
My father still makes Turkish coffee in the same pot he acquired more than 30 years ago, working for a quick stint at a Jerusalem cafĂ©. Growing up, I was both proud and fascinated by the fact that he had hitchhiked though Eastern Europe and Africa for a year. From the stories he told, this is what stuck with me: his mom sewed secret pockets in his pants so that he could hide his money and passport while crashing in assorted generous village people’s barns; he carried his Turkish coffee pot all over the world; and I would definitely travel on my own like my dad did.
I was probably in college when it occurred to me that I could make Turkish coffee for myself, and asked him to teach me how. He taught me the way he had been taught in Israel: a ratio of one teaspoon of coffee to one teaspoon of sugar, boiled slowly and taken off the flame three times, to create a thick head of foam. I bought coffee at a Middle Eastern bakery where, as advised by my dad, I asked them to grind the beans up with a handful of green cardamom seeds. The smell that comes out of a paper bag of Turkish coffee will always remind me of winter in Chicago, home from college, backpack on my lap, sitting on the Clark bus.
When I was in my junior year of college, I used the money I had saved from bat mitzvah presents to take a solo trip through Eastern Europe, heading towards Turkey by bus. Turkish coffee was served in small white cups from Montenegro onwards, and people were surprised and delighted that I liked it. When I reached Istanbul I bought myself my own Turkish coffee pot. It was a kind of self-chosen inheritance. Turkish coffee was and still is a symbol to me of my dad’s adventures, and his greatly inspired my own.
My boyfriend Gus’s family is Greek, and he has a similarly emotional connection to Turkish coffee, although the context is completely different. We currently have a three pot collection between us. I think that for both of us, making Turkish coffee is always a little bit special. But you might feel that way too! It’s a really nice ritual.
To make this, you’ll definitely need a few accessories—Turkish coffee pot and Turkish coffee cups. Turkish coffe itself is just coffee really finely ground. Best gotten at a store where they will grind coffee for you, and have fresh cardomom on hand to throw in the grinder with the beans. You can usually find all of this at a Middle Eastern grocery store (including the cups and pots).
The basic idea of Turkish coffee is that you’re putting coffee grounds directly in water and heating the pot over moderate heat, bringing it to a slow boil so that the water absorbs the flavor of the beans. You don’t take the grounds out, so it’s extra strong. That’s why you drink the coffee in small cups.
So. For each small cup of coffee you want to make, put about three ounces of water in the pot (or just fill the cup you’re planning to drink from with water and dump it in the pot). Add one heaping teaspoon of coffee and one teaspoon of sugar for each cup. Stir until the sugar dissolves and the coffee sinks to the bottom of the pot. Then put the pot under medium heat, and don’t stir it anymore. When the water starts boiling, take it off the heat for a second, then put it on the flame again and let it boil up once more. Take it off the flame, then put it on again and let it boil again. Careful that it doesn’t boil over the side of the pot! That happens to me all the time. The reason that you bring it to a boil three times is to create a little foam on the top of the coffee. Divide the coffee and foam into cups, and you’re set. Turkish coffee time.
By the way, there are so many countries that drink Turkish coffee thanks to the Ottoman Empire—and there are a lot of slight variations on how to make it depending on your geo location. If you’re interested in this like I am, you should look on Wikepedia for their nice Turkish coffee vocabulary in many languages.You might also be interested in how to read your fortune in the coffee grounds of your cup. You can find out more by researching tasseography.

Current coffee pot collection