Uniting a Nation Under Pressure: The Cezve as a Ritual of Memory + Identity in Ukraine

We explore Ukraine’s cezve traditions and how regional coffee rituals stand as symbols of quiet resilience.

BY ISABELLE MANI
BARISTA MAGAZINE ONLINE

Featured photo courtesy of Esma Adzhiieva

This article is part of our ongoing exploration of Ukrainian coffee culture, following our print feature on the country’s resilient specialty scene. This time, we turn to the cezve, also known as the ibrik: a brewing method woven through Ukraine’s shifting borders and layered cultures. Coffee, and especially the cezve tradition, is more than cultural pride: It’s a daily affirmation of belonging, difference, and endurance.

For Ukraine, the current war is not only about territory or sovereignty, but a battle for its own language, memory, and culture, the core of what the country’s invaders claim does not exist. Russia’s narrative argues that Ukraine is not a real nation and has never been. So for every Ukrainian, every gesture of cultural continuity—like every embroidery, every song, every ritual, and every cezve brew—is political resistance.

That’s why, during the 2025 World Coffee Championships, which took place in Milan, Italy, this past October, watching Ukraine’s Anzhelika Rybak and Ivan Bilousov, 2024 National Cezve/Ibrik Champion and bronze medalist at the 2024 WCC, take over the brew bar at Cafézal Milano in traditional dress, brewing cezve with copper pots they brought from home, felt deeply significant.

There was pride in their faces: a joy in sharing not just their technique, but in making human connections through what, for them, matters most: respect for their mastery, their craft—not pity, but support and admiration.

For this article—produced and researched with the assistance of Iryna Makukha, Communications Coordinator at SCA Ukraine and publisher at Kascara Magazine—we dive deep into the cezve’s unique history in Ukraine, guided by the knowledge of three specialists from distinct regions in different but complementary subjects about cezve, coffee, and cultural legacy and pride.

A Brief History: Coffee’s Journey to Ukraine

Ibrik, or cezve, is one of the oldest brewing methods in the world, rooted in the cultures shaped by the Ottoman Empire. In Ukraine, it has long held a place similar to Italy’s moka pot: a daily ritual, done at home, rich in warmth and memory. But unlike in many countries, Ukraine’s cezve tradition is not one unified story. It shifts in form, flavor, and symbolism depending on where you are—and whom you ask.

Coffee first arrived in the lands that would become Ukraine through Ottoman traders and soldiers in the 16th century, notably in Crimea and the Black Sea region. Here, the cezve quickly became a symbol of hospitality and tradition. 

As Ottoman influence pushed west, coffee found new ground in Transcarpathia and Galicia (Note: Galicia in Ukraine is a historical region in Eastern Europe, not to be confused with Galicia in Spain), regions that would later come under Habsburg/Austrian rule. In cities like Lviv, the Viennese Kaffeehaus tradition flourished, bringing a new culture of cafés as social, artistic, and intellectual spaces. Over time, these worlds overlapped: cezve brewing persisted in homes, while grand cafés brought together writers, revolutionaries, and city dwellers.

Throughout wars, occupations, and the Soviet era, these traditions survived—sometimes underground, sometimes in plain sight. Today, Ukraine’s coffee culture is a living mosaic, where each region’s history can be tasted in the cup, whether brewed in a cezve or poured in a grand café.

Cezve in Ukraine: Regional Stories + Living Traditions

Crimea

We explored the history of cezve in Ukraine’s Crimea region with the guidance of Esma Adzhiieva, Head of the NGO Alem, which focuses on popularizing the culture of the Crimean Tatars.

Esma explains that, in the historic coffeehouses of Ukraine’s Crimea region, people of different ethnic backgrounds gathered in quiet, carpeted alcoves. The first cup was always free, as a gesture of welcome from the owner. Much like Naples’ caffè sospeso, this practice blended generosity and dignity: One paid for their own cup and left another behind for a stranger.

The cezve recipe remained constant: finely ground beans, cold water, and patience over hot coals, until the thick foam rose, announcing the brew was ready. “Coffee culture began to take shape in Crimea, influenced by the emergence of the first coffeehouses in Istanbul, the capital of the Ottoman Empire,” Esma says. “(The) drink quickly became integral to Crimean Tatar (indigenous Ukrainian) tradition, symbolizing hospitality and homey comfort.”

