No sei il Caravaggio di Cappuccino (No you are not the Caravaggio of Cappuccino)

Daily Routine in Italy

Pick new cappuccino place. (Today, I choose Cova in Milan)

Walk out the door.

Trip over cobblestone.

Locate designated caffe for the day.

Mispronounce “Prendo un Cappuccino” in Italian.

Pay for morning cappuccino.

Stand at a bar.

Smile.

Wait for baristo.

Ask for cappuccino.

Watch cappuccino be made.

Smile.

Mispronounce “Perfetto” as cappuccino is placed in front of me.

.Not Welcome Today.

“Lei,” (Miss), the baristo sounds as if he is scolding me. I look up. He is. He says, “Lei,” again, and then points to my left. There is a sign with a photo of a camera crossed off. No photos or video, the sign reads.

“Mi scusi,” I apologetically, yet surprisingly, say.

I try to explain that I take pictures of all the cappuccino that I drink, but my Italian fails, and the baristo looks at me as if I have ten heads. I apologize again, and I turn my attention to my cappuccino.

I begin to ponder why no photos are allowed in this establishment. I understand that flash destroyes a Caravaggio and the art of Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel…but while I believe that cappuccino making is an art in itself, I find it hard to believe that taking a photo of my cappuccino will destroy it’s flavor—will dissolve it’s foam—or will annihilate it. If this is the case, though, then I guess I have destroyed every cappuccino that I have ever tasted. Damn.

However, I don’t believe that this is the case. Either way, I put my thoughts behind me and analyze the coffee. Now my expectations are high. Now I believe that this cappuccino will be the best—that this cappuccino will be the David Statue of all cappuccino.

I bring the foam to my mouth, and I sip. I have a conversation with the cappuccino in my head (because I worry that I speak out loud, I will be told that this is forbidden as well).

I say, “No…mi dispiace” (No I am sorry), “no sei il cappuccino meglio,” (you are not the best cappuccino). “No sei il Statuo di David (you are not the Statue of David). No sei La Cappella Sistina (you are not the Sistine Chapel). E no sei un Caravaggio (And you are not a Caravaggio)…you are just a regular old-nothing special-cappuccino.

Which is probably why I didn’t feel bad sneaking a photo of you.

Cappuccino Porta Via (To Go)

It is half past 1:00 am, and my hands are shaking with excitement. I think to myself, "If I don't have a cappuccino now, I will have lost the opportunity to experience two of the greatest things in the world at the same exact time." Of course this means I will breaking two of the Italian golden rules: ordering a coffee after 10 am (though maybe it's before 10 am in this case), and ordering it to go...but with an epic sight like this, I don't think rules need to be adhered to.

Walking home from a night out with my friends, I stop and take a moment to indulge everything that is around me…the closed coffee shops, the bars, the cobblestone…but nothing is more magnificent than the Duomo which stands like a castle in front of me. Nothing is more breathtaking than this sight, this epic sight.

And so I stop, and I ponder, “What would make this moment even better?” “Oh my god. A cappuccino.” So I search. I walk around the square and see that nothing is open. I walk to the shop across from school, and they tell me that the cappuccino machine has been turned off for the night. I frown, and the barista’s face drops…gosh I love Italian expressions…he genuinely feels bad for me and says sorry a million times over. “It’s okay,” I say, “Niente”(no problem). I walk out of the coffee shop, slowly worried that I will not find my midnight cup of Joe. I tear up a little bit thinking about how much my moment in front of the Duomo would be intensified with just a cappuccino—it didn’t have to even be the best cappuccino in the world—it just had to be simple foamy covered shot of espresso.

And then from across the Piazza Del Repubblica. I saw a shop that was still open, and so I hurried along. Once inside, I crossed my fingers behind my back , approached the register and said “Forse…Prendo un cappuccino porta via per favore,” (Maybe… Can I take a cappuccino to go please?) The man behind the register pointed at the barista who was clearly polishing the Danish window. “Si si,” said the barista at the window, and he scurried behind the counter, a bit confused. A few moments later, I had my cappuccino in hand…and I was standing in front of the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. I was walking around it. I was admiring it. I was sipping my cappuccino. I was licking my lips which each gulp. I was living out one of the most monumental moments since I had been here. I was indulging in two wonderful things at once. I wasn’t in any rush, and I wasn’t thinking about anything else. I was truly enjoying the simple things in life--I was truly living.

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.

Un Caffe Perfetto

The first cappuccino. Place of choice: Pizzeria Bar Piccadilly. 3:00PM

Forget that I had only gotten three hours of sleep on my eight hour flight overnight. Forget the five hour time difference (now six), and forget that I had just grabbed a newspaper from someone that I couldn't read. Forget it all--I didn't care.

I didn't care that I was sleep deprived or that I was stuck in another time zone. I didn't care that after 10am you aren't supposed to order a cappuccino (besides I was still stuck in the time zone where it WAS 10am!) I didn't care about any of that--I just wanted my cappuccino.

The lovely Italian man behind the bar cringed as I asked, and I could tell all he wanted to say was: You stupid American girl, we don't drink cappuccino after 10am! But I didn't care. No. No one was going to stand between me and my first cappuccino. No one one was going to deprive me of that dome of foam that would sit delicately above the rim of the mug. No one was going to deprive me of the warm milky mustache that I would form with my first drink of that wonderfulness. No one was going to stop this cappuccino from happening.

As I took my first sip, "Delicious," I thought. Simply...Delicious. I mix matched it with the one and only slice of pizza in Tuscany that had no cheese, but it still went down the way I remembered it going down all those times two years ago.

And it wasn't just in that first sip that I fell over taste buds with joy. No, it was in the entire process. As I had heard the machine begin, I almost jumped the counter. I nearly gave up all senses as I got a fresh whiff of the brew. I almost dove over the register at the first splash into the mug. I almost cried as it was placed teasingly in front of me. I almost fainted as I passed my Euros over to the young woman who had to suffer through watching me salivate from across the cafe. And that dome...oh that dome was so perfect that I almost bought another. I almost double fisted cappuccino. Oh...that cappuccino...that first cappuccino...it was perfect.