Last Thursday was International Coffee Day, a day which I could not let pass unnoticed of course. After all, anyone who has ever been to Italy knows that a coffee at home will never be the same again now you have discovered what coffee can taste like. Then, everyone who has ever been to Naples knows that a coffee will never be the same anywhere else, including the rest of Italy. For years already, I have been wondering what the secret is, and why it seems impossible to brew a cup of coffee that equals an Italian caffè anywhere in the world that isn’t Italy.
With his broad shoulders, arms full of tattoos and shaved head he looked more like a soldier than a barista. That whole year, I thought of him to be a huge guy. Until, on the very last day of college, he came from behind the counter to kiss us goodbye
Because when I think of Italy, I immediately smell coffee. My very first blogpost – almost a year ago now – kicked off with the clattering sound of the saucers skilfully placed on the counter and the hissing sound of the milk frother. These smells and sounds are a vivid memory of the university bar in Rome, the reason I arrived no less than half an hour before class started every morning. I couldn’t have it any better than to begin my day with a creamy cappuccino in the sun, prepared with lots of love and attention by Gianmarco, who always seemed to smile. A funny detail: with his broad shoulders, arms full of tattoos and shaved head he looked more like a soldier than a barista. That whole year, I thought of him to be a huge guy. Until, on the very last day of college, he came from behind the counter to kiss us goodbye and he suddenly had shrunk twenty centimetres. It turned out that there was a considerable elevation on the other side of the counter.
At that time, I was still blissfully unaware of how I was violating the Italian coffee etiquette by ordering a, what the Italians call, “pond of milk” at four in the afternoon
I was about fifteen years old when the big moment had arrive in the bar where my friends and I could be found several times a week after school: I ditched my peach tea and tried my very first cappuccino. I still used two sachets of sugar to be able to drink it, but I was really drinking coffee after all. At that time, I was still blissfully unaware of how I was violating the Italian coffee etiquette by ordering a, what the Italians call, “pond of milk” at four in the afternoon. By now, many years on, I can rarely appreciate a cappuccino after eleven o’clock and I have my Dutch coffee completely black. My Italian coffee I take with a tiny bit of brown sugar however.
How about a caffè doppio, caffè marocchino, caffè ristretto, caffè d’orzo, caffè macchiato, caffè americano, caffè corretto, caffè lungo, caffè shakerato, or caffè del nonno? And do you want the latte caldo or freddo?
Brown sugar, or zucchero di canna. One of the things that can be found in every single coffee bar in Italy. Such a classic coffee bar does not even remotely resemble the Starbucks, so you can forget about your pumpkin spice latte to get that autumn Halloween mood on. However, in case you started to wonder if the choice in an Italian coffee bar is limited to espresso and cappuccino, you couldn’t be more wrong. Probably they don’t have a menu, but perhaps it’s somewhere written – most likely barely legible and in lush handwriting – on a chalkboard: all the Italian classics. How about a caffè doppio, caffè marocchino, caffè ristretto, caffè d’orzo, caffè macchiato, caffè americano, caffè corretto, caffè lungo, caffè shakerato, or caffè del nonno? And do you want the latte caldo or freddo? – Hot or cold milk? In a jug next to it or already poured in? Do you drink your coffee while standing al banco, at the bar or at a table? And the glass of water that comes with it: do you prefer it frizzante or naturale? With or without bubbles?
Where Italian people invariably complain about the messy politics and the impossible bureaucracy in Italy, Dutch people can’t stop complaining about the terrible weather and, yes, the disgusting coffee
No matter how different the experience of drinking a coffee in Italy is compared to drinking it the Netherlands, my home country, the inhabitants of both countries are known for being real coffee lovers and therefore heavy consumers. Moreover, a coffee moment has the same function in both Italy and the Netherlands: it’s a social moment to get together, to talk about your day, to gossip and, last but not least, to complain. Because whether the coffee is provided by Lavazza or the good old Douwe Egberts – the most famous Dutch coffee brand and a true cultural institute – it’s one’s true guilty pleasure to shamelessly complain about everything and everyone while sipping a steaming cup. Where Italian people invariably complain about the messy politics and the impossible bureaucracy in Italy, Dutch people can’t stop complaining about the terrible weather and, yes, the disgusting coffee. The black stuff coming from the vending machines in those modern open-plan offices is the absolute worse, something that I have not missed for a second after quitting my job in a bank.
The nonchalance with which the Italian barista prepares a perfect caffè for you while simultaneously taking part in the lively discussion with the people on the other side of the counter is truly astonishing
Despite all those years of drinking coffee in Italy, I still have not been able to discover their big secret. The nonchalance with which the Italian barista prepares a perfect caffè for you while simultaneously taking part in the lively discussion with the people on the other side of the counter is truly astonishing. Several times, I have bombarded the barista in front of me with the question to reveal even just a tiny bit of how they do it, but despite the complicated stories about how the water has to run through the coffee at the exact right speed and how much pressure has to be applied to the coffee, they are reluctant to reveal their secret. With a mysterious smile I am told over and over again that it is the love with which the coffee is made that makes the difference. And so it seems that I simply have to accept that a coffee in the Netherlands is often disappointing, something I don’t expect to change in the near future. But hey, maybe that’s for the best. After all, what else could we complain about so extensively?