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WIRED
4 days ago
- General
- WIRED
Never Drink Alone: A Guide to Turkish Coffee
Not quite espresso and not quite drip, Turkish coffee is more than a morning pick-me-up. It's a social activity rooted in cultural tradition. Courtesy of Denmex; Elite; Kurukahveci Mehmet Efendi All products featured on WIRED are independently selected by our editors. However, we may receive compensation from retailers and/or from purchases of products through these links. Out of all caffeinated rituals, Turkish coffee takes the (coffee) cake. That's because, according to some experts, Turkish coffee isn't a type of coffee—it's a cooking method. Commonly seen across Middle Eastern cultures, the beverage looks and acts similar to espresso, served in a small cup and tasting very rich yet very different. Turkish coffee is made with coffee ground finer than espresso (the ideal Turkish coffee grind has a flourlike consistency) and a brewing process that involves boiling three times. It's an unfiltered drink, so the coffee grounds eventually settle to the bottom of the cup. The grounds make for a thick drink, but they also play an important role in the auspicious ritual of fortune telling, a practice that ultimately inspired my love for the brew. My introduction to Turkish coffee was with my sister's Iranian family (we have different fathers. Her father, Ali, is from Iran). Upon visiting them to celebrate the Persian New Year, my sister's aunt made Turkish coffee after dinner one evening and a family friend proceeded to 'read' the coffee grounds and tell us our fortunes (I dive into the specifics of this process more below). While I cannot adhere to the validity of fortune telling, I will say that the family friend predicted I'd have a son. That was over 10 years ago. At the end of 2024, I gave birth to my first child, a healthy baby boy. But you don't have to get your fortune told to enjoy Turkish coffee. You also don't have to search too far and wide across the coffee forums to find strong opinions about the strong coffee and how it should be made. This was possibly my biggest setback in research, as there are those who suggest beginning the brew with hot water, while others suggest cold water. Some suggest sugar, others without. Some suggest high heat, others low. You might have even seen Turkish coffee being prepared in sand. (The owner at my local Palestinian deli tells me that this is mostly a tourist gimmick.) So, to the coffee nerds, the anal and the meticulous, if you're hoping for a 'right' way to make Turkish coffee, I hate to disappoint you. Those who make Turkish coffee in their home regularly measure and brew with their heart, and each household has a similar but almost always slightly different method. It's your preferences that will ultimately guide the ins and outs of your brewing. Table of Contents Turkish coffee is often served in a cup that's usually no more than 2 ounces. It might look similar to espresso, but while espresso is brewed under high pressure, Turkish coffee is brewed by boiling finely ground (even more fine of a grind than espresso) coffee in a cezve . A cezve (referred to as an ibrik in other countries like Palestine) is a small pot with a long handle, usually holding around 10 to 15 ounces and made out of copper. Generally, Turkish coffee is boiled in the cezve in three parts. After each boil, a small amount is poured into the coffee cup. The cezve is returned to the stove after each pour until you've filled your cups. The process of boiling the coffee multiple creates a thick and frothy coffee that is very strong and very aromatic. Ideally, Turkish coffee is ground with a traditional Turkish coffee grinder like this. Because Turkish coffee is ground to a fineness that most commercial coffee grinders cannot achieve, your best bet is to buy it pre-ground (I've suggested a few brands below). I almost considered using my Sana Grain Mill (8/10, WIRED Recommends) to see if I could achieve the grind, but didn't want to risk the coffee flavor in my homemade flour. Traditionally, finely ground Turkish coffee is mixed with water in a cezve, along with some sugar, depending on your preferences. You'll bring the coffee to a boil on low/medium heat over an open flame, usually in three parts. The first boil will develop a foam (think crema, as seen in other coffee drinks). This foam is essential to Turkish coffee, as the drink's frothy thickness makes it stand out from others. Some recipes suggest using a spoon to scoop the initial foam into your prepared cups. Otherwise, you'll use the cezve to pour it into your prepared coffee cups a little at a time. Put the cezve back on the stove to boil and repeat this process twice more until you've filled your coffee cups to the rim. As I mentioned earlier, it's important to note that, unlike other coffee styles in which technicality is prioritized with scales and thermometers, you'll see neither of these aspects come into play when making Turkish coffee. With roots that date back to the 16th century in the Ottoman Empire, Turkish coffee is a drink integrated into and born of a culture. So, think of Turkish coffee like your grandma's cooking—a recipe acts as a guide, but it is ultimately a process that is led with the heart. You may not place much stock in auspicious practices, and I don't blame you. But in case you're curious, there are traditions to be respected. The fortune-telling process begins once you've finished your drink. You'll place your coffee cup upside down on its saucer. The grounds will drip and scatter, and this is what the fortune teller will analyze to determine your fortune. Kurukahveci Mehmet Efendi Just as my family friend read my coffee grounds on that fateful day 10 years ago, the practice of fortune telling through Turkish coffee should be done by someone who is experienced in the craft. It is strongly suggested that you do not try to read your own fortune. This act of fortune telling also establishes something important when it comes to Turkish coffee: It's a social activity—something meant to be enjoyed with company. It's not a science. A great example of this is my local Palestinian deli using hot water to make its Turkish coffee. Beginning with hot water may go against what some coffee aficionados recommend (beginning with cold water is usually ideal for any brewing process to achieve optimal flavor and extraction), but many places selling Turkish coffee do this to speed up the process and serve their customers more quickly. When making the recipe below, don't focus on being too technical. Yields 2 2-ounce cups of Turkish coffee 1 cezve 2 small (2 oz.) coffee cups 2 heaping Tbsp Turkish coffee 6 ounces water 1 tsp sugar (optional) Combine Turkish coffee, sugar, and water in your cezve. Stir until combined. Put cezve over a low/medium gas stove flame and slowly bring to a boil over a couple of minutes (if it boils too fast, it's harder to develop the initial foam). Once boiling to the top, quickly take the cezve off the stove and pour a small amount into your prepared cups (about half an ounce). Return the cezve to the open flame and bring to a boil. Repeat steps 3 to 4 twice more until you've filled your cups to the brim. Serve immediately. You can prepare Turkish coffee over a non-gas stove, although it will take longer When I say heaping, I mean heaping ! Don't be afraid to indulge. ! Don't be afraid to indulge. My local Palestinian deli grinds cardamom into its coffee. It takes the flavor to the next level.
