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Calling Turkish coffee “just a drink” undersells it. It’s a ritual, a conversation and, as arguably the ancestor of all modern coffees, it’s a nearly 500-year-old piece of history, inscribed by UNESCO on its intangible cultural heritage of humanity list.
Coffee’s roots go back even further. Lani Kingston, adjunct professor at Portland State University, says a single coffee bean dating from the 12th century has been found at an archaeological site in the United Arab Emirates. By 1350, coffee-serving paraphernalia appeared in Turkey, Egypt and Persia.
The story of Turkish coffee begins not in Turkey, but in Yemen. In the 15th century, Sufi mystics are said to have consumed it to stay awake during long nights of prayer and devotions. When Sultan Süleyman, known in Europe as Süleyman the Magnificent, seized Yemen in 1538, coffee made its way into the Ottoman Empire. Within a year, the beans had reached Constantinople — the ancient city that is now Istanbul.
In 1539, the Ottoman admiral Hayreddin Barbarossa registered a property that included a “kahve odası,” or coffee room, according to Cemal Kafadar, Harvard professor and author of an academic paper about coffee: “How Dark is the History of the Night, How Black the Story of Coffee, How Bitter the Tale of Love: The Changing Measure of Leisure and Pleasure in Early Modern Istanbul.”
By the 1550s, the first “kahvehanes,” or coffeehouses were appearing in İstanbul, chronicled by historian İbrahim Peçevi in his book, “History of Peçevi.” The beverage’s new popularity quickly reshaped cultural life. The Ottoman cezve-ibrik method of preparing coffee — shared with Greece and rooted in Ethiopia — became the hallmark of traditional Turkish coffee. As gastronomy researcher Merin Sever explains, the fundamental difference between Turkish and other coffees is that cezve-ibrik is essentially cooking; it’s not brewed, but “cooked” in water like a soup, producing an unfiltered drink.
Coffeehouses stirred controversy. Religious scholars and political leaders across Asia and Europe viewed them as places for subversive activities and idle chatter. Mecca’s governor, Hayır Bey, banned coffee in the city in 1511, an edict that would last 13 years, due to concern it would lead to radical ideas. Ottoman sultans repeatedly shut down cafes over similar fears. They never completely vanished though. Even in 17th-century England, Charles II tried to shut them, suspecting “anti-royalist sedition and treasonous conversation is happening in those coffee shops,” says London tour guide Chris MacNeil.
How coffee became a national ritual in Turkey
Turkish coffee is “more than a beverage,” says Seden Doğan, assistant professor of instruction at the University of South Florida and a native of Safranbolu, in northern Turkey. Doğan calls it a “bridge” that facilitates sharing — both in sorrow or joy.
Today, coffee is the unofficial catch-up drink in Turkey. As in many countries, when two friends who have been apart for a while want to have a chat, they say, “Let’s have coffee.” In Turkey, that means something more specific: “Come over and I’ll make you a cup of Turkish coffee.”
The preparation ritual is precise and meticulous, involving a small, long-handled pot called a cezve placed over heat, preferably hot coals or sand. The finest coffee grounds are cooked slowly to release a rich flavor and create a beautiful top layer of foam, considered a mark of quality.
A proper Turkish coffee must be served hot and with foam intact, alongside a glass of water and a piece of lokum, or Turkish delight. The water cleanses the palate, while the lokum balances the drink’s bitterness.
Coffee etiquette is equally important. Although served in small cups, it’s to be drunk calmly and slowly, not rushed like an espresso. This gives the grounds time to settle and keeps them at the bottom of the cup.
When the cup is empty, it’s time for the ritual of tasseography, or coffee-cup reading. The cup is inverted onto its saucer, left to cool and then shapes and symbols perceived in the leftover grounds are “read” for meaning. These are mostly made up on the fly, but a fish typically means luck; a bird indicates a journey.
While fortune-telling is generally discouraged in Islamic culture, coffee-cup reading is viewed as a “playful, symbolic interpretation” and a “communal ritual,” says Kylie Holmes, author of “The Ancient Art of Tasseography.”
Doğan agrees: “We do it for fun.” Tasseography is an act of storytelling, Doğan says she often spends an hour on a reading, weaving narratives and focusing on positive outcomes because people “enjoy hearing good things about themselves.”
Turkey’s coffee rituals also find their way into other national traditions. During courtship, a prospective bride prepares and serves Turkish coffee to the groom and his family. As a test of his character, she adds a generous amount of salt to the groom’s coffee. If he drinks without complaint, he proves his patience, maturity — and worthiness.
Coffee quickly moved westward. Venetians likely encountered it first through trading connections. But there’s a clearer link between Turkey and London’s original coffee scene: Daniel Edwards, a Levant Company merchant who lived in Smyrna, modern-day İzmir, brought his servant Pasqua Rosée to London. In 1652, Rosée opened what is believed to be the city’s first coffeehouse in St. Michael’s Alley.
For a penny, customers could drink as much as they like while joining the lively conversation. Much like Turkey’s “kahvehanes,” these “penny universities” were hubs of news, politics and, at times, dissent. Specifically, they were places of male dissent. Women weren’t allowed to drink coffee in either culture, but in London women could at least work in a coffeehouse.
Despite its rich history and cultural significance, Turkish coffee never had the global brand recognition of espresso. Sever blames a generational gap. “We’ve confined Turkish coffee to a ritual, and for young people, it’s now seen as something you only drink with your parents,” she says.
She says innovation is necessary for global appeal. Doğan disagrees, insisting on traditions must be protected.
Others are working hard to introduce Turkish coffee to the world. Ayşe Kapusuz organizes Turkish coffee workshops in London while in New York, Uluç Ülgen — Dr. Honeybrew — runs the Turkish Coffee Room, offering theatrical sessions of coffee drinking and fortune-telling.
“Despite Turkish coffee’s bitter taste, Americans drink it to the last drop for the cup-reading performance,” he says.
To find a genuine coffee experience in Turkey, Kapusuz advises finding a venue where it’s prepared slowly in a cezve, preferably over hot sand and served hot with thick foam, plus lokum and water.
In Istanbul, Kapusuz recommends Hafız Mustafa. Sever suggest Mandabatmaz on İstiklal Street and Nuri Toplar in the city’s Egyptian Bazaar. For a modern twist, she suggests Hacı Bekir in Kadıköy.
Coffee-cup readings can be found in Istanbul’s Sultanahmet district or near Tünel in Beyoğlu, but Doğan suggests a more personal approach, as the experience is more about storytelling and human connection than divination. That might simply mean asking a coffee-drinking local for help to find the fascinating story waiting at the bottom of a cup.
