LETTER 02 · FOOD & RITUAL

The ritual of Greek coffee

Some things should never be rushed.

The water has to be very cold.

Not cool. Cold. From the fridge.

And everything goes in before you begin.

The coffee. The water. The sugar, if you take it.

You don't make Greek coffee by throwing things into boiling water. You start with everything together, cold, and then you bring it slowly towards the heat.

You watch it.

You wait.

You don't walk away.

Because Greek coffee isn't something you make while doing three other things.

And perhaps that's why I love it.

I think Greek coffee is one of the best smells in the world.

I can smell it and immediately I am somewhere else.

A balcony.

A little table.

A glass of cold water beside the cup.

Somebody sitting opposite you who wasn't necessarily supposed to stay very long.

And then they stay.

That is the important part.

Coffee in Greece isn't really about coffee.

It is permission to sit down.

Someone says, “Να σου κάνω έναν καφέ;”

Shall I make you a coffee?

It sounds like a small question.

It isn't.

It means: sit.

Tell me what happened.

Tell me about your mother.

Tell me who annoyed you.

Tell me who you love.

Stay a little longer.

Living in London has made me realise how much I miss rituals that don't appear to achieve very much.

You sit.

You drink something slowly.

You talk.

Nobody has improved their productivity.

Nothing has been crossed off a list.

And somehow the afternoon is better because of it.

Perhaps that is something Greece still understands very well.

Not everything valuable has to be efficient.

So if you're in Greece, don't order the coffee and immediately ask for the bill.

Let it sit there.

Have the glass of water.

Listen to whatever is happening at the next table.

Let somebody tell you a story you've probably heard before.

And if the coffee goes cold because the conversation went on too long, even better.

You did it properly.

— From London, with Greece in mind.