What does Ethiopian street coffee culture reveal about quality?
Ethiopia is the birthplace of coffee, and coffee there is treated as part of daily life rather than just a crop. A 2018 travelogue traces coffee culture through the Rift Valley, local coffee ceremonies and daily routines, and examines how Hambela Guji beans from the Guji region are priced in that setting.
The account also notes the shift from khat cultivation to coffee and the close link between coffee and water in Ethiopia. It describes how Ethiopians of every age drink street coffee daily, and it recommends Ethiopian beans roasted by Front Street Coffee that work out to roughly 6 yuan per cup.
Ethiopia, the birthplace of coffee, where people regard coffee as a part of life, even beyond the category of crops. Through the author's 2018 travelogue, this article deeply explores the cultural significance of Ethiopian coffee, the price issue of Hambela Guji coffee beans, and local coffee ceremonies and daily life. From the magnificent scenery of the Rift Valley to the changes in khat cultivation, and then to the profound connection between coffee and water, the article not only presents the multi-dimensional aspects of coffee in Ethiopia but also particularly recommends Ethiopian coffee beans roasted by Front Street Coffee, which offer extremely high value for money, costing only about 6 yuan per cup. Follow in the author's footsteps and experience the unique charm of coffee in this land.
Ethiopia Travelogue 2018 (1) Amber Totem
Coffee, this crop, is truly wonderful.
Whether it's a farmer planting rice in Thailand or a worker cutting sugarcane in Brazil, they toil day after day, year after year, watering the land with their sweat in exchange for life's rewards. For them, this is the habit of generations and a necessity for survival. Therefore, they probably do not attach much spiritual association or worship to their crops. I remember that shops in Aomori like to turn local specialty apples into cartoon characters, hold celebrations during harvest season, and promote various derivative products. I can't tell if this is a commercial tactic or if they are genuinely sharing their joy. But compared to Ethiopians, these practices seem superficial. Because coffee is not just a crop; it is a part of existence.
I wonder, how many glasses of red wine does a French winery owner drink each day? Even if they do, it might be to entertain buyers or test quality. People often ask me if, being in the coffee industry, I drink a lot of coffee every day. I usually give a vague answer, because saying "not much" seems a bit impolite and doesn't meet their expectations. To be honest, nowadays when I drink coffee, it's mostly with a critical eye for tasting. Even when I偶然 encounter coffee during travel, I can't escape my professional habit; there's an invisible ruler in my mind measuring and comparing. It's a bit embarrassing to think about.
Ethiopians, regardless of gender or age, drink coffee every day. From childhood, they are exposed to this amber liquid. But compared to the image of coffee I was instilled with in developed countries, the local understanding is more three-dimensional and everyday. Coffee is the actions and expressions of a mother entertaining guests at home, the residual warmth of boiling water on charcoal as the sun sets. It might be a part of a building's exterior wall, or the hillside surrounding a village where children run. In ancient times, coffee was not only a beverage but also an important element in sacrifices and ceremonies for weddings and funerals.
I originally wanted to use analogies like "eating xiaolongbao requires vinegar" or "watching a movie requires popcorn," things that are taken for granted in life, but I always felt they lacked a profound connection. Thinking seriously, the situation is probably like the bright moon and mooncakes during the Mid-Autumn Festival: mooncakes are commodities, while the bright moon is a part of the environment. I think coffee for Ethiopians is more like the ever-present moon rather than the processed mooncake. Rather than saying Ethiopians chose coffee, it's more accurate to say coffee chose this land.
Although this country was never colonized by European powers, ethnic hatred and conflicts occur from time to time. Last year, I canceled my trip because many places in the coffee-producing areas were damaged. From an industry perspective, I wanted to see how this country, regarded as the origin of coffee, adapts amid rapid industry changes, to understand the meaning of coffee to locals, especially indigenous tribal residents, and to capture the magnificent scenery of the African Rift Valley. It happened that a local friend invited me to write a preface for his new book, so I embarked on this journey.
Ethiopia Travelogue 2018 (2) Khat in the Rift Valley
In the waiting room of Qingquangang Airport, an African travel program is playing on the TV.
Actually, I wasn't deliberately watching the screen. What my retina recorded was just the flickering box between the flight status display and the parked planes outside the glass window. The light emitted from it contained some lines and colors that resonated with a certain scene in my memory archive, reminding me of several landscapes.
