An inviting aromatic smell of freshly roasted beans was our cue to enter the laboratory. The air of anticipation was almost palpable as we reverently filed into the spotlessly clean room. To one end stood a German manufactured Probat double chambered micro roaster elegantly fashioned out of copper and steel that continued to radiate heat from the morning’s batch. Two beady eyes in the form of analogue temperature gauges perched on top gazed out over the proceedings that were about to take place. Heading up the investigation team, Coffee Quality Section Head and expert Licensed Grader (cupper), Ato Tilahun Mekonen, assumed the air of a seasoned detective looking for the first vital clues of the day as he studied the evidence carefully laid out before him.
On the white counter, ten random samples of Oromia Coffee Farmers Cooperative Union’s (OCFCU) export-quality coffee were arranged in a line of blue trays. There were two dishes for each sample; one containing 100g of green coffee, the other freshly – and evenly – roasted. Senior Cupping Expert, Ato Dayne Chomen, who wore the lab coat of a scrupulous scientist about to evaluate his finely honed hypothesis, started to jot down his observations. Also in attendance was the Union’s resident expert on crop diseases, Ato Getachen Zeleke; a Senior Agronomist who advises the Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development and teaches at the Addis Ababa University in his spare time… Then there was me; an uninitiated novice with only an innate desire to educate my illiterate taste buds and learn from the master tasters in what was to be my first ever experience of cupping.
The art – and science – of coffee cupping essentially boils down (no pun intended) to the practice of evaluating the distinctive characteristics inherent in the bean, according to its origin. Through a series of observations, tasting trials and by a method of like-for-like comparison, the experienced cupper can accurately assess and gain a deeper understanding of a coffee’s unique character.
In front of each numbered sample, five cups of medium coarse ground coffee were arranged. In turn, we cupped – with both hands – each vessel before raising its heavenly contents to our noses in order to allow the aroma to entice our nostrils. This was followed by a close inspection of the samples to look for any potential defects (over-dryed, under-dryed, immature berry, coated, fungus damage, insect damage, cracks etc) and to ascertain an appreciation of its odour, colour, shape and size. To my untrained eye, it was clear that each sample varied in these specific characteristics. Some samples contained a more pointed bean with a deep central fissure (Harrar), whilst others were more rounded and compact (Djimmah). The subtle hues varied too. From bluish to grayish, greenish – sometimes with a silver skin – to a faded white; the clues to the morning’s detective story were just starting to be revealed.
Armed with an enormous kettle of boiling water that had been allowed to settle for a couple of minutes, Getachen stepped forward and proceeded to wet each cup to the brim. All the while gently stirring the grounds with a smooth circular motion as he poured. Allowing time for the coffee to infuse, the room was filled with an even greater complexity of aroma as the coffee’s chemical compounds react with the hot water’s excited hydrogen and oxygen molecules. Eagerly waiting for the opportunity to sample my first infusion, I thought about the various stages that the coffee berry has been through just to reach this crucial cupping stage. If you consider that the process of roasting itself is somewhat of a ‘baptism of fire’ for the bean, we were now collectively witnessing the blossoming of each coffee’s individual character; the product of a whole host of combined genetic, agronomic, processing and environmental factors. Indeed, the coffee had come long way from its early days as immature green cherries clustered together on the kindergarten of the Arabica mother tree branch to be here.
Before the slurping got under way, the ‘crust’ was ceremoniously broken and any remaining grind removed by scooping the viscous surface with spoons. Tilahun inaugurated the tasting session with a powerful inhalation of such force that at first I thought the roasting machine had miraculously sprung back into life. Gingerly filling a cupping spoon with my own first infusion of the morning, I discarded any feelings of self-consciousness and attempted to follow suit in a similar forceful fashion. To some embarrassment, this merely left me reeling as I coughed and spluttered to fight back the coffee that had continued its journey southerly down my windpipe. Hardly the most composed start to my own coffee tasting journey, but a start nonetheless.
The rationale behind the intense slurping is twofold, explained Dayne: Firstly, the powerful inhalation helps to vaporise the coffee so that is drawn to the roof of the mouth before reaching the back of the throat. Although this appears to enhance our sense of taste, it is in an actual fact our sense of smell that is doing the heavy lifting as the aroma of the vapour stimulates the nasal cavities. Secondly, the action aids an even spread of infusion to tickle and tantalize the range of sweet, sour, salty and bitter sensitive taste buds that cover the different zones of the tongue. It is from this information that the cupper can ‘read’ the level of acidity and intensity of flavour. The coffee is then turned around the mouth to detect any lingering after notes before being ejected into a waist height industrial-sized spittoon on wheels.
