A caffè in Roma

Buongiorno. Un caffè per favore.

I picked up those Italian words pretty rapidly. The almost-tuxedo-dressed-server immediately puts a little saucer and a little spoon on the no-stool-bar countertop. He adds a container with sugar envelopes and a small glass of water. He turns around and moves toward the massive espresso machine. An instant later he puts a tiny-half-full espresso cup (or half-empty depending on your perspective of life) on the saucer. Are you kidding me? That’s all? I take the cup and taste the black liquid: hot and a little bitter. That’s yummy and waking me up!

While I slowly drink the four-sip-maximum-caffè (caffè in Italy is an espresso here) I try to pay attention to the whirlwind of activity in this café-bar. Short sentences of Italian, the sound of steam coming from the espresso machine, the cling of saucers and cups hitting each other, patrons walking in and out. No more than five minutes later I am out of there, back on the streets of Rome. Those café-bars represent an efficient, pleasant, tasty stop: tailored-made for me.

Coming back from an early morning visit to St-Peter’s Basilica I stop with my wife and daughter in Bar Amore. Our order consists of one caffè, one cappuccino, and three pastries. Five euros and much better than the North American coffee shops.

I appreciated the historical significance of Rome and its monuments. But what I miss the most is the Italian coffee culture.

This post is written by my coffee-loving husband.