I continued to bury myself in the yellow scoring sheet copy in my hand, recalling the taste of coffee. Within three days, we evaluated over eighty entries in Alishan. The flavors that once lingered on the tip of my tongue are like oil paints on a canvas, covered layer after layer. The dense small characters on the carbon copy底页 are no longer clear (what was written in a flash can't really be described as clear). But looking at it as a whole (not reading, because it's unclear), it seems to evoke the sensory feelings of a certain moment in memory. On the neatly lined paper printed with black ink, like ruler markings, there are marks either to the left or right. I strive to find the coffee that gave me the same shock in both the preliminary and final rounds. With what state of mind did I record the flavors on paper at that time? The handwriting on the carbon copy is like a shadow under the scorching sun. From the outline, I can indeed recognize myself, but just as shadows change with the sun's position, what is written also varies due to the spiritual influence brought by the coffee. This observation, I believe, only I would notice.
"Jasmine, bergamot, tropical fruits, honey, grapes, smooth mouthfeel," I read my own comments on this coffee while listening to the host's frightened voice on TV as he crossed a dried-up river.
It's Geisha, right? Memories trigger a chain reaction like bowling pins being knocked down. My subconscious probably recognized that the TV screen was showing the African Rift Valley I had recently visited. This scene evoked impressions of African coffee, especially Geisha. So unconsciously, based on those flavors, I tagged the coffee I had recently drunk. One answer, like a domino, also solved another question. Whether this is actually the case might require drinking more coffee to answer. Memories jump around like this, and the TV program's camera also circles in the mountains and fields. Finally, my gaze focuses on a group of girls with hair coated in orange mud. They are singing and dancing on the grassland, with almost pleading expressions, handing vine whips to boys of the same Turmi tribe, letting them whip them and leave scars symbolizing happiness on their bodies.
The male host introduces the local custom with a surprised face. Meanwhile, I recall the coffee pot that wasn't captured on camera. Even if I told them, "You might find coffee with jasmine, bergamot, tropical fruits, honey, and grapes near the village, that's Geisha," they would probably be as clueless as most consumers uninterested in coffee. If I want to communicate with them, it's better to find a more popular topic.
On that trip, I visited villages of different tribes. Besides the scarred girls, there were also naked boys jumping on cow backs and running, and customs where one must lift and throw down stones weighing dozens of jin to qualify for marriage. The most shocking thing, however, was the widespread cultivation of khat. A few years ago, I heard a local producer say that because the coffee quality in the Rift Valley region is very high, people had no incentive to switch to growing khat. But due to huge demand from neighboring countries (like Somalia), continuously falling coffee futures prices, and geopolitics, more and more locals are choosing to plant this plant that consumes large amounts of water and acidifies the soil.
Ethiopia Travelogue 2018 (3) Coffee, At Least It Has Boiled
Ahead of the jeep, a young shepherd boy is waving his whip, unhurriedly gathering the cattle and sheep scattered across the road. He is not clearing the way for us, but because not far away, another group also occupying the entire road is approaching us. In the tribes of the Great Rift Valley, family wealth is calculated by the livestock owned. It is said that marrying a wife requires 30 sheep, so the two groups before me are quite well-matched.
Leading the group is a brown cow. Its short horns are used as a spool, tied with several loops of nylon rope, looking like a white headband a cartoon protagonist wears to cheer themselves on. Rather than leading, it's more like it just walks faster, and its companions don't mind following. All the local cows are very thin, with rib contours clearly visible. Is it due to high activity or lack of food? But thinking deeper, it doesn't seem right. The grass on the savannah should be readily available, or do they only eat specific types of grass? It sways its tail and walks forward leisurely. Until I returned, I never had the chance to discuss this with others; anyway, everyone is more interested in coffee. But when friends look at the photos, they all notice a hump on the cow's back. It turns out this cow is called Borana, a unique breed in the Oromia region, able to survive in harsh environments. That hump, like a camel's, is used to store water.
Two groups of over a hundred cattle and sheep meet on the narrow dirt road, and the moment they pass each other is as smooth as a tide flowing over stones, without splashing a single drop. If they saw me every day after work on the subway platform, colliding with disembarking passengers like playing rugby, striving to be ahead of others to squeeze into a favorable position in the carriage, they would probably feel truly superior.