Geoff Watts of Intelligentsia Coffee describes the exercise as ‘there is no mystery to cupping, only endless intrigue.’ I now fully understand what he means. The sensations that are revealed through the cupping are a precursor to a torrent of descriptors that flash up in the mind like a series of numbers being called from the bingo floor. The exception is, the adjectives are far from random. The whole sensory exercise is subjective to the individual taster concerned however. For example, I have my own notion of what a lemon tastes like compared to, say, a lime – but I can bet my bottom Ethiopian Birr on it not being exactly the same as anyone else’s interpretation of one citrus fruit to another. Throughout the cupping session, Tilahun encouraged me draw on my own reference points to describe the flavour and verbalise what was popping into my mind.
And what a detective journey it was! From the bright, floral flavours of washed Yirgacheffe and the sharp, spicy overtones of Sidamo, to the full-bodied mocha taste of Harar-origin coffee, each region had a distinctly unique characteristic of its own. A good few slurps later and my head was spinning with the sudden peak in levels of caffeine in my system. Taking a backseat (literally), I watched the master detectives go on to combine two coffees of differing grades from the Limu region to bring out the best balance in flavour, body and acidity before quality assuring it for export.
Cupping, like any appreciation of good food or drink is not only a celebration of the senses but a veritable feast for the curious mind and a fertile imagination.
I like taking detours. It’s the liberating, unscripted sense of seizing the moment and flying in the face of a predetermined itinerary. After all, I’ve committed myself to follow the bean wherever it will take me and this was to be no exception…
Waking up at daybreak in a campsite-come-car-park to the sound of the call to prayer rising from the ruins of the Basilica opposite, now a Mosque, the words ‘Coffee’ and ‘Constantinople’ drifted across my caffeine-starved brain. My decision was made. Soon after a timid attempt at preparing my first Turkish coffee (with dubious success) on the stove for the two helpful boys who ran the car wash opposite, I packed up the gear and turned my wheels in the opposite direction towards Istanbul, and back into Europe.
Three days later and 300 kms through rolling hills, pine forests, more dramatic electric storms, remote villages and the occasional feral dog giving a half-hearted chase, I made it to the harbour town of Bandirma. Acting on the advice of fellow cycle tourers not to enter Istanbul by bike unless you have a death wish, I opted to take the boat. Soon enough, the sight of the soaring 17th century spires of the imperial Sultenhamet Mosque – or the Blue Mosque as it is often referred to – emerged from the haze of the Marmara Denizi (Sea of Mamara) horizon. Hardly able to contain my excitement at reaching the shores of this thriving megalopolis that has been a geographical and cultural ‘bridge’ between the East and West for so long, I completely forgot my fear of the chaotic traffic and hopped onto the bike to join the cacophony of car horns. 
My mission? To better understand the introduction of coffee to the city and its ‘conquest’ of the Ottoman Empire, many centuries ago. Oh, and to learn how to make a decent cup of Turkish Coffee.
By the 15th century, there were so many people drinking coffee in the city that the world’s first kahveh kane (coffee house), Kiva Han, opened its doors in 1475. In the same year, it was made legal for a woman to divorce her husband if he failed to provide her with her daily quota of coffee. In fact, Ottoman enthusiasm for the custom of drinking coffee was such that in 1511, Khair Bey, the corrupt governor of Mecca, prohibited coffee consumption fearing that its mysterious power might ferment public resistance to his rule. The fatwa effectively shut down the coffee trade in Constantinople. After a week-long ‘reign of terror’ by the merchants, the Sultan of Cairo decided that coffee was a blessed drink and had the governor subsequently executed. It seems that with the spread of Islam, the bean soon followed in hot pursuit and nothing – or nobody – could stand in its way.
Now herein lies the paradox: Whilst fresh coffee still holds an exceptional place in Turkish culture and custom, the reality is that instant coffee is fast becoming a popular caffeinated beverage of choice for the younger generation especially, after çay (tea). Looking to buy some Turkish Coffee for my newly purchased cesve (coffee pot), It’s not uncommon to see the instant variety (sorry, but I just can’t bring myself to call it coffee!) in pride-of-place next to the counter. Yet there is no ground coffee in sight. Scanning the shelves a little closer, I’ve even discovered it relegated to the bottom shelf next to the Ajax and toilet cleaner. It was such a sight for sore eyes that I almost wept. Sadly, convenience (and big marketing budgets) yet again triumphs over taste and tradition.