The National
4 days ago
- Lifestyle
- The National
Falling for the abaya - an unexpected love story
This week marks one year since I moved to the UAE, undoubtedly one of the best decisions I've made for myself and my family. I love being here for many reasons, as an Arab much of the traditional life here feels familiar. But one thing I didn't see coming was my growing love affair with the abaya. Historians trace the abaya's roots back thousands of years to ancient Mesopotamia. Some historians believe it entered Saudi Arabia some 80 years ago via travellers from Iraq and Iran. Nomadic desert communities quickly embraced it, favouring its simplicity and practicality. Eventually, Bedouins brought it to urban centres, and it evolved into what we now recognise as a cornerstone of Gulf identity – part cultural symbol, part religious tradition. Growing up in London, the abaya was never part of my wardrobe. There was simply no need for it, no cultural space where it felt relevant. But here, it's found a way to be woven into my wardrobe. It's not that the abaya was foreign to me. My bibi, my Iraqi grandmother, would wear it outdoors everywhere she went. On my mother's side in Syria, I saw the abaya take on a different kind of meaning. Visitors from the Gulf brought it with them to my mother's hometown in Zabadani, a scenic mountain escape that became popular among travellers. These guests often returned year after year, forming deep friendships with local families and over time, gifting abayas to the women they grew close to. During multiple summers in Zabadani, I would admire the garment worn by the visitors and soon enough adopted by many local Syrian women too. As a child, I loved their elegance, how they shimmered with understated glamour. But I never thought they'd be for me. In all honesty, I felt too 'western' to be part of the abaya club. So what changed? First, let's talk about its practicality in my new environment. In the UAE's heat, a lightweight crepe or chiffon abaya wins hands down over a formal blazer. It shields you from the sun, dust and humidity while staying breathable and effortlessly comfortable. But more than its function, what's won me over to the abaya is how fashionable and stylish it can be – thanks mostly to how young Emiratis are styling theirs. In fact, women across the Gulf have progressively modernised the abaya. First came elaborate sequins and embroidery and, in the last decade or so, colours such as brown, navy and taupe have been introduced to everyday abayas. Recently, with a boom in women designers from the region, more avant-garde cuts have appeared; an abaya I recently bought has laser-cut scalloped ruffles and balloon-cut sleeves. Whether styled open or closed, the magic of a good abaya is in the details – the choice of fabric, the subtle embroidery and the art of accessorising. Across the Gulf, women have perfected the balance of simplicity, elegance and flair. There's a quiet sophistication in the way abayas are paired with trendy trainers, designer handbags and delicate jewellery. The result is an outfit that is steeped in tradition and practicality, but constantly evolving with trendsetting elements. I often wear an abaya to the mall, where I usually want to step out with little effort or thought about what I'm wearing. I also want to stay comfortably cool outside and warm in the chilly air-conditioned stores. The abaya ticks all the boxes and the look takes little effort, so many women focus on accessorising well. It's the art of balancing tradition with fashion. That balance is something I've always valued. I love dressing down a formal outfit and dressing up a casual one – heels with jeans, trainers with dresses. The modern abaya lends itself perfectly to that styling. I've noticed a recent trend of loafers with abayas, which transforms the look from traditional to contemporary cool. Then there's how it makes you feel. You can't slouch in an abaya. It straightens your posture and adds a certain poise. The fabric floats as you walk, catching the breeze, adding softness and femininity even to the shortest strides. I'm someone who spent most of my adolescence allergic to the idea of femininity and leant towards a tomboy aesthetic, but I've really embraced how effortlessly feminine the abaya is and how it makes me feel – always offering a touch of grandeur. Wearing the abaya has become more than just a nod to my heritage or the climate of the UAE. It's become a quiet kind of joy and comfort, a reminder that modern elegance and tradition don't have to be opposites.
