Cezve
This morning I made coffee reminiscent of the way my mom and grandmother made coffee for Grandpa. I have his beloved ‘cezve’, a small odd-shaped pot with a very long handle.
I remember my mom stirring its contents and watching the bright flame glowing from underneath the cezve. Its thick, dark mud-colored molten lava-like contents would steam up before my eyes as I would look up at the stove in wonder.
One of Grandpa’s purest pleasures was his Turkish coffee. As I stirred the coffee in my French press, I thought of Grandpa, as I often do, and beautiful moments in time that are no longer.
How can a child understand that our time together is as ephemeral as that bittersweet aroma that fills the air only for those moments when the cezve still brims with its master’s coffee.
by Sheri Jordan, August 10, 2011
© Sheri Jordan and Aunt Sheri Says, 2009-2011.
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Tags: cezve, grandpa, jezve, memories, Turkish coffee
