Coffee Cup Readings: Gendered Knowledge, Divination, and the Aesthetics of Everyday Ritual
As I write this essay, I am sipping my machine-made imported Turkish coffee (from Istanbul) from my living room in London, the grounds settling like memories at the bottom of the cup. There is no auntie or a friend nearby to read my fortune, only the steam rising like the ghosts of old rituals, whispering of recollections I carry but can no longer touch. As a Turkish-British curator and now a student of Anthropology of Food again, having lived in London for over 18 years, I have a special, nostalgic bond with Turkish coffee and coffee cup readings. Although I drink Turkish coffee at home sporadically and consume it in places such as my Turkish hairdresser or a Turkish restaurant with friends, it almost tastes different in Turkey. The context, aroma, grains, and the gendered connotations of Turkish coffee have always interested me. Today, coffee is produced on three continents and in approximately seventy countries. Although Turkey is not among these countries, the term "Turkish coffee" is recognised worldwide, especially in Europe. The methods that the Turks have applied according to their tastes, from roasting and grinding the coffee beans to preparing and serving the powder as a hot drink, have given the drink a unique flavour and appearance. As a result of its adoption by other communities, a distinct coffee identity has emerged (Kuzucu & Koz, 2013).
During the formation and tracing of the history of Turkish coffee identity, the coffee-drinking rituals developed by the Turks, who popularised coffee and made it known around the world, should be noted. For example, it has become a tradition to serve coffee with Turkish delight, cooked without sugar, in a pot called cezve, then slowly heated on a stovetop or in sand until it froths. The coffee is then poured into cups, with the grounds settling at the bottom. A small glass of water is always served alongside the Turkish coffee. The person to whom coffee is served first purifies their mouth by drinking pure water, in a way that purifies the channels through which the coffee will pass. I have always been fascinated with these cultural rituals and social norms and how they are translated over time. But how did Turkish coffee come about? How is it different from Arabic or Greek coffee?
Photo by Abdullah Al Mallah for Unsplash
The word "coffee" in English, as noted in etymological dictionaries, is ultimately derived from the Arabic word "qahwah," meaning "coffee". This Arabic term was adopted into Turkish as "kahve" and then into Dutch as "koffie," before entering the English language in 1582 (Kaye, A., 1986). Coffee was first introduced to the Ottoman Empire in the 16th century, quickly becoming an emblem of elite sociability and intellectual exchange. Turkish, Greek, and Arabic coffee share a common origin and technique, where finely ground coffee is brewed in water without the use of filtration. However, they differ in their flavour profiles, ritual use, serving styles, and cultural meanings, shaped by regional histories, political tensions, and social customs. Their distinctions are subtle but significant, and understanding them requires an exploration that is at once material, symbolic, and geopolitical. All three coffee traditions descend from Ottoman-era coffee culture, which was in turn shaped by earlier Yemeni practices. The method of boiling very finely ground coffee with water (often sugar) in a small pot (cezve, briki, or dallah) emerged in the 16th century. It spread across the Eastern Mediterranean, the Balkans, and the Arab world. Examining the differences between Turkish and Greek coffee, while the technical differences are subtle, what truly sets these traditions apart is nationalist appropriation, symbolic meaning, and ritual embedding. Greek coffee's renaming is a response to postcolonial identity formation, whereas Turkish coffee serves as a vessel for femininity, intimacy, and oracular knowledge. At the same time, Arabic coffee (often brewed with cardamom and sugar) serves as a marker of generosity, status, and continuity of tribal and Bedouin traditions.
Photo on the left: ©Abdullah Al Mallah for Unsplash, photo on the right: Valiant Made for Unsplash
The earliest kahvehane (coffeehouse) in Istanbul served as male-only spaces where politics, poetry, and games were part of everyday discourse. These venues were so influential that they were periodically banned for being potential sites of sedition and dissent (Hattox, 1985). Turkish coffee thus developed strong associations with masculinity, public debate, and the urban intelligentsia. Even as it trickled into domestic rituals, especially in the context of marriage customs such as the bride serving coffee to her prospective groom, it retained a sense of ceremony and gravitas. In the context of coffee preparation, it is often seen as a performative ritual, especially within the context of courtship. In the görücü usulü (arranged marriage) tradition, a young woman demonstrates her domestic competence and subtle subversion (by salting the coffee of her suitor as a test) through her proficiency in coffee-making. If the suitor does not make a face or spit out the coffee, it is usually an indication of a healthy, prosperous future marriage. Here, coffee serves as a feminine-coded practice enacted in the domestic sphere but judged by public norms of propriety, taste, and readiness for marriage. Thus, coffee can be read as a gendered performance of intimacy and control, linking female labour to social surveillance. However, examining one of the most historic coffee houses in Turkey – Kuru Kahveci Mehmet Efendi – reveals how male-dominated the Turkish coffee-making and packaging process is.