Esma shares that coffee-drinking became an integral part of the Khan’s court as an element of palace and diplomatic etiquette, with strict guidelines that trained officials and servants vigilantly adhered to. “Over time, the ritual of offering coffee acquired its own cultural and social meanings, becoming an inseparable part of everyday life, with each preparation shaped by the occasion and the context,” Esma explains.

She also shares that, in everyday Crimean life, there are also “casual” variations of cezve brewing, such as dembel qahvesi, or ‘lazy coffee,’ and bet üvmaz qahvesi, which translates to ‘coffee before washing one’s face.’”

“Despite the Soviet period and upheaval, these rituals survived,” Esma says—and in 2024, the coffee tradition of the Crimean Tatars was included in the National Inventory of the Elements of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Ukraine.

Transcarpathia

To better understand coffee culture in the Transcarpathia region of Ukraine, we spoke to Yana Shershun: journalist, tour guide, and co-founder of Espresso Tours—a tour that guides visitors through historic coffee monuments throughout Ukraine.

Yana shares that coffee culture in the region was formed at the crossroads of European and Ottoman influence. “The first mentions of coffee in our lands date back to the Ottoman Empire, but over time, particularly after the Habsburgs, Lviv adopted Vienna’s Kaffeehaus style,” Yana told Barista Magazine. “Here, coffee often became a ‘snack,’ consumed with butter, sugar, and spices.”

Yana also tell a famous story from 1685, where the Ottoman Pasha invited the Transylvanian prince Imre Tekeli to dinner. After the meal, Tekeli was told they must still be served “black soup,” or Fekete leves. The dish was made of coffee, and after drinking it, Tekeli was arrested, as coffee was banned at the time. From there, the story of (and the taste for) “black soup” spread through the region.

As for cafés, Yana says they were meeting points for the elite—but the love of coffee eventually became part of local life at all levels. Even during Soviet times, traditional brewing with the cezve persisted in many households. Grinding mechanisms were made locally, and despite the rise of geyser and espresso makers, the cezve endured.

The Tyvodar Legotsky Museum in Uzhhorod still preserves cast-iron grinders from local foundries—a tangible link to a time when coffee rituals shaped domestic rhythms. Even during the Soviet era, the cezve persisted in homes: a quiet form of resistance dressed in routine.

A Modern Revival

Oleksii Yurkevskyi, the Ukrainian 2025 Cezve Champion, tells the story of his first experience with the cezve. “I brewed my first cezve when I was about 5 or 6—my mother let me make her coffee. For my mother, it was morning peace and stability; for my grandmother, always sweets and conversation,” Oleksii says. “For me, cezve is a tribute to history: general and personal. It connects me with the past—(my) childhood, my hometown, and the moments where everything began. It’s a culture that dates back to ancient times—and today is being revived again.”

Representing Zaporizhzhia, Oleksii guided the judges through his storytelling theme, “Everyday Meaning and Revival,” where the cezve was not a spectacle, but a quiet ritual of return. Through attentive brewing and poetic restraint, he evoked the cezve as a daily gesture of care, clarity, and cultural continuity. Beneath the calm of his hands, however, lay the weight of proximity—Oleksii lives just 30 kilometers from the frontline.

Oleksii says that when representing Ukraine on the world stage, he felt “both tension and peace,” seeing the moment as one of both honor and responsibility. “(I didn’t want to just) show technique, but also bring emotion to judges and the audience,” Oleksii shared with Barista Magazine. “Preparation is hard, especially now, but that makes us stronger.”

“Coffee, in times of national crisis, helps us preserve ourselves. It unites us. It allows us to speak about our values and show that we don’t lose dignity, depth, or beauty, even in the darkest days,” Oleksii adds. “Roasters send coffee to the front—for soldiers, medics, volunteers. It’s a symbol of care and unity. Our baristas raising the flag at world championships shows we exist, we are strong, and we have something to be proud of. We are Ukrainians.”

In Closing

These voices, from Crimea, Transcarpathia, and today’s champions, reveal the cezve not just as a brewing method, but as a living thread in Ukraine’s story—uniting generations, regions, and even a nation under pressure. Here, coffee is more than a drink: it’s a ritual of memory, care, and identity.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Isabelle Mani (she/her) is a writer, journalist, and communicator specializing in the international coffee industry. Since 2017, she has focused on writing articles and features for various international coffee news outlets. Isabelle has traveled to coffee-producing countries such as Colombia, Kenya, Rwanda, China, and Brazil to study and research coffee. She holds training certifications from the Specialty Coffee Association (SCA) and the Coffee Quality Institute (Arabica Q Grading).

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