Keeping the Coffee House flame Alive 
Inside, traditional cezves and other coffee-related paraphernalia were decoratively arranged along one side of the cafe. Behind the jelly beans, almond dragee, assorted chocolates and homemade cake-laden counter stood a gleaming 10kg Toper coffee roasting machine ready for the next batch. Rhythmic blues and rock n’roll was the soundtrack to two middle-aged women locked in a fierce game of Scrabble, whilst books and magazines were strewn across the small round tables. The atmosphere was relaxed and easy-going; the perfect setting to while away the time with a good novel or engage in conversation, and drink coffee. On the side of each cup is the motto ‘şehirde taze kahve var…’ (there’s fresh coffee in the city). This was my kind of place.
Ali and Efe were the two expert, friendly Baristas running the establishment, owned by Ali’s sister Sehriban. We soon struck up conversation after I had managed to fend off my fatigue with a slice of their delicious cinnamon and vanilla homemade cake washed down with a rich double macchiato of their ‘Fancy’ blend (South American and Kenyan AA). Having opened for busines two years ago, Cherrybean Coffees is at the vanguard of the fledgling speciality coffee scene in Istanbul and is one of the few independent coffee houses that roasts its beans on-site; according to demand so as to ensure it is always served fresh.
This prompted both of them to cry out for me to ‘Stop!’ as if I was just about to commit a cardinal sin. Lesson number one: Turkish coffee is always taken with a glass of water and the first rite of coffee drinking in Turkey is to clear the palate with a small sip. Only then can the full and wholesome flavour of the bean be appreciated. It was accompanied with a piece of their own homemade pistachio double roasted Turkish Delight. The combination was an epiphany for the taste buds! But as the sun hung low over the Bosphorus it was time to reluctantly cross the choppy straights once more. Before saying our farewells, I stocked up on a fresh bag of the nutty ‘Fancy’ blend with which to prime the Bialetti. In a gesture of typical Turkish generosity that I’m starting to become humbly accustomed to, Ali offered me a gift of Keyif Turkish Coffee to savour and help hone my Turkish Coffee making skills on the road.
Like a jewel bestriding the Bosphorus rivaling Versailles for its opulence and fusion of Rococo, Baroque and Neoclassical styles blended with Ottoman architecture, the grande gates of the palace were firmly closed shut. Yet, despite all warnings to the contrary at the information desk, my luck held out and sure enough, the Art Gallery was not only open but did not charge a tourist tax in the form of an admission fee either. The exhibition, wistfully entitled, Sarayda Bir Fincan Kahve (A Cup of Coffee in the Palace in Memory of Old Times), displays objects that were used in coffee ceremonies during the reign of the Sultans until the abolition of the Caliphate in 1924.
Studying the objects on display, it becomes clear that the Turks gave coffee a unique identity all of its own by their distinctive means of preparation, serving and the rituals surrounding the beverage’s consumption. Coffee culture had clearly reached a stage of supreme development during this era. In the palaces, harems and kiosks of the well healed, the experience of drinking coffee had evolved into a visual feast to complement and tantalize the rest of the senses. 
During the Ottoman period, coffee became one of the most important rituals in daily life and special occasions. The serving of coffee often started with sweets such as Turkish delight and sherbet. This was followed by the smoking of a water pipe with fragrant apple or cherry-infused tobacco. The beverage itself was served by the brazier (sili), cups and cup holders (zarl) which were some of the best works of art to survive from that period. The chief Coffee Master (khaveci başi) responsible for serving the coffee also had to take care of the ornate paraphernalia associated with the ceremony. This included the coffee cups, holders, sili sets, sumptuous ceremonial coffee clothes and ornate ibriks (vessels) for serving rosewater.
The drink was served on an exquisitely embroided circular cloth (puşide) that was detailed with gold or silver flowers and pearls. The exhibition also displays some stunning sets of coffee cups and holders crafted from finely cut crystal that catch the eye with a bright sparkle under the dim glow of the halogen lights. Unfortunately, taking photographs in the exhibition was prohibited so you’ll just have to take my word for it!
s. It was not until 1871 when Kurukahveci Mehmet Efendi (Kurukahveci means ‘dealer in roasted coffee beans and ground coffee’) first established his enterprise of commercially mass-producing ground, roasted coffee. The family business is now run by his grandsons and has become such a success that Mehmet Efendi is now synonymous with Turkish Coffee.
