Immagine di cappuccino (Image of Cappuccino)

I drink A LOT of cappuccino. I drink it when I am sad--I drink it when I am happy. I drink it when I am neutral. I drink it to get a slight rush. I drink it to take a photo. I drink it to write my blog. I drink it to taste something amazing, wonderful and delightful. I drink it hold a hand. I drink it have a conversation. I drink it so I can always have a "Coffee date" aka date with my coffee. I drink it to inspire myself. I drink it to be happy. I drink a lot of cappuccino.

I recently watched the Matt Cutts in which he inspires people to try something new--for 30 days. I chose drawing. And today...I chose to draw my favorite cappuccino art. I think I'll like this challenge : )

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. : )

Nostalgia

I wish that the inanimate objects in all the places I have visited in the past could talk, because I am interested to hear if they remember me, the same way that I remember them. I never wished this more, than I wished it today at the Bull Dog Inn, where I used to go every day during my Rome Semester in 2008: The same place where I used to study for my Rome Through the Ages tests, where I used to live my mornings at—where I used to take my every cappuccino.

As I sat there, I wondered if the same bench I sat on would tell me that I seemed lighter, or that I should lay off the chocolate. I wondered if the espresso machine and milk steamer would yell in agreement at me for ordering a cappuccino after 10:00am, the way I often did back in 2008—though in myself defense, I never knew the rule until returning just a month ago. And I wondered if the coffee mugs would tell me that they remembered me as their favorite customer—as the girl who loved her cappuccino more than she loved buying leather boots.

I wondered if the tables would yell at me for placing too many things on top of it, if all the spoons that I stirred with would beg me to add sugar so that it was mixing more than just foam and espresso, if the walls would scream at me for not just taking in the moment instead of analyzing it with my video camera, digital camera, and my journal—if my atmosphere would enjoy me—as much as I enjoyed it.

And as I took a sip of the cappuccino that my barista had just stirred with espresso, a layer of chocolate, the fantastic foam, and second layer of chocolate, I wondered if when I left Rome, the Bull Dog Inn counted the days until I returned. I wondered if, today, it jumped with joy as I walked into the side door that I opened countless times in the past. And I wondered if, today, it remembered me as wonderfully as I remembered it…because I couldn’t stand for our relationship to ever be forgotten…I couldn’t stand for this relationship, this wonderful cappuccino union between person and coffee to be broken…because I couldn’t imagine life in Rome…without the Bulldog. And then I wonder…how cool would it be if Rome couldn’t imagine life without me.

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.

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!