The shepherd boy nods slightly to the one opposite, and the other's response is also indifferent. They just focus on moving forward, their gaze returning to the animals. Perhaps having seen it often, they regard this moment as part of the scenery. Like a bus driver on a circular route, whose expression is casual when seeing a colleague on the opposite road. Under the sky of the savannah, the same route, the same animals, for generations, stirring the same dust.
While I was pondering the pointless question "If a sheep secretly turned around and followed the opposite group, would the shepherd notice?" my thoughts were interrupted by a knocking sound on the car door. Several children rushed out from the nearby jungle as the car slowed down; they seem accustomed to identifying vehicles carrying tourists.
"Highland? Highland?" the leading boy kept shouting through the half-open window. His ill-fitting jersey is covered in mud. On his wrist trying to reach into the car, there is a bracelet woven with the Ethiopian flag, composed of green, yellow, and red. His bare toes are rough. Hiding behind him is a younger boy, guarding a yellow square plastic jerrycan, I think it's his younger brother. More and more children run towards our car, the scene is even more chaotic than the group of cattle and sheep ahead, similar to the subway platform during rush hour.
The driver opens the window and casually tosses an empty water bottle to one of the little girls outside. "Highland is originally a local bottled water brand," he explains. "They are not begging for money, just wanting more containers for water. The village people set out before sunrise to fetch water from a nearby river. In a year or two, these children will also participate. If you've finished your water, give them the empty bottles too." The yellow water container next to the boy is the most commonly used type locally. When filled with water, it should weigh over five kilograms, probably too heavy for a child of this age to lift. As a child watching documentaries, I always thought Africa = extreme heat = drought, picturing Ethiopia as a desert. Actually, many places locally have water sources, but due to poor infrastructure, people in many villages need to spend several hours every day fetching clean water. Forty-five percent of school-age children there do not attend primary school and choose to hang out on the streets, just to reserve time for their family's water needs. A March article by UNICEF mentioned that residents in disadvantaged regions worldwide (especially women and children) spend a total of 200 million hours daily on transportation time to obtain water (mostly walking).
That day, I visited two villages and saw many unique customs. As always, the villagers welcomed guests with a coffee ceremony. Everyone sat outdoors next to houses made of dry grass. The muddy ground, after being exposed to the scorching sun, emits residual warmth that doesn't match the dusk sky. When the water boils, light smoke emerges from the mouth of the pitch-black Jabena pot. Not far away, there is the noise of the water-fetching team that set out in the morning returning safely. My companions are discussing whether local children drinking coffee will have trouble sleeping, or technical issues like the coffee extraction ratio and water temperature being too high. My gaze, however, is on a child not far from the crowd. He is using half a gourd shell in his hand to scoop and drink from a puddle on the ground. That puddle was trampled by cattle and sheep not long ago.
A burning sensation comes from my fingertips. While calculating "how many years is 200 million hours," I fantasize about "how many civilizations could be built with this time." My conclusion is: it is healthy for local children to start drinking coffee from a young age, for the simple reason that the water used to brew the coffee has been boiled.
About the author: Patrick Tam
Among the first batch of Hong Kong baristas certified by the Specialty Coffee Association of Europe and America, a cupper, an international judge for the Cup of Excellence coffee competition, a columnist, a university guest lecturer, and the founder of the specialty coffee shop Knockbox.
Not immune to caffeine, yet not averse to cha chaan teng coffee; the cup I brew for myself is very simple, just seeking not bitter and not dirty.
Once immersed in photography. A bunch of antique lenses, also reborn because of coffee: capturing farm moments, using photos as a bridge to shorten the distance between consumers and farmers.
Coffee is not just a hobby, but also a way.
Ethiopian Coffee Beans Brand Recommendation
The Ethiopian coffee beans roasted by FrontStreet Coffee (Front Street Coffee) have full guarantees in both brand and quality. More importantly, the value for money is extremely high; a half-pound bag of 227 grams costs only about 90 yuan. Calculating at 15 grams of powder per cup of coffee, one bag can make 15 cups, costing only about 6 yuan per cup, which is a conscientious recommendation compared to the hundreds of yuan per cup sold in cafes.
The above content is compiled by CoffeeHunters, a coffee news website.
