"Dove Vai?" (Where are you going?)

“Dove Vai?” Roberto’s words echo in my head as I order a cappuccino at Caffe Giacosa—or anywhere that isn’t the Jolly Café, for that matter.

Just a week ago, Roberto beckoned me to as I was hurrying past his shop with groceries and toilet paper in hand. “A la mia casa,” I responded. (To my home). He reached out his hand and touched my nose, smiling. Domani? (Tomorrow) Yes, domani.

But I didn’t return to the Jolly Café the next day…or the day after that…or the next five days after that. I didn’t return to the Jolly Café until today, a week later. As I walked into Roberto’s shop bright and early this morning, I noticed that he appeared sad.

‘He knows that I have been cheating on him with other coffee baristas,’ I thought to myself. ‘He is angry with me.’ ‘He doesn’t want to talk to me…’ “He doesn’t want to make me a cappuccino.’ I suddenly felt as though I had committed a horrible crime by going off to other coffee shops. I began to ask myself if there was a law in Italy that said once your barista knows your order by heart, you aren’t allowed to go anywhere else. I began to wonder if I was a felon.

I suddenly felt like I should tell Roberto all about the cappuccinos at the other coffee shops, how the foam was really fluffy at Caffe Giacosa, and how the temperature of the espresso shot in my cappuccino in San Marco Square was simply just perfect. But I refrained. All Roberto needs to know is that I only have the best conversations with his cups of coffee…I only truly love him, not my other baristas. Because he still loves me back even when I don’t spend every day standing at his bar.

In hopes to break a smile out of the somber looking Roberto, today, I told him that I liked his sweater. It was tan and simple. It was the first time I had seen him in something other than the blue sweater I had seen him in on the first day. My plot worked, and Roberto smiled, a big, wide, glowing, grin. I smiled back saying “va bene!”

Suddenly, the week without seeing me seemed to leave his mind as he began asking me to describe my family. He corrected my Italian and applauded me when I said something correctly. ‘He really cares about me,’ I thought.

I then asked him about his family and his son who works at the bar. He joked with me that I should date his son, and I laughed. When I went to leave, he smiled, and we shared a moment. Roberto is smart, caring, and wonderful. And as I’ve said—he understands my love for cappuccino better than anyone else I have met. He understands my love for cappuccino enough to let me go experience all the cappuccino in the world…he understands my love enough to let me go. And he knows I’ll always come back.

Una Posizione di Mattina (One Morning Stand)

"Drink me," My cappuccino says calmly. "Love me," my cappuccino adds.

It is teasing me. It knows how much I enjoy looking at it, going googly-eyed over it, and drinking it. But I don’t want it to go away just yet, because when the cup is empty, then that cappuccino is gone—then the best conversation of the day is already over.

While the foam upon my espresso cannot literally open up a mouth between bubbles to actually speak to me, somehow we talk back and forth every day, revealing our deepest feelings, and our biggest hopes. It tells me when it is too hot or cold and I tell it when I am satisfied or not.

That’s right, I am having a relationship with my cappuccino. And while each one serves as a “One Morning Stand,” I can always trust the friendly cup of Joe to listen, without interruption. Some days, I can even see the coffee smiling at me—or frowning, as if it knows exactly how I am feeling.

Today I have returned to the Jolly Café on the corner, to visit my love Roberto. This will be my fourth cappuccino at the Jolly Café. I enjoy coming here, because while Roberto knows no English, he seems to be the only one to truly understand the relationship that I have with my cappuccino each day. I no longer have to speak to Roberto, as he knows my order by heart. It is as if he and the ingredients were joking back and forth before I walked into the café. I think the milk is probably saying, “Go light on me today,” while the chocolate probably adds, “Treat her special today, give a little extra of me.”

Roberto watches me as a I stare at my cappuccino with bright eyes, then as I intake the heavenly smell of the chocolate on top, and then of course as I take the first sips. He then observes as I carefully remove my journal from my backpack and begin to write of my latest, wonderful cappuccino. He knows that this is a serious relationship that may never be broken apart. You see, it is a relationship where no hearts will get broken.

However, I often wonder what my cappuccino might say if it could use real words with me rather than imagined forms of facial expressions.

Would it tell me that it loved me back? Or would it tell me that it truly hated our time together, that I drink it too fast or too slow or that I cherish it too much?

