In The Light of the World, Elizabeth Alexander’s beautiful memoir borne from the sudden loss of her husband, she describes the Eritrean coffee ritual, or in her words “the most sacred home ritual there was”:
Green coffee beans are roasted in a long-armed aluminum pot with the onomatopoeic name menkeshkesh, for the sounds the beans make when the person roasting shakes the pan gently, carefully watching for when the oils began to gleam and the beans to brown. Once the beans are roasted to the desired depth of flavor, the roaster takes the pan around the room, beginning with the eldest person present and going to each person, inviting them to fan the coffee smoke and to smell it. […] Then the beans are spread to cool on a straw mat called mishrafat, then ground and brewed three different times and served in tiny handle-less china cups called finjal, almost always with sugar and sometimes warmed milk. (72-73)
What I love about this passage is the attention to all of the senses in the creation of the perfect cups of coffee: the sounds of the roast, the smell of the smoke, and the sight of the oils. The person making the coffee must be tuned in completely to the moment, a meditation in and of itself.
I have my own ritual when making my morning coffee; one that is less ceremonial but that I take pleasure in—the grinding of the beans, the heating of the water, the pressing of the espresso, and inspecting the crema as it pools at the top of the shot. I too must be fully present, though admittedly with less precision, to make the most delicious cup.
That we should cook with all of our senses isn’t a new idea; chefs do it all of the time. But how would our relationship with food, with feeding ourselves and others, shift if we revered the entire process? What if we viewed our commute to the market as part of the ritual? What if a careful selection of our ingredients was part of our practice? If we cooked with love and ate with respect for what the earth and gardeners have given to us? And, what if we even considered cleaning the kitchen as part of the ritual? The closing of our ceremonial gesture.
Many of us know people who struggle with their relationship with food, or maybe we are that person. Even more of us may know someone who struggles with digestive issues, or maybe that’s your current challenge. According to the GI Alliance, 62 million Americans are diagnosed with a digestive disorder each year, an astonishing number, and I propose that taking a more mindful approach, a more ritualistic approach, a more reverent approach to preparing and eating would help, or at the very least will have us become more conscious cooks and thoughtful eaters. If we think about how often we eat on the go or quickly at the table or distracted by the tv, phone, or email—all things of which I am sometimes guilty—can we also imagine its opposite? Eating with focused attention and being present for the nourishment we are offering ourselves and those sharing a meal with us.