My morning coffee or How I java these days


Needless to say, all the ingredients must be high quality for this this perfectionist and gourmet princess and as pure as possible, without GMOs, pesticides, antibiotics, or unsound additives of any kind.


Today, I'll make me a latte variation of what the whole known world calls Turkish coffee with the exception of my Greek friends who tend to name it Greek coffee for some barely fathomable reason.



    From the fridge come the bags or cans of coffee, 100% pure (dark) chocolate processed without heat, and milk (using lactose-free these days), and from other secret hiding places the cinnamon and honey.  (Apart from eating fruit, I rarely use any sugars but honeys straight from honest beekeepers.)

    I prefer strong and smooth beans, possibly almond flavored but I haven't seen those in quite some time.  Strong though I like my mud, I sometimes mix it with a bit of decaf to lower the dosage of caffeine, especially when it's the second or third mug of da day.

    Now, the finely and preferably freshly ground beans with a bit of honey enter the cold water in the džezva (or ibrik, cezve, xhezve, or μπρίκι [bríki]) though a pot or a ewer will do.  The sugars from the honey thicken the mixture and raise the boiling point.

    Also a bit of chocolate finds its way into the džezva now.

    Then I politely ask the stove (in the absence of the preferred wood fire) to bring the cold mixture to boil, let it boil for some seconds (not minutes) and enjoy watching the foam rise and smelling the fragrance.  Now, the stove must be able to maintain constant temperature, which some of the modern electric ones seem uncapable of, thank you very much.

    Finally, I pour it in a cup or a bowl or a glass, where I already have warm milk with a little more heat-sensitive honey mixed in.  On top of all that a dash of hot, foamy milk won't do any serious damage and the two foams blend prettily.  Sprinkled cinnamon goes on top and, accompanied by smoldering baccy, a while of hard-earned morning peace ensues.

    The process might have started in a seemingly sleepy bleary blur but ends in clarity.  And as a useful bonus, a timeless moment of tasseographic meditation is not entirely out of the question.

    I sip the brew and listen to the birds sing and watch a beautiful bluebird make a stopover in my garden.  Amazingly, it's not raining this morning in Oregon.  But there are days (make it months in Oregon) when it is and days when I, careful not to catch my eye in the mirror, drink Nescafe.