A Turkish Experience

Latte Woman--beautiful, simple, gracious, cultured, and wonderful--has outdone herself. And I thirst (Note: This is a pun. This is not a weird verb.) to share my recent encounter with Turkish coffee, except I am bogged down by my inability to encompass true emotion in my writing. This experience is not going to get the justice it deserves. I thought about adding 42 exclamation points behind each run-on sentence--then it dawned on me, you readers are smart(er) people, bear my disability in mind as you continue.

I should have had Latte Woman photograph this first. I should have had Dad take notes when I recounted the experience to him. I should have had a film team follow me around town as I tracked down a cezve. I should have reported immediately, when the excitement was in full bloom. I should have enlisted someone with actual writing capability to capture the story. Regrets. Regrets. Regrets. Oh and I should go force my mom to turn down "O Christmas Tree." This song, among others, is rudely interrupting my thought process.

The story starts like this: Once upon a time lattes were in. The story ends like this: Today lattes are out. And I carry on happily ever after.

My coffee bubble has expanded. Most days it is hard to believe forms of coffee exist outside of the French press (at home) and Starbucks (outside the home). The newest delight comes in the form of Turkish coffee. I have the good fortune of being the beneficiary of Latte Woman's worldly-ness. The two of us have five exercising hours together a week; in recent times coffee has been a weightier subject. Since we are unbelievably chatty runner girls we often run too long--leaving no time for coffee, forget afterwards, or have prior obligations following the morning jaunt. One week ago today we finally managed to squeeze in my introductory course in Turkish coffee. She brewed each cup individually and schooled me on the subject while I sat mesmerized in anticipation. New doors were opening all over the place.

Turkish coffee refers more to the method of preparation than the actual coffee itself. Our grounds were purchased at the Persian store nearby, though you can get by with beans processed to the finest powder. The grounds, sugar according to taste, and an espresso cup of water are added to a cezve (Cezve, n. a little bitty metal pot; Latte Woman recommends Teflon.) and boiled briefly. The process requires no stirring to ensure a proper layer of foam forms on the surface. Then the coffee is slowly poured into a cup and savored.

The result is a thick (hot chocolate made with milk) and grainy (South Carolina beaches) consistency, bitter but delectable taste. When the cup bottoms out the fortune-telling begins. The saucer is placed upside down on top of your cup, a wish is made, and then the cup/saucer is held at chest level and flipped towards your heart. As the conversation flows you allow your cup to dry out. The inside reveals your fortune, each and every cup consumed can be read. Latte Woman cannot read cups herself, though she knows a few tricks from her cup-reading mother. And, suddenly, just like that, we have found time for Turkish coffee nearly everyday. During which sessions, we have had a healthy obsession with making up our own good fortunes based on various cup appearances.

This treat is best shared with a friend; it's not something I would want to drink alone. We thankfully have each other, and a wonderful new post-activity tradition.

"Not the coffee, nor the coffeehouse is the longing of the soul. A friend is what the soul longs for, coffee is just the excuse." (Anonymous Poet)