🚀 go-pugleaf

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I found the following very interesting since it is happening in Macedonia, too.

THE DEMISE OF TURKISH COFFEE?

by Patrick Moore with Lowell Bezanis, Liz Fuller, and Fabian Schmidt

Turkish coffee, once an integral part of daily life throughout the
former Ottoman Empire, is rapidly disappearing from many tables across the
region. The arrival of Italian espresso machines in recent years has begun
to transform a key element of popular culture in countries ranging from the
former Yugoslavia to the republics of the Transcaucasus.
One of the great culinary joys of visiting the Balkans for many
foreign travelers has long been--together with grilled and roasted meats,
baked peppers, and salty sheep's cheese--the once ubiquitous Turkish
coffee. The drink is made by placing fine, powdered coffee into a brass or
copper pot called a "dzezva" in Serbo-Croatian. Boiling water is added, and
the mixture is boiled up. The technique is to repeatedly allow the brew to
boil, sink back down, and then boil again. The product, which some say
should take at least 15 minutes to prepare, is then poured from the dzezva
into small round cups without handles, known in Serbo-Croat as "fildzani."
It is served with a glass of water to offset the sweetness of the drink and
to wash down the inevitable coffee grounds.
In Bosnia, some say there is an ethnic dimension to preparing the
coffee. Serbs, like Albanians and Greeks, mix sugar into the ground coffee
and cook the sugar as part of the brew. Croats prefer to add sugar at the
table, as is the custom in drinking all kinds of coffee in Central Europe.
Muslims, for their part, generally sip the coffee with a piece of Turkish
delight, or "lokum," placed in their mouths.
However it is prepared, Turkish coffee has a social dimension that
is unmistakably linked to the traditional, unhurried pace of life
throughout the former Ottoman Empire. Serbs sometimes joke that the
standard student breakfast consists of Turkish coffee, two cigarettes, and
a copy of the thick Belgrade daily "Politika." Business throughout the
Balkans is done and social ties cultivated over slowly sipped cups of the
thick liquid that a Western writer once described as "black as night and
sweet as sin."
All this, however, seems to be changing. Already in the 1970s, more
expensive hotels and coffee shops in Croatia and Slovenia began phasing out
Turkish coffee in favor of Italian espresso. The bulwark of traditional
coffee culture in much of the former Yugoslavia remained the local coffee
house, in which men in dark berets would sit amid clouds of smoke under the
watchful gaze of a black-and-white photograph of Marshal Josip Broz Tito.
But such coffee houses are rapidly disappearing in favor of chic, modern
establishments with Western-type furnishings.
There are two reasons for the change. First, once a cafe owner has
made the basic investment of buying an espresso machine, he or she faces a
far less labor-intensive operation in serving up Italian coffee all day
long than is the case in preparing its Turkish counterpart. Second, many
people in the region--especially those who are young and/or wish to project
the image of being cosmopolitan or upwardly mobile--regard drinking
espresso as stylish and modern. Such people also regard sipping Turkish
coffee as something for old men sitting under the Tito picture.
Consequently, throughout much of the Balkans, one must now go to a
large restaurant, traditional coffee house, or private home to find a
dzezva full of the steaming, potent black brew. One cafe-owner in the
Albanian town of Kruja tries to steer a middle path between coffee cultures
by shooting boiling water from an Italian machine into each waiting dzezva
and then continuing the Turkish coffee-brewing procedure in the traditional
way.
But the pattern of change in coffee-drinking habits varies from
place to place. It takes skill to find Turkish coffee in central Sofia,
Bulgaria, where fildzani seem to have disappeared altogether in favor of
cups with handles. Greeks, however, religiously continue to drink their
traditional brew--possibly more so per capita than their Turkish
counterparts--but have dubbed it "Greek coffee," at least since 1974, when
Turkey intervened on Cyprus.
In Turkey, locally grown tea replaced highly taxed coffee decades
ago as the beverage over which political and economic deals are negotiated.
Last year, the "Turkish Daily News" bewailed the fact that, on the
occasions when Turks do still drink coffee, they increasingly choose the
instantly soluble, rather than the traditionally brewed variety.
East of the Black Sea, so-called "oriental coffee" is widely
available in Tbilisi cafes. And the art of predicting the future by
deciphering the coffee grounds is still practiced there. But the real last
bastion of oriental coffee may well be Armenia, where it is offered at all
official meetings and where a wide selection of traditional brass coffee
mills is available at Yerevan's weekend flea market.

Lowell Bezanis is a Washington-based specialist on Turkey and Central Asia.

