Breakfast is a pretty set up. Mornings consist of a table spread with breads, feta cheese, sucuk (like beef sausage.. But not at all), black "Greek" olives, green olives, homemade jams, butter, honey, cucumbers and tomatoes (maybe with olive oil, maybe without), and of course çay (tea). Çay is the opium of this country. It is morning, day, and night. It is at home, at the office, and offered everywhere (even at the gas station). The funny contrast I see between çay here and tea in America is not only the appearance, and perhaps not even just the vast difference in the amount of consumption, or even the preparation, but it is the gender role it plays.
Çay is served in small tulip shaped glasses in a saucer most often with blue or red surrounding the interior edges. It has the figure of a woman. It is a lovely little drink with a near deep burgundy color that is near sexy. But although I personally believe that çay has all the powers of the feminine mystique, I also see the masculinity of the man that drinks it. Yes, everyone in this country drinks it. Men, women, and everything in between. But when I see old men at their coffee houses (Turkish coffee is an entirely different matter) with their holy beads in one hand and their fingers gripping the edge of their hot, dark, bitter, çay in the other.. I see a man loving the beauty of a woman. As an ultra-mannish man sips on his sugarless, dark çay (bitter to prove his masculinity), I see a romance.
Though this trendy food revolution that is spreading Whole Foods throughout the states, I don’t believe that the obsession with Yogi Tea, or Darjeeling imported tea, or anything else that these new age hippies claim to feed your soul and cure your mind or train your dog, can compare to çay.
Because, what compares to making love?
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