter silk and that’s a nice balance.”

“My personal preference is a cotton pocket square,” said Arem. “If it’s plain, it’s a simple way to match it up. It can also be fun to get something a little more seasonal, like linen for summer or wool for winter.”

You're well off to choose a pocket square that matches the color of your jacket and the season

Choosing color and print

“The gateway drug of pocket squares is the white pocket square,” said Arem. “It goes with anything, it’s easy to wear.” Wearing a pocket square without a tie is a casual way to start, since when you add a tie matching becomes a bit more complicated. But it’s not so hard as it seems, said Aren. “Don’t worry about it so much. Just try to keep the color families the same.”

A pocket square should complement the tie, added Ryan. “It should pick up a color that’s in your tie and also bring in maybe another color or another texture. Let’s say you’re wearing a woven cloth tie with a navy ground and gold crests. You could wear a gold pocket square that has some sort of subtle print on it.” Using the pocket square to bring out the detail of your blazer is also a good strategy. “I’m wearing a blazer right now with gold buttons, and our pocket square which has gold undertones,” said Ryan.

When in doubt, a neutral color like gray, cream, or classic white are always a good choice for a clean and businesslike look. One last note: keep in mind that a rolled hem gives a classier look than a folded one.

Folding the pocket square

How you fold your pocket square is up to you. Experiment until you find a signature style, like Patrick Ryan. “The way I like to wear a pocket square, it looks sort of like a beluga whale and a tail, with the tail being the end of the pocket square.” Here are a few basic folds to get you started.

The Flat (or Straight) Fold

Despite its simplicity, this sharp fold means serious business and understated sophistication.

Fold your pocket square so it’s the exact width of your breast pocket (rather than just in quarters), then fold up the bottom so the total height is no more than 1/2″ longer than the pocket. Tuck it into your pocket so just a sliver is showing.

Pointed Folds

Neatness and crisp lines are the hallmark of this group of folds, which are best suited to cotton or linen pocket squares. Keep in mind that the more points you add, the more formal the look. One- and two-point folds look smart for business occasions, whereas crisp three- and four-point folds up your outfit’s level of sophistication.

The One-Point Fold

Fold your pocket square down to about a 4 1/2″ square. Fold that square into a triangle, then fold the acute-angle ends in so it’s the width of your breast pocket.

The Two-Point Fold

Similar to above, fold your pocket square down to about a 4 1/2″ square. Now turn it 45 degrees so that it looks like a diamond with the folded edge on the lower right, then shift the layers so the points at top are offset by about 1/2″. Fold in the other three points so it fits in your pocket.

How to fold a one point pocket square

The Three-Point Fold

Fold your pocket square into a triangle, then fold both side points up and over to make a tulip-like design. Fold up the bottom behind your design, then tuck it into your pocket. To make the Four-Point Fold, simply offset the two upper points in the first step.

Puff and Reverse Puff Folds

Both the Puff and the Reverse Puff folds produce a softer, more pillow-like structure that shows off luminous printed silk pocket squares perfectly.

The Puff says you’re well-dressed, but relaxed. To create it, simply grasp your pocket square by the middle, letting the points hang down. Pinch it off about halfway down, and fold up the hanging points so it fits in your pocket. Adjust the puff as desired.

The Reverse Puff is the exact same, but instead of the center of the pocket square peeking out, insert it upside down so the hanging points peek out of your pocket like petals.

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Alternative Plastic Bag Recycling. Image by Jim Olive. US National Archives. Fort Smith, 1972

They came in huge reams and were shipped in cardboard boxes—a very similar material to the then-reigning bag of the day: the stout, sturdy ones made of brown paper. The new shimmering bags were a hit. But the old champs held on: crisp, serrated along the opening, just dying to be brought home with a carton of OJ and the hopes of being reincarnated as a school book cover.

The instructions were simple: “Say ‘paper or plastic.’” To everyone. Every man, woman, and child donning big late 70s hair and bad combinations of plaid. It’s almost existential when viewed societally. As if a coming conundrum were quietly seeping into everyday life.

Image by Plastics Today

It’s one we face today, spurred on by growing commerce, capitalism, shipping, and the single use commodity market that has developed over the last decades. 2012 has come and gone, and despite the second Back to the Future movie we don’t have hoverboards, to say the least of flying cars. Just the same, its hard to imagine clerks and shoppers back in ’77 considering some of the numbers, phrases and facts that have become commonplace.

In 2013, several US cities have banned plastic bags. On the other side, there’s the Save the Plastic Bag Coalition, highlighting the dangers of replacing plastic with paper. But fretting seriously over the question of paper vs. plastic is much like fighting about which side of your bread to put the butter on. Paper bags are environmentally taxing on the front end, requiring absurd amounts of natural resources (such as the water to paper pulp ratio of 400 gallons to 1). Plastic bags are more taxing on the back end, causing widespread, lasting litter, especially in the sea. They’re even found in the stomachs of cows in Ethiopia.

When the paper bag was introduced by Francis Wolle in 1852, there was no such thing as a supermarket. By the time the plastic bag showed up, large scale stores were common, and small stores were on the decline. Now it seems we’re reaching back to both, at least in part, as farmer’s markets grow in number and big stores are the way of the land. We’ve managed to come around to the notion of a sturdier, more capable bag – like a canvas one – the type that was used before there was ever a question of paper or plastic. We’ve affixed the word “reusable” to it, as if it’s a new idea.

