"Herodotus" <peter.hendra@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> wrote in message
news:5l75249bq44cierao6lnsq7r7svuaud0e2@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> Hi Vic,
>
> I trust that you and yours are well.
>
> Apropos the recent discussion (as well as one a year or so back) on
> the making of "real" coffee, I extract a description of the making of
> Greek (blasphemously read Turkish, Egyptian, Lebanese etc) coffee from
> a friend's yet to be published writings.
>
> I use the word "apropos" to you as due to your appreciation of a
> decent brew (not the standard as gnat's water, weak and stewed in a
> pressure pot American coffee), I deem you to be a civilised
> non-Neandertal person. However, should it not be defined in meaning in
> Websters, I would be only too happy to elucidate.
>
> My friend is Australian born of Greek parentage. His father had a
> corner store in a Sydney suburb.
>
> "In winter, Dad conducted a ritual several times a day that really got
> up the noses of his customers, but it was ironically also one of the
> reasons why they kept coming back. On these occasions, he made his
> Greek coffee on the old 'Cosyside' kerosene heater that took pride of
> place next to him behind the counter. He would literally stop serving
> and then proceed to fill his little 'bríki' (a special, narrow-necked
> pot for cooking Greek or Turkish coffee) with water and carefully
> heaped spoons of Greek coffee and sugar. He would stir the cold
> mixture several times and then place it onto the kerosene heater's
> radiant dome. Then, he would stare transfixed at the brewing coffee,
> waiting for the special moment when the mixture would begin to bubble
> and boil and then rise lava-like to the top of the pot.
>
> But, just at the critical moment before it overflowed - and absolutely
> no sooner - Dad would smoothly lift the pot off the heater and turn to
> the bemused customers. He would then lift a finger and say with a wry
> smile, "One". After that, he would put the pot back onto the heater
> and start the volcanic process all over. Again, just before the
> critical moment, he would lift the pot off the heater and then
> announce with the same bemused expression, "Two". But, again the pot
> would be placed down onto the heater and the process repeated once
> more. All the while, the waiting customers would be growing more and
> more irritated, but transfixed as well.
>
> Finally, as the frothing liquid threatened to disgorge over the lip of
> the pot, he would lift the pot off the heater and proclaim, almost
> religiously, "Three". The holy trinity of Greek coffee making had been
> invoked. You see, it is very im****tant when you are making Greek
> coffee - to Greeks there is no such thing as Turkish coffee, of
> course! - to slowly boil and re-boil the mixture, thereby forcing the
> volatile coffee bean oils to the surface to form the creamy topping
> known as kaďmáki. Only a skilled coffee maker can do it well, and of
> course my dad not only considered himself an expert, but he wanted to
> share the fact constantly with the rest of the world as well.
>
> Letting the mixture settle momentarily, he would then carefully pour
> some of the mixture into the tiniest of ****celain coffee cups,
> ensuring that the top of the coffee was covered in creamy kaďmáki. He
> would look at it proudly for a moment and then, finally, take one
> small sip; drawing up the hot surface cream without his lips actually
> touching the cup; and only one sip mind you. His loud response was
> always a boisterous and effusive: "Ahhhh!" Then, he would delicately
> replace the cup onto its waiting saucer, turn to the anxious customers
> and, with a very self-satisfied look, give forth with the great
> Greek-Australian epithet: "Yes pliz?"
>
> Many, many times, the rest of the cup of coffee wouldn't get consumed.
> But, then, it was really the cooking process that brought the great
> sense of satisfaction and, of course, the 'hit' provided by the first
> tiny sip. After that, to continue on would simply mean lowering one's
> sensations into base oral gratification. Evidently, a connoisseur
> doesn't need that.
>
> On one level, Dad was a simple, suburban grocer who spoke with a Greek
> accent and perpetuated a stereotype about Greeks in Australia. But, on
> another level, he had a touch of real class."
>
Yes, that is the proper way to do it. But even in Greece I have never
heard
the word 'briki'.
I have two of those little coffemakers at home but have always heard them
referred to as 'jezva' (?spelling). Maybe that is Turkish.
But they always make it too sweet in Greece. You have to insist to get it
without sugar and the word is 'scato'. Once they were used to me in my
favourite restaurant the waiter used to say 'scato' to me even when
offering
a glass of water!
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