And yet, I smile. That’s what King Ezekiel said in The Walking Dead. Life kept pouring down obstacles upon him, but he kept smiling. I wish I could be like Ezekiel. It’s been a month. First, my tire light came on. Then, I had to drop out of my graduate classes at Penn State (because Penn State has a certain kind of bureaucracy which I shall not risk defaming upon this humble blog for fear of a certain bureaucracy taking issue). Next, the check engine light came on. Now, a tooth needs to be removed (so say the experts), and my insurance is of typical American quality. That is to say, it ain’t good. Positivity isn’t really my jam, so instead of smiling through all of this, I’m simply going to caffeinate and run away. Run with me.
One boon of city life is that coffee can often be found in unexpected places (and also close ones). Such was the case with the local international grocer right down the street. It’s within walking distance. Even so, I didn’t know the place at all. I certainly didn’t realize they had exotic coffee from the Middle East among their wares. To wit: I hadn’t gone in looking for coffee. I was seeking Indian spices, only to find that the store had an Islamic Halal food focus.
The fact remains that the Middle East is the homeland of coffee. Sufi monasteries in Yemen used coffee in the 1400s to help devotees stay awake during grueling religious services. One can imagine that European monks wished they’d had a similar crutch for their beleaguered intellects. As it stands, scholars think that the first coffeehouse in Europe was opened in 1632 in Livorno.
The coffee I got was Egyptian, though the company was apparently founded in Lebanon around 40 years ago. The company was called Cafe Najjar…a word that means ‘carpenter’ in Arabic. I had no idea what to expect. I should have expected it to be broadly similar to Turkish coffee. It very much was. For those who don’t know, Turkish coffee differs from what we experience in the West. However, if you’ve been to the Greek festival here, you’ve probably had it. Turkish coffee is ground very fine, left unfiltered, and placed directly in a tin (called a cezve in Turkey and an ibrik elsewhere) over an open flame. The coffee is mixed with water and sugar in the tin and then drunk straight. A porcelain cup is used by purists.
I must admit that I didn’t do what I was supposed to. I lost my ibrik (yes, I have one). As such, I made this coffee the Western way, in a coffee maker. It was still good, but be warned: This will not taste like the coffee you’re undoubtedly used to. There was an astringent aftertaste to it. That might not be the right word. Rather, I might say there was a strange tang; the flavor was almost sanguine (I know, eww). However, if you don’t include that aftertaste in considering the palette, the overall effect is one of power. It’s high-test coffee, though in a way that reminds me of a strong black tea. Vegetal: That’s the descriptor I was aiming for. Next time, I’ll be making it the proper way. I’m sure that subtracted from the fullness of the flavor.
I need a trip to the mountains. Fortunately, there are plenty. As the weather warms, I (hopefully) plan to head into the Pennsylvania Wilds region. The car just left the shop a few days ago, and I’m looking forward to heading out into the woods and small towns of hilly Appalachia again (after a test drive, of course). I ask only that you pray that my problematic tooth falls out painlessly in the middle of the night. That would save me a lot of money. Until February, stay caffeinated!
the exterior…
liminal…
coffee land…
the brew in question…
The Coffeehouse Journey 