Coffee and fortune telling
I would like to share a story with you about my very first encounter with coffee. I have to go back to when I was a child, about 5 or 6 years old, at my grandparents house.
My maternal grandparents are Cypriot. They moved to England in the late 1960s for various reasons but mostly for the opportunity of a better life. They both come from fairly big families. My Yiayia (Grandmother) comes from a family of eight children, four of which emigrated to England too. My brother and I spent a lot of time with our grandparents whilst growing up. We would stay with them every weekend. At least twice a year an extended family get-together would be organised – usually on New Year’s Day or Greek Easter. The relatives that lived in England would congregate at my grandparents house with their children for what can only be described as a banquet. Starters, usually a prawn cocktail with a quartered lemon, would be followed by plate loads of Greek dishes; stuffed vine leaves, macaroni of the oven, home made meatballs, humous, taramasalata, cod roe, lentil salad, Greek salad, olives, pita bread, roast potatoes, potato salad, barbecued pork and of course a roast chicken. For dessert, there would always be a Kings Cake (New Years cake) with a pound coin baked inside, an overly decorated trifle, a selection of syrupy delights (baklava) and a platter of fruits. If the meal was during Easter, there would also be Greek Easter cakes, which are savoury (cheese, olive, mint and raisins). The sweets were left out whilst everyone conversed and swapped stories about their business and relatives in Cyprus. Within half an hour my Yiayia would be taking coffee and tea orders. The Greek contingent always opted for sketo kafe (greek coffee, no sugar) and their English counter parts preferred tea. My Yiayia would disappear into the kitchen and prepare the drinks. Greek coffee is made with very finely ground beans, I say ground, it’s more like a powder. The coffee is brewed in a briki (metal pot with a long handle) on a stove. It’s a very simple method; add the powdery coffee and water to the pot and stir gently over a flame. Stop stirring and allow the mixture to bubble. Once the water starts to rise, lift it off the heat and pour out the coffee, with the grounds and froth, evenly, into the little coffee mugs. It was quite a sight and a feat; my Yiayia carrying a crowded silver tray of miniature, floral, coffee cups that were all topped up to the rim with thick dark coffee. Each cup was also accompanied by a glass of cold water. I can vividly remember the aroma of the coffee, it was strong and sweet, like a bitter dark chocolate. The Sisters would loudly sip and slurp on their coffees for what seemed like hours and once they got down to the powdery grounds, the fun would really begin. They would each turn their tiny cups upside down onto their tiny saucers and set them aside for a few minutes. The sludge at the bottom would run down the sides of the cup and into the saucer making a terrible mess. They would then take it in turn to upend the cup and conjure up a reading from the formation the coffee grounds left. It would usually involve something about a fortune, treasure or an adventure that was on the horizon. Sometimes, if one of the younger generation were involved, one of the sisters would give a risqué prediction of love or a blossoming relationship. I don’t know if it was the caffeine kicking in that made the stories so extravagant and imaginative or if they genuinely believed what they saw in the coffee. For a six year old boy though, it was an intriguing spectacle. To them it may have been a bit of light entertainment and made for a chance to be a little cheeky with their siblings but for me the entire process was odd yet somehow magical. These old ladies, who were for the most part quite reserved, drinking from ridiculously small cups, making a huge mess and then telling the most fantastical stories about each others futures. It was like being at the Mad Hatters tea party!
So that concludes my earliest memory of coffee. When I visit my grandparents I always like to drink a sketo kafe with them, partly because I seldom take my coffee this way but also because the six year old boy inside of me is yearning for the magic I felt all those years ago.
We’d love to hear your earliest memories of coffee too. If you'd like to share them please leave them in a comment below.
James
Stantons Coffee
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