I don’t like coffee, except for one key exception. I love Turkish (armenian, romanian, bulgarian, greek, and basically all former provinces ruled by the Ottoman empire). It might be the greatest Ottoman contribution to the modern rule–considering their worst contribution was the Armenian genocide, getting coffee right is the least they could do.
First, you need a cevze (μπρίκι, ѓезве, jazva, ǆezva, джезве, τζιζβές, פינג’אן, xhezve, rakwa, Zezwa, kanaka, ghallāye, турка, ibric, or ibrik–which is one of the few Romanian words I can think as adopted to the English).
Preparing it is dead simple. Add water to your cevze. And unfiltered ground to your cevze, wait for it boil, stir so it reduces. Repeat three times. Serve.
That’s it, no coffee maker, no filters, no weirdly expensive espresso machines. Just a copper pot, and a few spoonfuls of grounds.
As you get to the end, the grounds sink to the bottom. 1) grit builds character, and 2) if you have a gypsy on hand they can divine your future based on the dried grounds.
It’s dead simple, it’s delicious, it puts hair on your chest.
That’s how I make coffee. If I’m forced to drink coffee at a restaurant then I order a double espresso. Because that’s closest I can find, and even then espresso can’t grow hair on your chest. There’s no sludge to toughen you up.
Also, it’s obligatory to smoke while drinking Turkish coffee.
It’s the only coffee worthwhile.