For those of you haven’t experienced the supercharged caffeine experience of türk kahvesi (Turkish coffee), let me break it down for you. The coffee beans are finely ground down to what can nearly be classified as a powder and are then boiled in a small pot called a cezve. Sugar can be boiled with it upon request. The coffee is then poured into the cutest darn teacup ya ever did see. The grounds separate, and the bottom 1/2 inch or so accumulates what I like to call “coffee mud”– a portion avoided by most, but relished by the ever-caffeine-desperate architecture student. At Galata Falls Cafe (a restaurant that I and others frequent near the Accent Center) they also serve your coffee with a small Turkish delight, a delightful touch, especially when chasing the last mouthful of coffee mud.
The main waiter at Galata Falls has come to recognize many of us. In fact, he has nicknames for some, mine being “Mama”– the significance of which was lost somewhere in translation, leaving me confused and rather creeped out. Anyways, when we were finishing our lunch a couple weeks ago, he reached for my empty coffee to clear it from the table. He suddenly stopped and asked me, “Shall I tell your future?”
From the coffee grounds? I thought. Tea leaves are the medium I am familiar with (source: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban). He may just be pulling my leg, or looking for a better tip, but I was curious what he’d come up with, so, I went with it.
He picked up the teacup and began rotating it, squinting his eyes. After a few moments he said, “Your husband will be very tall.” We all started laughing because Ben was sitting at the table with us, the tallest guy in the group at a lofty 6’7″. “You will have two children.” He leaned down and showed me the two blobs that foretold this. He then rotated the cup and showed me four swirls (pictured above). “You see those? Those are how many homes you will have in your lifetime.” It could have just been my imagination, but these swirls did oddly resemble houses. He stood up and kept studying the comically small coffee cup. If he was indeed BS-ing me, he was a very good actor… “Oh my my my!” He exclaimed. “This part right here says you will be rich! Wow! Very very rich!” I certainly wanted to believe he was telling me the truth at this point. “You must come back and visit me when you are rich, okay. Maybe you can bring me present.” I laughed uncomfortably, and replied with an equally as animated “Of course!”
The way I see it, if he turns out to be correct with all of his fortunetelling, perhaps I should come back to Istanbul and pay him a visit! And I’ll bring my tall husband and two kids. Then it would be more appropriate for him to call me “Mama”.
On second thought, no. I don’t think that will ever be appropriate.