How to Make Turkish Coffee
But mostly, a love letter to refugees
Dear Reader,
Happy Holidays and thank you for reading Makans of a Chef! I’m incredibly grateful for everyone who has supported this publication since launching just a few short months ago. The best way to continue that support is to subscribe and share my posts far and wide so I can continue to grow this newsletter. I will be taking next weekend off to connect with loved ones and recharge, so the next edition of Makans of a Chef will land in your inbox the weekend of January 8. I wish you joy, love and health for the new year.
All my love,
Jennifer
Quick—it’s time to go and you can only pack what you can carry. You will probably never see your home again. The objects you put in your suitcase will be all you have left of this place, so choose wisely. Look around at the physical details of your life, and decide what’s most important.
Millions across the globe have been forced into this situation, yet most of us can’t imagine it.
In November 1968, in Yugoslavia, my nana and deda made those choices. They chose to leave the country with their two young children to escape a third attempt to compel Deda (He wasn’t a deda then; he was just Janko) into military service under dictator Josip Broz Tito. Janko was a conscientious objector. He’d already been imprisoned years ago for refusing to serve. Two years of solitary confinement. He and his wife, Milica, took an immense risk in hopes of building a better life in America.
In order to get out safely, they had to pretend they were just going on vacation. They packed as if they were leaving for a short trip, not the rest of their lives.
My mom, Ljiljana, was five years old. Her most prized possession—a doll as tall as she was—had to be left behind.
In 2021, two objects that made the cut occupy a place of honor in the kitchen Janko and Milica eventually built in New Franklin, Ohio: A coffee grinder and Turkish coffee pot. These two ordinary objects were among those Milica and Janko couldn’t live without. They are displayed in a basket above the “coffee station”— a small cabinet my mom brought in to extend counter space in the tiny kitchen.
Mom talks about the Sunday afternoons her parents entertained friends between morning and evening church services. They gathered around the table and spent hours talking about family, religion, and politics over dessert and cups of Turkish coffee. The coffee was made with the grinder and pot they brought from Yugoslavia, and served in a special set of tiny cups. Nana’s coffee set is long gone, but another one has been stored on a shelf in the corner of the living room for decades. An aunt brought it from Yugoslavia as a gift for Ljiljana in the 80’s.
It had never been used until I asked Mom if we could partake in the coffee and sweets tradition while I was home for the holidays. It felt like a good way to pay tribute to Nana and Deda. They left us years ago, but the grief swells every December when we gather in their house, largely unchanged since they built it, saturated with memories. Learning their traditions makes me feel like they’re still here.
Plus, my family spends most afternoons during the holidays eating cookies anyway. We may as well add coffee.
It started with a trip to a certain convenience store. It’s unremarkable from the outside, but this store carries Balkan products I have not been able to find anywhere else in the U.S. (Specifically, KRAS Batons). I have no explanation for this, only a guess that it’s due to the large, passionate population of Balkan immigrants in Akron area. You can safely assume the clerks speak Serbian here.
We found the coffee already ground into a fine powder, so the ornate vintage grinder went unused. We did use the small coffee pot, boiling water and dropping in a paste of coffee, sugar, and water. Once the coffee settled, we carefully poured it into the small cups.
The coffee was thick and sweet. The cookies melted in your mouth. They didn’t quite taste the way Nana used to make them, but close enough. Between bouts of laughter and conversation, I felt the spirits of the courageous refugees who built this family pull up a chair and fill a cup.
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The Recipe
I don’t normally post recipes at the same time as stories, but this one is quick and easy! I used a recipe from a book a friend gave my mom titled “Serbian Cookery”. A Serbian Orthodox church in Detroit published it in 1955. This book deserves its own post, but for now, I’ll share the recipe we worked with.
A few notes:
You can buy coffee already ground into a fine powder, or grind it yourself. The darker the roast, the better.
This is not the same thing as espresso. Turkish coffee is thicker and stronger because the grounds are not strained out. They stay in the pot and settle at the bottom. They also settle in the bottom of your cup, so sip cautiously.
Our pot was too small for 1 1/2c of water. We used 1c but even that was a bit too much. We should have used 3/4c and adjusted the amounts of sugar and coffee accordingly.
Also, the coffee/sugar mixture should be a smooth paste before you pour it into the boiling water. We needed 2 TB of water to accomplish that task, not 1.
This recipe may take a few tries and adjustments to get it where you like it, depending on your tools and how sweet and strong you like your coffee.
Final Thoughts
This is a perfect, quick drink to pair with your holiday desserts, breakfast, or anything else. It will definitely shock that holiday-meal sleepiness right out of you. Let me know how it went for you and Happy Holidays!
Interesting read! I just had one!
I did not know you have a Yugo heritage. We still drink this type of coffee all around the Balkans. At least in Slovenia we cook it a bit larger džezva, and the sugar is usually optional. But of course, it is getting more and more replaced by espresso machines :)
It was delicious! I loved we could do this together!