The table set in preparation for the ceremony at A.T. Oasis in Phoenix.
The Ethiopian coffee ceremony is a cultural staple of daily life that involves roasting fresh coffee in a small pan over an open flame, hand-grinding the beans with a mortar and pestle, and brewing in a clay pot called a jebena. It’s a way to socialize and bond with friends, family, and neighbors; as well as a staple at noteworthy celebratory events and commemorations.
I first read about the coffee ceremony as a young barista in my early twenties, but at the time attending one seemed so far out of my reach. I wanted authenticity, not a watered-down version in the same fashion that tea ceremonies have been co-opted by top-knotted white hippies (sorrynotsorry), and for that I was willing to wait as long as necessary.
This year, on the cusp of Black History Month and Women’s History Month, I finally had the immense fortune of attending my first coffee ceremony, something that has been on my Coffee Nerd Bucket List for at least a decade. Even more fortuitously, the ceremony was led by Aisha Tedros, the co-owner and co-founder of A.T. Oasis in Phoenix, Arizona. She wears many hats as the matriarch of the Oasis, including but certainly not limited to annually hand-selecting all their green coffee from Ethiopia; straight from the source in every sense of the word.
THE SCENE
Nestled cozily in a little multiplex in east Phoenix, this diamond in the rough feels like returning to an old friend’s house, even if you’ve never been there before. An immediate warmth can be felt even from the patio and the friendliness continues to wash over you on entry.
As a coffee lover with sensory issues, this place really spoke to my sensibilities. The scent of fresh coffee and ginger root filled the building. The menu was concise and easy to read and understand. The barista was earnest and hospitable and I genuinely felt like they were happy to see us. It’s the kind of place where you wouldn’t feel stupid or silly for asking a question you didn’t know the answer to.
Greetings and leave-takings echoed in waves from regular customers, with promises of reuniting after Ramadan. Everyone that passed through seemed innately content, and everyone behind the counter knew them all by name. Smiling faces beamed at us from their portraits, proudly displaying multiple awards and accolades well-deserved. Jebenas, tea sets, and decorations lined tall shelves along the walls. We got there early and took it all in, seated at a long table in preparation for the ceremony.
THE CEREMONY
It began with Aisha telling us the history and background of what we were about to experience. She told the legend of Kaldi, whom she referred to as The Good Shepherd, who noticed the leaves of a certain plant that made his goats hyper when eaten. Upon further investigation, he ate the fruit and felt the same energetic euphoria. Afterwards, he took branches from where they were grown and dried them out to be used for firewood. When the branches were burned, this produced the pleasant aroma of roasted coffee, of which he and his family took notice.
According to the story, coffee was then ground, brewed, and spread throughout the globe. First to Yemen and Turkey, and then made its way to the western hemisphere via, well, violent colonization…something that’s incumbent on all of us to acknowledge.
Aisha told us that the word “ceremony” wasn’t quite accurate, just more of the closest translation to English. It’s similar to tea-time in Morocco, a ritual to be expected throughout the day. In fact, she told us, if you weren’t offered a coffee ceremony by hosts in Ethiopia, it means they don’t like you! On examination of my modest understanding of beverage culture, this is quite clearly the indigenous practice from which the Scandinavian act of “fika,” was eventually derived. “Fika” is a word that describes stopping for a moment to enjoy a coffee together with friends and neighbors as an opportunity to bond.
After giving us some background and explaining what to expect, Aisha set fire to some charcoal and burned frankincense bark on the embers to set the mood while she roasted coffee in the back. The coffee for the ceremony had already been pre-roasted, but she wanted to hand-roast some darker beans for the sake of exposing everyone at the table to the aroma of fresh roasted coffee. Intuitively, we all wafted the smoke from the dark roast towards us with our hands as she went around the table with the metal basket containing them. She praised the table for this gesture and told us that it was indeed the customary way to respond.
As the earthy perfume of frankincense mingled with the smell of freshly roasted coffee, Aisha prepared the pot by adding boiled water into the clay jebena, which was then poured into small cups, much like traditional Japanese tea. Sugar was available if desired and stored in handmade clayware. Aisha told us that her people only added sugar to their coffee, but that other villages and tribes had their own preferred additional sweeteners and spices. Coffee was served with popcorn and sweet bread in colorful baskets, which the seven of us attending the ceremony passed to each other like a family at the dinner table.
Traditionally the coffee ceremony is served in three rounds, but you can stop at one cup if you need. However, if you have a second cup, you must also have the third. The first pour was strong; thick and almost chewy, like espresso without the crema. The second pour was reminiscent of a syrupy immersion brew, much like a French press. The third cup was thinner and brighter and reminded me of a Chemex brew. It was fascinating to see the characteristics and attributes of all these different brewers replicated using a single method.
The coffee itself was strong but not bitter, acidic but not sour, and sweet but not cloying. Naturally processed and entirely drinkable on its own, but definitely enhanced by the addition of sugar. According to Aisha, who hand-chose the coffee in Ethiopia, it was selected from multiple smallholder farms, most of which are operated by women.
THE TAKEAWAY
Not including prep, the coffee ceremony lasted almost two hours, but by the time we finished, it could have lasted another two and I would have been ecstatic about it.
We came together as a table full of seven strangers, eight including the host, who became fast friends over coffee, bread, and popcorn. We talked about our own places of origin, shared tidbits from our culture, laughed about weddings and scary in-laws and proposals and other universal human things. Half the table was a family that had come to the event together, and they talked of their family in Palestine. We all discussed what they were going through and solemnly wished for their safety. All it took was the invitation for coffee and camaraderie and us humans naturally took to it like a duck to water. I may never meet any of them again but I’ll remember everyone at that table for the rest of my life; their laughter and their earnest smiling faces.
When you distill coffee culture down to its absolute purest essence, this is what you get. This is the wellspring of coffee and its corresponding culture and rituals, from the literal wellspring of civilization. Every piece of the equation is intentional: the clay dishes and receptacles made by friends and family, the time set aside for connection and bonding over life’s simple pleasures, the cultivation of relaxing ambiance through the sensory euphoria of multiple senses, the acknowledgement of history and roots and reveling in the gratitude that comes with it.
It invites us to return to source: the comfort of ritual as sentient and cyclical beings and the humbling idea that tradition is more than just peer pressure from dead people; it’s any repeatable act that makes us feel connected to those around us, where we came from, and where we will return.
"May you lack no coffee nor peace in your home." -Oromo Blessing