Aida Kochel leads a coffee ceremony every Sunday at Jackson Ward Ethiopian cafe Buna Kurs.
Staring down into the sini, a small, elegant coffee cup, I see tiny pools of butter dot the steaming liquid within. My thumb and index finger delicately cradle the porcelain just below its lip to avoid burning the skin, a safe spot. After being guided through a traditional Ethiopian coffee ceremony, my 10 companions and I are ready to take our first sips.
“We drink our coffee with salt and butter, refined butter” says Aida Kochel, clad in a habesha kemis, a hand-woven cotton dress with colorful accents. “Not all parts of the country, but in the southern part, where I grew up, they drink it with salt and butter. Some parts of the country they do sugar and some parts straight.”
Kochel, a native of Ethiopia, has been leading these gatherings since she was a child, and more recently, every Sunday after church at her sister’s Jackson Ward cafe, Buna Kurs.
The cafe approaches its first anniversary in October, and these weekly ceremonies offer a hands-on introduction to one of the oldest and most widespread traditions of the African country.
“A lot of people don’t know Ethiopian breakfast, but they have experienced Ethiopian food,” says Lily Fasil, owner of Buna Kurs. “My whole concept is to give an authentic Ethiopian experience.”
The cherished social custom of the coffee ceremony dates back to the ninth century in Ethiopia, the birthplace of the drink. It gives friends, neighbors and family a chance to catch up and spend time together, and offering someone a cup is both a sign of respect and an unspoken greeting. While coffee is considered in many places to be an on-the-go beverage, in Ethiopia, it’s about being present and slowing down.
“They do it every Sunday, nobody works [then],” Kochel says. “We’re at home eating, and it’s like a day of rest. That’s how we connect, over coffee.”
The caffeinated rituals, typically lasting two to three hours, are as much of a sensory experience as a social one. Kochel washes the beans in front of us before roasting them over an open flame, continuously shaking and stirring them like JiffyPop over a campfire. The heady scent of frankincense permeates the room as incense, or itan, burns, its aroma mingling with the powerful perfume of the beans. Kochel shares that back home, people also spread fresh grass cuttings or flowers from their yard around the circle for additional aromatics.
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Kochel adds dollops of refined butter to cups of coffee during the ceremony at Buna Kurs.
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“It’s kind of therapeutic; they sit down, they smell the coffee, they’re drinking, talking,” she says.
The smell is intoxicating, and the anticipation builds as the beans roast, their color transforming from green to a toasty hue. Kochel, our roaster and raconteur, puts some in a basket and passes it around the circle so that everyone can take a whiff.
“Every daughter in the house, you get to see this growing up pretty much a couple times a day,” she says.
Coffee ceremonies are usually hosted by the women of the house, who exercise an open-door policy, with neighbors popping by over the course of the day.
“If you come to someone’s house, they’re going to make you coffee whether you like it or not,” Kochel says with a smile. “When I first got to do this, I was 12 years old, and my mom said, ‘OK, you’re ready.’
“My uncles and aunts were there, my cousins, everybody in the house,” she continues. “I roasted it and did amazing, and then, when I finally get to the point where I’m serving my coffee, I was pouring and got my first cup, second, and then there’s 10 more people waiting. I didn’t pass the second cup because that’s all I got.”
Leading an Ethiopian coffee ceremony with confidence is a skill that takes time to hone, like perfecting a bread recipe — there are errors along the way, from muddy pours to charred beans.
“Not just anybody can do this,” says Fasil, who notes she prefers her elder sister to take the lead. “It’s a process, making Ethiopian coffee; you have to know the sounds.”
Not just anybody can do this. ... It’s a process, making Ethiopian coffee; you have to know the sounds.
—Lily Fasil, owner of Buna Kurs
After finely grinding the beans (Kochel uses an electric grinder, but a mortar and pestle is common) Kochel adds them to a jebena, an Ethiopian clay pot with a long neck and spout, that contains boiling water. During nonceremonial days it can be spotted sitting on the coffee bar at Buna Kurs.
When she deems it ready, Kochel begins to pour the coffee into the sinis sitting atop her rekebot, a low-lying table used during the ceremony. In one graceful, continuous motion, she fills the cups in an uninterrupted flow. The grounds settle to the bottom of the vessels as a basket of popcorn is passed around — but only once the coffee is complete. While “buna” translates to coffee, and “kurs” to breakfast, Fasil says, “Bunakurs is also a snack you have with your coffee ceremony.”
Bits of refined butter are dropped into the cups along with a sprinkle of salt before each is passed off. And just like that, two hours on a Sunday have passed, the single sini well worth the wait. Taking a slow and thoughtful sip, Kochel says, “This is the perfect blend. I’ve been drinking coffee since I was 8, so I know when coffee is good.”
