Coffee

Some people have a palate refined for the taste of good foods or fine wines. Me, I have a hard time distinguishing a cabernet from a pinot noir, and my vocabulary for describing such is limited to good, great, and more, please. You'd think two and a half years in one of the world's premier wine producing countries would have taught me a thing or two about the art, but alas, it's had the opposite effect. Because good wine is plentiful, I've rarely had to use any discrimination when selecting exactly what 4 euro bottle would be the perfect end to a long day. Before you think, however, that I have completely squandered my Italian experience, I can claim to have spent many a morning perfecting the fine art of consuming Italy's other beverage of choice: coffee. I'm not speaking of that watered down drip of a brew I enjoyed back home, but a hearty, viscous, foamy mouthful of smoky espresso. I do have to admit that it has been a morally compromising process. I have had to say arrivederci to my organically shade-grown fair-trade beans, but the perfected taste is worth it. I figure that living without air-conditioning and growing my own tomatoes counts as its own version of fair-trade, right?

When first having arrived in country, I was astonished at the frequency with which Italians drained those tiny little cups. It is true that after an early morning cappuccino, espresso is enjoyed on many occasions throughout the day. It is the signature ending to a leisurely meal, including those that conclude after the sun has set. In my efforts to embrace the local culture, I tried, but Coffee Mate is a hard habit to break. I now had to own coffee as its own beverage and determine whether or not I liked it. It turns out that, in the end, I do. Immensely. So much so, in fact, that we spent a serious amount of hard-earned cash on a machine that would deliver my new found love in exactly the form I craved within the comfort of my own kitchen. It is a tidy little metallic box that grinds, presses, and spits out a perfect espresso. We have a slightly one-sided friendship, but the bond is strong, and my machine is one of my first cognizant thoughts each day. After juice has been poured, bananas peeled and Sesame Street located, I retreat to the kitchen where I flip the switch and wait while my Saeco comes to life. Then, I hear the familiar hiss and stand, salivating, while the chocolaty liquid fills my cup and signals the start to another day in the life for me here in Italy. And so, not for the caffeinated punch it delivers, but for the five minutes of peace, the strong, smooth mouthful, and mostly for the pleasant reminder of the change in me this time abroad has brought about, lo amo mia espresso.