These reusable carryalls are made of canvas, cotton, denim, and nylon. They’re less convenient in terms of not being in the store waiting for us, but they hold more, are handsome, and more comfortable to carry. And though they’re not environmentally unblemished, they are a far more sustainable solution than what we’ve been using for decades. In the end, some of the things we carry change, and some stay the same. It’s the way we carry them that seems to say the most.

Image by Habitat News

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Oil Painting by Michael Naples. michaelnaples.blogspot.com

Virtually indestructible, and heavy in the hand, these mugs were first created by Victor Insulators, Inc. in Victor, NY – and almost immediately deployed for the military in WWII. In a 1946 wartime story, “A Story of Victor,” it’s written: “The war gave impetus to the development of the chinaware business. Orders for great quantities of rugged cups and bowls built to military specifications have been and are being delivered to the Army and Navy.”

The thick walled mugs made of porcelain kept coffee hot, and the squat base with rough bottom (due to “dry footing”) helped it sit still on a leaning table, very popular with the Navy. The mugs being “dry footed” meant the foot was wiped on a wet rubber mat. This prevented the mug from sticking to the kiln shelf when the glaze melted. They were then fired in a tunnel kiln at 2250°F, which cured both porcelain and glaze. The Victor mug emerged 72 hours later.

The handles were applied by hand, by a team of ladies before the mug was glazed and fired. Early iterations had no handles and were dubbed “watch cups” as could be cradled to keep hands warm while the user sipped his coffee “on watch.”

Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks," 1942.

Victor Insulators, Inc. made several other versions of the mug, the most common being with a green stripe across the top, painted by-hand in the factory. Again these were widely used in diners across the east coast.

There were two sizes, the more common six ounces or a larger 7 ½ ounce version. The 6 oz. Victor mugs weigh about a pound.  There is some discussion of mugs being stamped with VICTOR on the bottom with a serified font, prompting them to be thought of as fake. Your humble researcher cannot find a trade article to confirm the point but enlightened enthusiast Jay Kravitz of victormug.com firmly believes this to be the case. You will also find a sans serif VICTOR stamp, and in the 1990s “USA” was added to the stamp to protect against imposters – but the cheaper, lighter imports eventually led Victor Insulators, Inc. to discontinue the sideline and concentrate on their core business.

Image by Duston Todd

Myself, I find the shape vaguely reminiscent of a porcelain electrical insulator; think of those used to create an electric fence. Apart from the shape, it is informative to think of American traditions and culture around the serving of coffee; the fancier the restaurant, the later it serves the coffee – in diners a mug is filled as soon as you are seated. Suits me…

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The Pour Over Method. Image by Cafe Volan.

Prescott’s “tasting squad” sampled, over the next several years, coffee brewed under all kinds of café-like conditions. Coffee was boiled, dripped, and filtered. Water of varying hardnesses was heated at different temperatures. Aluminum, copper, nickel, tin plate, and glass pots were all tested. Prescott (now known about the Cambridge campus as “coffee-maker without peer”) finally concluded, “the ideal cup of coffee should be made in glass or stone, with coffee freshly ground, and water a few degrees below boiling. Never boil, and never reuse the grounds.”

Since the 1930s, an endless stream of manufacturers of coffeemakers have followed up on Professor Prescott’s clinical trials, utilizing the M.I.T. tasting squad’s two key variables in a coffeemaker’s performance: the water temperature and the brew process. The optimal temperature for coffee brewing is 200 degrees Fahrenheit. (Your brew will be under-extracted if the temperature’s lower, over-extracted when higher.) All kinds of coffeemakers will vie for your attention at your local Coffee Mall – French Press, Automatic Drips, Percolators, Napolitanos, Espresso Makers, and even Vacuum Pots- but when it comes to the control of flavor and aroma, any card-carrying coffee nerd will tell you flat out that manual coffeemakers (a.k.a. pour-over coffeemakers) provide the tastiest, most magical, and permanently memorable brew. And among the pour-overs, hands down, the shapely Drip Cone Style reigns supreme.

Image by Trent Engel

The Drip Cone’s simplicity constitutes both its efficiency and its beauty. (Especially when you compare the Drip Cone to its infamous competitor, the Flat Basket.) You place your Drip Cone – containing a filter – smack on top of your favorite mug or carafe. Next, you pour your water (at its perfect temperature) over the coffee grounds, manually regulating the flow, and creating optimal turbulence thanks to the cone’s elegant design. Since all the water is angled toward a common point, the oils and flavor are extracted more evenly than in a flat basket. You have superior drainage, one-cup-at-a-time freshness, and superb distillation.

Finally, you will want to be aware of the comparative qualities of the two most popular filters available for Drip Cones. Gold filters – composed of a fine-hued screen – allow the purest oils to gratify your taste buds. Coffee veteranos will note the gold filter’s richer taste. The downside is tiny bits of the ground can penetrate the mesh as well. While paper filters might raise eyebrows among gold filter snobs, the taste is hailed as smoother. Plus, there’s nothing to clean.

Image by Kinfolk

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