In comparison, tea is prepared and served across genders and generations. However, in both public and domestic settings, it is often women who serve the tea, especially in informal or caregiving roles. Tea production itself in the Black Sea region also relies heavily on feminised labour, much of it unpaid or underpaid. Thus, while tea is egalitarian in consumption, its production and service still reflect gendered hierarchies. I have become accustomed to stocking tea bags and quickly brewing tea in the UK, where I am accustomed to adding a dollop of milk to my tea, which would be frowned upon in Turkey. Examining the preparation and consumption of Turkish coffee, in the context of Victor Turner's liminality, helps us understand the ritual of coffee preparation and consumption not merely as a mundane act, but as a transitional, symbolic, and socially charged experience that suspends ordinary time and opens a space for reflection, transformation, and social reconfiguration. In the anthropological sense, liminality refers to the in-between phase of a ritual process (a threshold state) where individuals are no longer what they were, but not yet what they will become. It is marked by ambiguity, transformation, and communitas. Turkish coffee, mainly when situated within specific cultural contexts (such as courtship, mourning, reconciliation, or coffee cup reading), can be seen as enacting precisely such a threshold.
© Yucar Studios via Unsplash
Going back to the concept and context of coffee cup reading, "fal bakma" in Turkish, I am personally fascinated by treating the coffee grains as a material and the cup almost like a canvas where images, symbols, and meanings appear through fortune telling. This activity typically occurs in an intimate group setting, often after meals or during conversations. When I mention my cultural background and origins to people, I do get a lot of the "Oh, you are Turkish? Do you know how to read the coffee cup?" questions. I don't particularly associate myself with witchcraft, fortune-telling, or individuals with outstanding psychic abilities, even though I am quite spiritual. I do, however, hold a special interest and curiosity towards symbolism, alchemy, and materiality. The small, concentrated cups and the quiet moments they invite reflect a slowing down, a pause that can foster reflection, storytelling, or different interpretations, which interest me. Coffee is thus less about thirst or sociability and more about mood, symbolism, and controlled exchange. Although Turkish Coffee can be traced back to the 16th century, there is no official information available regarding the origin of coffee fortune-telling in Turkey. Today, it is generally seen as a pastime amongst women, or rather a game played with the curiosity of learning what will happen in the future. The oldest information and image about coffee fortune-telling is a fortune-telling scene in a coffeehouse miniature from an album of the early 17th century (Kuzucu & Koz, 2013). Another word commonly used is tasseography, which is the practice of interpreting patterns in tea leaves, coffee grounds, or other drink sediments to gain insights or predict the future. It's a form of divination where the shapes and symbols formed by the residue are believed to hold symbolic meaning. Some people take their coffee cup readings seriously, while others enjoy them for fun. Either way, it's a great way to immerse yourself in another culture and sip on some delicious, strong coffee. But what is the process? I'll be demonstrating how one can interpret reading from a Turkish coffee cup below, but before that, I will explain a step-by-step visual representation:
© Huma Kabakci, the author reading her coffee cup in her home.
-
After you have brewed Turkish coffee in a traditional pot with a teaspoon or two of coffee grounds, water, and/or sugar – I recommend Turkish Porter for online orders in the UK – pour the coffee into a small coffee cup with a saucer (an espresso cup would also work).
-
Drink the coffee mindfully, leaving the sediment undisturbed at the bottom of the cup. This moment of enjoyment is also about setting intentions and focusing your thoughts, which many believe influences the reading.
-
Once you have finished the coffee, cover the cup with the saucer. Then, make a wish or think of a question you would like to have answered. Hold the coffee cup set with your hands in front of you, chest level. Make three horizontal circles clockwise. Your goal is to move the sediment around and evenly spread it around the entire inside surface of the cup.
-
Turn the coffee cup upside down (flip it) with a quick movement, whilst holding it tightly. This action will bring the sediments down to the saucer, leaving the necessary patterns that a coffee reader needs.
-
Let it sit for a few minutes to allow the coffee grounds to slide down and form patterns. You can also add a coin on top if you want it to cool down faster.
-
After the cup has cooled, lift it to reveal the patterns formed by the coffee grounds. This is where the interpretation begins. My Book of Symbols is convenient for this, but some of the symbols and shapes are also learnt from listening and seeing.
© Huma Kabakci, The author reading her saucer with Coffee grains in her home.
Animal shapes in Turkish coffee grounds can offer insightful revelations. For instance, a bird shape might indicate an upcoming journey or the imminent arrival of good news. A fish, often associated with abundance, could hint at prosperity or new opportunities. Horses usually symbolise strength, power, and courage for new adventures. Meanwhile, snake can mean either caution or shedding old skin, depending on what other shapes and symbols appear. Each section of the cup (the upper, lower, and side rims, as well as the bottom) is related to different themes and time frames. In times of uncertainty and overwhelm, my favorite pastime is inviting friends over for brunch or dinner, followed by a cup of coffee and readings. However, I also recall a famous Turkish saying that translates to, “Don’t believe in fortune telling, but don’t go without it either” which is both playful and ironic that stayed with me.
Literature Review
Hattox, R.S., 1985. Coffee and Coffeehouses: The Origins of a Social Beverage in the Medieval Near East. Seattle: University of Washington Press.
Kuzucu, K. and Koz, M.S., 2013. Turkish Coffee. Istanbul. Yapı Kredi Yayınları.
Sutton, D., 2001. Remembrance of Repasts: An Anthropology of Food and Memory. Oxford: Berg
Turner, V., 1969. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Chicago: Aldine Publishing.
White, M. 2012. Coffee Life in Japan, University of California Press
Cover image taken by Eda Kutluozen