Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Back in the days of my early adolescence, when I was just discovering the smell and the strong taste of my grandmother's coffee, people were still brewing at home the so-called "Turkish coffee". There were no machines, espresso was something that I guess my grandmother never heard of. Coffee itself was a rare merchandise, more precious than gold, tastier than anything else.
Nowadays, in our hurry, we just push the little red button on the filter machine and the dark liquid simply starts pouring. There is little attention we give to this - otherwise - adored habit of drinking coffee.
When we traveled last month to Sarajevo, I had the chance once again to feel the taste of my grandmother's coffee. Boiled in these little copper pots, stirred, talked to, enchanted, blessed.
Having a coffee when going out in the city is already a cliché - but if you ask me, I would prefer at any time to have this cliché served the Sarajevan way.
[Our World] & [Tones on Tuesday]