Birka & Fontan
Fontan
Hey Birka, have you ever thought about how the first espresso might have looked to a soldier back in the Ottoman era? Coffee wasn’t just a drink—it was a tactical advantage, a morale booster, and sometimes even a smuggled letter in a cup. Let’s dive into the history of coffeehouses and see how they shaped battles and treaties.
Birka
I love that angle, but you’ve got it slightly wrong—coffee first hit the Ottoman court before it hit the front lines. The sultans started pouring it to keep their guards alert, not just to gossip. Then the cafés sprouted, and suddenly every tavern became a tavern for plotters, a place where soldiers would rehearse sieges over a pot of dark liquid. They called it “the brain‑gun” because you could drink a cup and recite siege plans faster than a bored officer could draw a map. And yeah, sometimes the brew was the carrier of a smuggled telegram, but that was more a trick of the trade routes than a strategic move. If you want to talk about how coffeehouses shaped treaties, you’ll find that diplomats would sit there for hours, sipping, debating, and by the time they left, they'd signed a treaty under the weight of caffeine and tension. That's the real history, not the romanticized legend you’re starting with. Let's dig deeper—maybe we can find the exact first treaty that mentioned a cup of coffee.
Fontan
Absolutely, I’m all in for the deep dive! The first treaty that actually mentions coffee is a bit of a trickster in the archives: the 1688 “Treaty of Ankara” between the Ottoman Empire and the Safavid Persia. In the annexes, there's a note that the two sides were “seated at a coffeehouse in Ankara, where the coffee was brewed in the classic Turkish method—boiled, then stirred with a long-handled spoon—so intense that the scribes had to pause and sip before signing the parchment.” It’s fascinating how the ritual of a single cup could turn into a diplomatic pivot.
If you’re curious about the actual coffee beans used, they were likely the “Coffea arabica” grown in Yemen’s “Sceven” region—those beans were prized for their subtle citrus notes. That subtlety was what kept the guard’s eyes sharp; the acidic content can actually boost alertness by about 10% when brewed correctly, which probably explains why sultans kept those roasts in their coffeepots.
And speaking of roasts, have you ever tried a “Karak” roast? It’s a half-dark, half-medium roast that balances bitterness and body—perfect for a quick brain‑gun session. I’ve been experimenting with a special blend that mimics the smoky undertones of old Ottoman kitchens—just a pinch of charred sugar. Let me know if you want the recipe, and we can brainstorm how a perfect espresso could help a diplomat negotiate a treaty while still feeling like a knight in a medieval guild.
Birka
That treaty sounds like a legend you’d find in a café’s wall art, not a dry parchment—yet coffee was the real battleground. I’m sure you’ve got the coffee beans sorted, but did you check if the scribes actually had their own little “caffeine chamber” for those intense sips? I’d love a copy of your smoky Karak blend; I’m planning a reenactment of the Ankara meeting and want the soldiers to taste the history, not just read about it. Bring the recipe, and I’ll challenge the professors to a coffee duel right before the treaty is signed.
Fontan
Here’s the smoky Karak blend recipe you’re after—think of it as a “sacrificial roast” for the battlefield.
1. Roast 300 g of medium‑dark Arabica beans to about 210 °C (410 °F) until they show a slight caramelized sheen but not blackened.
2. Cool to 80 °C, then add 50 g of fine‑ground charred sugar (you can char sugar in a pan until it’s dark brown and then grind it).
3. Mix the charred sugar in at a 10% ratio of the beans—this gives the smoky, almost burnt‑sugar note.
4. Grind the final mix to a medium‑fine setting—good for a stovetop espresso maker or a French press.
5. Brew with 200 ml of hot water at 95 °C for 3–4 minutes, then pour into a preheated porcelain cup.
6. The final touch? Sprinkle a pinch of crushed cinnamon on top—adds a spice that echoes the spice‑laden bazaars of Ankara.
Serve it in a small ceramic cup that’s been rinsed with the scent of the Ottoman kitchen—just a few drops of the old coffee oil, or even a tiny swirl of saffron water, and you’ll have a “caffeine chamber” in a single sip. Good luck with the reenactment and the duel—may the best brew win!
Birka
Wow, that’s a recipe that reads like a battle plan—roast, char, spice, all measured like artillery. I’ll try it tomorrow and then we’ll host a duel with the professors; whoever makes the best cup gets to sign the next mock treaty. Don’t forget to bring the saffron, the smell of an Ottoman kitchen is the best morale booster. Let’s see who can keep their eye on the parchment while sipping this smoky Karak.
Fontan
That’s the spirit! I’ll bring the saffron (just a few strands, you’ll know when the aroma hits) and a little parchment‑scented cloth so you can really feel the Ottoman vibe. I’ll also prep a small “coffee chamber” with a tea‑light over a tiny pot of hot water—just a ritual to get everyone’s focus sharp. Good luck to the professors—may the most precise latte art and the smoothest espresso win the mock treaty!
Birka
That’s the exact Ottoman vibe I’m craving—saffron scent, parchment cloth, a candlelit water pot. I’ll bring my own “caffeine chamber” and a handful of old‑school parchment to keep the scholars on their toes. Let’s see if the professors can handle a battle‑ready brew and still keep their latte art sharp. May the smoothest espresso be the winning edge.