One of the largest and oldest covered markets in the world, the vast, sprawling roofed complex provides shelter and storage for sellers of jewellery, antiquities, leather, clothes and spices amongst other goods. The persistence of the salesmen and their sales skills are such that I am seriously convinced they could sell ice to an Eskimo.
Again, I only had to follow my nose though the spice market to find the historic 
You’ll see what I mean if you view the short clip 
This, sadly, is where the coffee trail in Istanbul ends (for now) and I’m taking the detour back into Asia Minor once again. But the rich history of the city during the days of the Ottamans it has given me a richer, deeper understanding of the important role that coffee plays in establishing and strengthening the bonds of friendship in Turkish culture.
The huge amounts of water required to ‘de-pulp’ the coffee berry depends heavily on the specific washing process employed after the harvesting of the fruit. The wet fully washed processing method, widely preferred to prepare the coffee Arabica bean for export, is the most intensive by far.
Although washing techniques have improved over the years with greater use of water reuse, up to one to six cubic metres per tonne of fresh coffee cherry is still needed. Without reuse, nearly a staggering 20 cubic metres per tonne is required. To put it another way, on average 140 litres of clean water is required in the production of coffee for every cup.
Last week, on Tuesday 22nd March, 
Today, you can help to save lives in tackling this global crisis by either visiting the 
Colombia, the world’s second largest producer of hand-picked Arabica beans after Brazil, has been hit particularly hard. Extreme shifts in climatic conditions have devastated once reliable harvests. Successive years of drought and heavy rainfall have resulted in a steep drop in production from its peak production of 17m bags in 1992 to 8.9m 
Elsewhere, production is on the up. In Nepal, a relative newcomer as an emerging exporter of Arabica beans, the quantity of coffee parchments has jumped 
Cafés El Magnífico
From these humble beginnings that began on the corner of the narrow Carrer d’en Rosic almost a century ago, the family business has grown beyond recognition. Cafés El Magnífico now trades behind the warm glow of its stained glass window which delicately frames the shop front on the bustling L’Agenteria. Located near the magnificent lofty columns of the medieval Basilica Santa Maria del Mar, this welcoming boutique-like coffee shop serves and sells some of the – if not the – best beans in town.
Within a few moments we arrive at the worn wooden doors of the old premises and he leads me down into the basement to introduce me to the Vittoria roasting machine which still bares the scars of a fire just three years-ago. Operated by roastmaster Iván from Cuba, it was just finishing off a morning batch of Arabica coffee beans from Timor. “They’re not ready yet,” said Salvador as he inspected the bag of newly roasted beans, “they need at least another 48 hours for the aroma to fully come through.”
Sacks from Papua New Guinea, India, Brazil, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, and Panama are just some of the artworks on display. The aroma inside the high-ceiling storehouse is infused with a heavenly mix of coffee and speciality teas that are carefully being hand packed and sealed, ready for delivery to the 200 plus – and growing – book of clients.
Without any diversion, Salvador heads straight to his favourite roasting machine; the 30 kilo Roure, dating back to 1960. As a testament to the unique character of any roaster, this gleaming behemoth 
with a cast-iron chamber at its heart is at its best when roasting Brazilian beans, he proudly maintains. The controls that can be programmed with multiple ‘profiles’ to exact the roaster’s requirements looked more befitting of a British Nuclear Fuels reactor instrument panel (circa-1989) than a coffee roasting machine; but that’s the science of roasting.
But Salvador and his dedicated team of 24 employees continue to keep this history-steeped family flame alive to ensure that excellent coffee remains a reality in Barcelona for years to come. For him, the essence underpinning the success of Cafés El Magnífico is the refrain of coffee-enthusiasts everywhere. Simply put: ‘Adoro Café’ (I love Coffee). Once the bills are paid, profit comes only after good coffee, he insists. And I believe him.
It is said that coffee roasting is ‘part science, part art, and part magic.’ This indeed is true. In fact, the science involved in the process of roasting coffee beans is nothing short of astonishing.
00 man hours for every pound of unroasted beans to reach this point. Now is not the time to get it wrong”, said artisan roaster, Ian, as he excitedly fires up the trusty 14lb (in old money) capacity Uno. With a ‘pop’ and a ‘whoosh’, the blue flame from its DNA-like helical gas burner breathes into life. Allowing time for the post-war roasting machine to warm up, he methodically inspects the six kilo batch of hard, tasteless Ethiopian Yirgacheffe (produced in the lush, deep soils of the high-rolling mountains of the Sidamo region, southern Ethiopia) for any ‘offenders’ that do not make the grade and could potentially spoil the entire process.