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               Copyright (c) 1998 RFE/RL, Inc.
                     All rights reserved.
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<DIV><FONT color=#000000 size=2>I found the following very interesting since it
is happening in Macedonia, too.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV>&nbsp;</DIV>
<DIV>THE DEMISE OF TURKISH COFFEE?<BR><BR>by Patrick Moore with Lowell Bezanis,
Liz Fuller, and Fabian Schmidt<BR><BR>Turkish coffee, once an integral part of
daily life throughout the<BR>former Ottoman Empire, is rapidly disappearing from
many tables across the<BR>region. The arrival of Italian espresso machines in
recent years has begun<BR>to transform a key element of popular culture in
countries ranging from the<BR>former Yugoslavia to the republics of the
Transcaucasus.<BR>One of the great culinary joys of visiting the Balkans for
many<BR>foreign travelers has long been--together with grilled and roasted
meats,<BR>baked peppers, and salty sheep's cheese--the once ubiquitous
Turkish<BR>coffee. The drink is made by placing fine, powdered coffee into a
brass or<BR>copper pot called a &quot;dzezva&quot; in Serbo-Croatian. Boiling
water is added, and<BR>the mixture is boiled up. The technique is to repeatedly
allow the brew to<BR>boil, sink back down, and then boil again. The product,
which some say<BR>should take at least 15 minutes to prepare, is then poured
from the dzezva<BR>into small round cups without handles, known in Serbo-Croat
as &quot;fildzani.&quot;<BR>It is served with a glass of water to offset the
sweetness of the drink and<BR>to wash down the inevitable coffee grounds.<BR>In
Bosnia, some say there is an ethnic dimension to preparing the<BR>coffee. Serbs,
like Albanians and Greeks, mix sugar into the ground coffee<BR>and cook the
sugar as part of the brew. Croats prefer to add sugar at the<BR>table, as is the
custom in drinking all kinds of coffee in Central Europe.<BR>Muslims, for their
part, generally sip the coffee with a piece of Turkish<BR>delight, or
&quot;lokum,&quot; placed in their mouths.<BR>However it is prepared, Turkish
coffee has a social dimension that<BR>is unmistakably linked to the traditional,
unhurried pace of life<BR>throughout the former Ottoman Empire. Serbs sometimes
joke that the<BR>standard student breakfast consists of Turkish coffee, two
cigarettes, and<BR>a copy of the thick Belgrade daily &quot;Politika.&quot;
Business throughout the<BR>Balkans is done and social ties cultivated over
slowly sipped cups of the<BR>thick liquid that a Western writer once described
as &quot;black as night and<BR>sweet as sin.&quot;<BR>All this, however, seems
to be changing. Already in the 1970s, more<BR>expensive hotels and coffee shops
in Croatia and Slovenia began phasing out<BR>Turkish coffee in favor of Italian
espresso. The bulwark of traditional<BR>coffee culture in much of the former
Yugoslavia remained the local coffee<BR>house, in which men in dark berets would
sit amid clouds of smoke under the<BR>watchful gaze of a black-and-white
photograph of Marshal Josip Broz Tito.<BR>But such coffee houses are rapidly
disappearing in favor of chic, modern<BR>establishments with Western-type
furnishings.<BR>There are two reasons for the change. First, once a cafe owner
has<BR>made the basic investment of buying an espresso machine, he or she faces
a<BR>far less labor-intensive operation in serving up Italian coffee all
day<BR>long than is the case in preparing its Turkish counterpart. Second,
many<BR>people in the region--especially those who are young and/or wish to
project<BR>the image of being cosmopolitan or upwardly mobile--regard
drinking<BR>espresso as stylish and modern. Such people also regard sipping
Turkish<BR>coffee as something for old men sitting under the Tito
picture.<BR>Consequently, throughout much of the Balkans, one must now go to
a<BR>large restaurant, traditional coffee house, or private home to find
a<BR>dzezva full of the steaming, potent black brew. One cafe-owner in
the<BR>Albanian town of Kruja tries to steer a middle path between coffee
cultures<BR>by shooting boiling water from an Italian machine into each waiting
dzezva<BR>and then continuing the Turkish coffee-brewing procedure in the
traditional<BR>way.<BR>But the pattern of change in coffee-drinking habits
varies from<BR>place to place. It takes skill to find Turkish coffee in central
Sofia,<BR>Bulgaria, where fildzani seem to have disappeared altogether in favor
of<BR>cups with handles. Greeks, however, religiously continue to drink
their<BR>traditional brew--possibly more so per capita than their
Turkish<BR>counterparts--but have dubbed it &quot;Greek coffee,&quot; at least
since 1974, when<BR>Turkey intervened on Cyprus.<BR>In Turkey, locally grown tea
replaced highly taxed coffee decades<BR>ago as the beverage over which political
and economic deals are negotiated.<BR>Last year, the &quot;Turkish Daily
News&quot; bewailed the fact that, on the<BR>occasions when Turks do still drink
coffee, they increasingly choose the<BR>instantly soluble, rather than the
traditionally brewed variety.<BR>East of the Black Sea, so-called &quot;oriental
coffee&quot; is widely<BR>available in Tbilisi cafes. And the art of predicting
the future by<BR>deciphering the coffee grounds is still practiced there. But
the real last<BR>bastion of oriental coffee may well be Armenia, where it is
offered at all<BR>official meetings and where a wide selection of traditional
brass coffee<BR>mills is available at Yerevan's weekend flea
market.<BR><BR>Lowell Bezanis is a Washington-based specialist on Turkey and
Central
Asia.<BR><BR>xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<BR>&nbsp;&
 nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
Copyright (c) 1998 RFE/RL,
Inc.<BR>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
 &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
All rights
reserved.<BR>xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<BR>&nbsp;<
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