Arabian Coffee

My hat is off to you, food critiques. Bondan Winarno, Fransiska Anggraeni, and others. You are indeed brave people, putting your life on the line like that. It may seem easy, but, really, it takes quite a tastebud to experience the world's weirdest gastronomic riches and survive. It's not for everybody. I've learnt that the hard way.

I was invited to break my fast by some Middle Eastern friends. They are the friendliest of people. I don't speak Arabic, but I get the feeling that they are praying for your good health everytime they speak to you in their native tongue.

Anyway, upon arrival I was asked whether I would like tea or coffee. I chose the later because I had heard about how good it was, being very strong and all. My first impression was that of suspicion. It didn't look like your ordinary coffee. It was much too clear for comfort. As if to confirm my suspicion, it also didn't smell like coffee. Instead, it reminded me of the herb section of Pasar Beringharjo, Yogyakarta. But then I thought, this was, after all, Arabian coffee. They wouldn't call it as such if it looked and smelled like your average Tugu Luwak or Kapal Api. Bracing myself for nasty surprises, I took a sip.

It tasted nothing like coffee. Not a thing. It was more of a concoction of god-knows-what. I was harshly reminded of my traumatic childhood experience of my mother forcing me to drink brotowali, a hellishly bitter Javanese herb claimed to be good for your health. This coffee was even worse. Think of your most gruesome nightmare. Double that, and visualize it as a clear-brownish liquid. Add the picture of Bang Haji Rhoma Irama giving lecture on quantum physics for good measure. And it wouldn't be far off. I was left wondering how anyone could drink this and still maintained their sanity.

My startled expression was clearly the source of amusement for my Arabic friends. They met my murderous glance with broad grin. Supressing laughter, they politely asked me if I enjoyed what seemed to be the pride of their culinary tradition. I struggled to restore my composure and with equal civility asked what the (obscenity-deleted) did they put on their coffee. They listed some herbs, of which only saffron rang a bell.

Now, if there were only a way to get these grinning Arabs to taste jengkol or pete...