Coffee Therapy

Recently, I donated some things to a community rummage sale. One of the items was a medium-sized Turkish coffee pot. This is the pot I once left unattended on the stove, just long enough for its contents to reach a pressure point and explode all over the kitchen ceiling and window blinds. And though I haven't made Turkish coffee since, I'd like to again.

But lately, I've gotten into the habit of making myself a cappuccino using one of those pod coffee machines. It's quick and easy, but not delicious. There's no technique involved. And so I've been considering other ways to make myself a cup 'o joe.

My grandmother used to boil her coffee in a saucepan on the stove. That always seemed old-fashioned and unappetizing to me, and I've realized I have no idea if her coffee was any good or not, because I never tasted it. My mother made (and my father still makes) instant coffee with water heated in an electric tea kettle. This I have tasted, and I really don't need to ever again. On the other hand, my brother's wife makes great coffee, Lebanese coffee, and that's more like what I'm craving.

Somewhere in our cluttered house, I have another, smaller Turkish coffee pot for making individual drinks. It was given to me years ago by a very cosmopolitan friend of mine. We've since lost touch, but I think of her often. She lived with her family in a beautiful 4-bedroom apartment on the north side, in which we'd sit around drinking Turkish coffee and talking for hours. It is this sensation . . . this rich flavor I'd like to have in my coffee-drinking life again.

I'll have to go buy Turkish coffee, and I'll have to learn how to make it again, and I promise I won't leave the stove while it's boiling. But in this deliberately inconvenient way, I'll be ready to recycle the Senseo when the next rummage sale comes around.