I imagine it taking on the voice of the candle stick in Beauty and the Beast, singing to me songs of joy, romance, and happiness. But maybe it would take on the deep voice of Scar from the Lion King, and yell at me about how I drink it too much, and that if I keep drinking it each day, it will no longer bring me happiness, that it, filled with whole milk, will make me fat, and that it actually despises my every day brooding.

And then I wonder if it would speak in Italian or English, and if it would understand a word of what I said.

Would it laugh at my jokes and cry tears of espresso with my sadness?

I think if my cappuccino could talk, I might tell it all of it’s wonderful qualities, why I feel the way I feel about it and how I envision us together every single day for the rest of my future. I would explain how it comforts me with simplicity and how I love that it always offers me a hand to hold by reaching out to me through the side of a mug. Yes, I am having a deeply involved relationship with my cappuccino…and if it could talk, I would get down on one knee, and propose…Yes I think if I could—I would marry my cappuccino.

Con Tutto Il Mio Cuore (With all my heart)

I have only had cappuccino two days now, but I think that I will be replacing a majority of my diet--aka veges, bread, and cereal with the wonderfulness that is the Italian cappuccino. It was only moments after finishing my cappuccino on day 2 that a set of strangers offered to buy me a second one. Then, later on a man by the name of Fabio bought me a dessert cappuccino outside of the Duomo. If strangers buy me all my coffee--then it probably will replace my diet! (Scherzo--Joke Joke).

But let's discuss the coffee I bought--the cappuccino that made me fall in love.

As I trekked from the square to the Ponte Vecchio (the most beautiful bridge in all of Florence), and from the Piazza Della Republica to the phone store, all I could think about was my next cappuccino. I had woken up late, 11am (5am US time), so I had missed the 10am

deadline. For hours I fought the urge to buy a cappuccino, but as I turned down my street, I spotted a shop on the corner.

And let's face it--I needed a cappuccino like Wonka needed his Oompa Loompas.

As the doors slid open, I saw many empty coffee cups that had been drank from. It is always a good sign when there are remnants of many people having experienced the same place as you. It means that it must be wonderful.

Ho parlato a Italiano (I spoke in Italian) as I turned to the white haired, plump Florentinian man who stood in front of me: "Prendo un cappuccino, per favore." "Si." As he turned to make my masterpiece, a huge smile formed on my face--he hadn't thought twice about a cappuccino after 10am (I am starting to believe that maybe my friend was playing me on that fact). I added "Grazie" to my request, quite cheerfully, and before steaming my foam, he turned his head to face me and with bright eyes said, "Prego!"

Not before long, il mio cappuccino sat in front of me just waiting to slowly meet my lips. I took this opportunity to stand at the coffee bar, not sit. Before taking my first sips, I realized that the man next to me was having trouble ordering beer for himself and his wife, so I offered my Italian expertise. He asked, "Prendo due birra." The coffee man looked at him awkwardly, so I turned and said "Due Birre. When a word is feminine and plural, you change the last letter to an e." He smiled and said a big thank you before turning back to who I now knew as Roberto and said, "Due birre." "Ah perfetto," Roberto said.

When I finished helping him order, I turned back to my cappuccino with big eyes like that of a dog that has just seen a squirrel leave a tree. But something was missing, and Roberto knew just what it was--chocolate powder--lots of chocolate powders. With his hand on his stomach, he joyfully scattered chocolate.

"Perfetto!" I exclaimed, and he smiled.

Now, now it was time to indulge. Now it was time to focus all my attention on one thing--and one thing only.

I brought the cappuccino to my nose and smelled the fresh chocolate powder that had now made my white foam a pure wonderful mess of cocoa. I then breathed it in, antagonizing my taste buds to come out and play. And then I carefully brought the cappuccino to my lips, melting like the chocolate into heaven. This was my happy place.

I continued to stand at the coffee bar staring at the coffee steamer, imagining one day owning my own and having my own factory of cappuccino. I continued my moment by writing this. And Roberto, the beautiful wonderful, jolly, white haired man looked at my journal and asked me what I was writing.

I described my love for cappuccino to him, almost glowing as I told him that I write about a cappuccino whenever I love that cappuccino. I told him that it was my favorite drink and then used as many Italian words as I knew to describe my love. And he looked at me--first happy--then saddened. He said, (all in Italian of course), "You love cappuccino, but no love me?" I giggled and said...no no, I love cappuccino, and you!

And the truth is I do love Roberto. I love my coffee baristas, each and every one, because my cappuccino would not exist without them.

So Mr. blue sweatered, big hearted, white haired, Italian man...Roberto...I love you...I love you with all my heart! GRAZIE!