Tradizione (Tradition)

Look back on a time—a moment in your life that you want to repeat. And repeat that moment. Create a tradition.

That is what happened when I looked back on December 24, 2011. I thought of the day that I set off on a day long journey, in a Santa hat, to enjoy seven cappuccino along the cobble stoned alley ways of Rome. While Italian families were off destroying seven fish, I was drowning my loneliness of the holidays away in foam and bubble baths of Roman coffee. I was on the cappuccino crawl of the century—until I took the opportunity to do it again—only in America, and a week earlier than Christmas Eve this year. And now it’s not just the one time event, but rather the tradition—the memory I can keep living over and over again.

Originally, I had set out on this year’s cappuccino crawl with the idea that I would touch every borough. Seven cappuccino had been rough, and had taken a long time, and I wanted to cater the crawl to my current home—my real home. One cappuccino per borough. But plans—well they don’t always go according to plan—and this one didn’t even pretend to. After finding out that our first stop in Staten Island was closed, taking a random bus, attempting to take an express bus, and ending up on a bus with a driver who hated us—after our first mistake—we returned to Manhattan with a new plan: Manhattancino Crawl. Five cappuccino in five hours—in Manhattan. And while the disappointment of missing out on all five boroughs took a bit to fade, the hike through Manhattan soon unfolded into a wonderfully caffeinated, delicious day—taken over by these five shops:

La Colombe

Ost

Table 12

Via Quadronno

Bourbon

From foamy to decadent these cappuccini were far from disappointment. My mouth is already beginning to water at the thought of the next crawl--maybe a five borough crawl will win out--one of these days. For now...Salute.

Prendo un cappuccino con una faccia di un Panda? "No" (Can I have a cappuccino with a Panda face? "No")

It is not every day that I meet a furry friend on my travels through coffee shops. Normally, I find a heart shape design or a leaf, or a flower in the foam of my cappuccino-- a symbol of my barista's or baristo's skill, passion for his or her art, and hope to make my day that much better. But last week, after returning to Via Quadronno for one of their delicious cappuccini, my friend and I were handed what seemed to be the most delicate design I had even seen.

There he was--just staring at us with beautiful details. The cappuccino was actually for my friend Ashley, and I could see the sadness in her eyes as she knew the design would soon be gone when she went to drink the coffee. The panda's eyes almost formed a tranquil look as well--as if he knew his time was short.

For the rest of the day I continued to talk about my run-in with a panda bear at the cappuccino shop. My co-workers were nearly as amazed as we were. So I made it my mission to visit another well-known cappuccino place in Lower Manhattan.

When I arrived, I ordered my cappuccino, hoping that without question I'd receive at least some design. Instead--I received this--rather quickly and sloppily (even though I was the only one in line):

I almost approached the barista to ask what THAT mess was. Is that a half-assed heart, I thought to myself. Was there a failed attempt? But I kept my mouth shut...sipped on what was actually a tasty cappuccino, and thought of kinder ways to approach the situation.

I returned to the counter, with the panda photo ready on m iPhone.

"Excuse me"

"Yes?"

"Do you or any of the baristas here ever create art like this?" I nearly shoved my phone in her face.

"Ha," she laughed... "We don't have time for that--we are much too busy, we'd never get through a line. Plus we don't have the tools to do that."

Now--I may have been perfectly okay with this answer had she not continued, but it was when she continued that I had to refrain from pulling out my business card and telling her "I am no amateur in cappuccino tasting."

"Besides--after you do all that work, the cappuccino doesn't taste good."

I cringed.

'WHAT,' I exclaimed, in my head.

Ashley had declared her panda cappuccino delicious (Ashley was a fellow friend in Italy--so her opinion is as trust worthy as mine); and all my heart, leaf, and face cappuccini before that had been just the same--wonderful. And here, this barista was telling me that with more work, the cappuccino wouldn't taste as good.

But instead of saying this out loud, I nodded, walked out the door, and vowed never to return to La Colombe--no matter how good their cappuccino may have tasted--again.

Edited: November 12, 2011 -- I returned to the shop and had a cappuccino. I couldn't resist how good it tasted---Sigh. : )