Wednesday, January 17, 2007
The Story of a Dark Brew: Tall Tale or Total Truth?
By Philip Visser
When arriving in Indonesia a few short years ago I was asked – in a lowered tone as if sharing a secret, “Have you ever tasted the coffee from Aceh?” “No, why?” I inquired. “They put stuff in the coffee,” and even softer, “you know….” I smiled good-naturedly, and dismissed it as another tall tale from a land of mystique. But my intrigue grew as the rumor persisted between islands I visited – Kupang, Sumba, Roti, Flores, Bali, Java…..
As it turned out I came to work in Aceh – the source of the coffee rumor. I simply had to find out – was this urban legend or perhaps a totally true story backed by years of culinary tradition? Perhaps you, the reader, have been equally curious about this possibility. More often than not my foreign friends have spoken very convincingly that after that nice cup of kopi Aceh they feel a little light in the head, “I swear man, it does something to you.”
A few Sunday mornings ago I went to the local Ulee Kareeng coffee shop – the one where the activists, local politicians and journalists hang out at night – for coffee and sweet cakes. A friend joined me and, as it often does, the conversation turned to life and culture of Aceh. This was the day I decided to put the rumor about the coffee to rest. My friend called the owner over and he sat down next to us. In a somewhat hushed tone my friend inquired whether the very cup of kopi Aceh we were drinking had anything special in it. “No,” was the answer. “Oh,” I said a little deflated. At least I finally learned that it’s not standard practice for every cup of coffee. “But,” our host, turned guide said, “if you go out on the road toward the airport, there you will find the real thing.”
We jumped in my friend’s van to explore the myth of the dark brew. Meanwhile, my friend elaborated on this intriguing practice. “There are essentially two methods – in the water and in the coffee itself. In the water method the seeds are wrapped in the coffee cloth and steeped in the boiling water. In the coffee method the seeds are mixed with the coffee grinds. “How do you know all this?” I asked. “From my brother,” he says. “He used to run our family coffee shop.”
We got there – a small unimpressive place with broken beams and drooping alang-alang grass for roof cover. It was anything but buzzing (no pun intended), with only two guys hanging out. My friend talked while I got the looks. “We have been invited to a party,” he announced.
Not far away we found a small gathering of villagers eating kari kambing in celebration of housing construction that was to start the next day. Introductions followed and we met the prominent geuchik (head of village). Once the formalities were over and the food was finished the small talk continued. “Okay, let’s go,” my friend announced. He and I followed our new geuchik friend. “I stuck it to him,” my friend whispered with a smile. “I told him you don’t believe the story of the coffee.” Our new friend got into his car and led us straight back to the same coffee shop we had just visited.
We settled down and soon the dark brew in the little glass cup with the familiar 3 scoops of sugar in the bottom was served. The geuchik winked at me and we lifted glasses in celebration of life and myth. I took the first sip carefully, perhaps gingerly, tasting the mysteries and pleasures of the sweet stuff of life. Different – not so sure - another sip – mmmm – maybe the after-taste lingered a bit strangely on the taste buds. I checked my head as the cup went down for any unfamiliar buzzing sounds or sensations. I thought I detected something, but after all this was my third cup of kopi Aceh this morning.
Between sips of dark liquid I heard stories of expats learning and practicing Bahasa Indonesia – the guy who asked his driver to come back at 4:00 and four hours later his driver finally came back. Jokes were told of expats and locals alike who try to master each others language – and good natured laughter when the efforts produce off-beat results - same sound, totally different meaning. More stories, more coffee….
I noticed that my tongue started to feel a bit thick in my mouth. I rolled it against my upper teeth – it felt weird – but then maybe it was just burned from my eagerness to taste the hot brew. Coffee was served and conversation, laughter, discussion, and stories flowed. The conversation did appear to float away that day, gaining a far off-quality. The nearby road with buzzing cars and motor bikes and trucks took on a tranquil and distant feeling - but maybe the feeling was created by the low hanging alang alang grass roof of the coffee shop.
When we left I had this strange feeling of happiness – was it the coffee or simply because of the new friends I made? Minta satu lagi kopi Aceh, Pak.
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