I drink coffee as a hobby, not out of necessity like the true coffee drinkers. That's why I only tolerate good coffee. A true coffee lover tolerates even mediocre coffee, and, if necessary, will even drink bad coffee.
I don't like "long" coffees. The ones that impose their bitter taste for hours. Those that accompany their fanatical friends all day long. As for the "white" coffees, there's no discussion. Unless we accept them as the only way to consume bad coffee in disguise. I prefer small and short coffees, because they give you their concentrated intensity, they whip you and then immediately let you free to crave them again.
Therefore, the above exclusions and specifications leave room only for espresso and Turkish coffee (or, if you prefer, Greek, Cypriot, Byzantine, or generally Eastern). Precisely because they are small, they emphasize the need for quality, since they do not offer quantity. That's why ordering a double espresso or Turkish coffee is contradictory. These coffees have their own rhythm and sounds. Each is associated with its own noises: the crystalline echoes of the "right" Italian bar for espresso, and the tumbling of dice on the backgammon board or the rhythmic rattle of the worry beads for Turkish coffee. Each has its own time. The speed of "espresso" integrates it into the flow of everyday life. The leisurely pace of Turkish coffee matches well with a cigarette and refers to the margin of daily life. Espresso is swallowed standing up. Turkish coffee is sipped, usually with a slanted seating posture.
It is interesting, yet strange, that these two small coffees require, more than any other, special expertise and many conditions that need to converge for their perfect preparation. And among them always includes the unpredictable factor of the "hand." The requirements seem even stricter when one realizes that any deviation from perfection makes these coffees unacceptable. A mediocre espresso or Turkish coffee is inconceivable. They are either delightful or undrinkable. My friends complain about the thousands of espressos I order daily only to abandon them after one sip. But I am not looking for coffee at any cost. I chase, usually with unfulfilled passion, a truly good espresso.
A spiteful fate wanted me to live in a transitional period. Good Turkish coffee is rare. The young do not drink it and therefore have no demands. Thus, the hunt for good Turkish coffee away from home (and not all homes) has become futile. Espresso seems to dominate. But it has not yet created demands. It has not created culture. One seems to have been lost and the other has taken root badly. And the worst part is that the game of coffee in our country has been won for now (like so many others) by the easy and bad taste. Namely the instant. The monotonous ease of its preparation and consumption neither desires nor allows for demands. It has created a culture, only it is the nervous and tasteless stirring with the straw, the aesthetically colorless tubular glass, and the fake foam.
The coffee and its adventures in our country could ultimately be the sample of our cultural awkwardness. We left something to go somewhere. We haven't reached it yet. Waiting, we chose the worst. We lost the Turkish coffee, didn't gain (yet) the espresso, and were left with the instant. But I still hope. And that's why I continue to order, even if I don't always drink.
Plato Rivellis