Coffee, as it is made in Texas, has little resemblance to a typical potion of the same elsewhere. I have drunk coffee concocted by many different camp cooks, and it has always been the same bitter dose, and to me only useful when odorless water was unobtainable. The Texan hunter buys his coffee raw and roasts it over his camp-fire until it is perfectly black and every particle of agreeable aroma and flavor has been dissipated, then he puts it in a shot sack and pounds it on the wagon wheel with the heel of his boot until it is sufficiently reduced. Of this charcoal-like powder he puts perhaps a half-pint into a quart of water and boils from fifteen to thirty minutes, supplying the loss by evaporation with more liquid. This he drinks without milk or sugar.
Such a cocoction has a taste that one might expect from a broth made of burnt hair and feathers. But the Texan likes it; he calls it coffee, drinks it for coffee, and satisfies himself that he has really drunk a cup of that delicious beverage.
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