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. : )

Mi sono innamorata e non me ne frega chi lo sa! (I Fell in Love and I don't Care Who Knows It!)

My palms are sweating. My face is blushing. My heart is skipping beats.

This was my first blind date in...well ever. To be honest, I'd been given a fair description of what was to come, how beautiful it would be--and how lovely it would feel when it met my lips. Yes, this date deserved a kiss on the first one (and in this case--I am all about kissing and telling).

Warm and tender, with a hand to hold. Yes. This date was perfect...It let me stare a little bit too long, take photos like the paparazzi, even video. It must have known how good it looked--oh gosh how good it's warmth felt as my hand touched it's.

It was the perfect, most wonderful, first blind date I could have ever had--my date with a cup of cappuccino at Via Quadronno located at 25 73rd Street on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It was a cappuccino for the elite--the ones who know good coffee, and the ones who never have and need to know it...It was delightful, magnificent, and all it's qualities nearly matched, if not, that of a solid, beautiful, tasty cappuccino straight out of Italy. It was the best I had since I returned in February.

Yes the foam was proportionately perfect to the espresso, leaving just a light milk mustache above my upper lip. And. Just like I gave it my heart--it wasn't afraid to give me it's on our initial moments together. Yes. I was in love. Yes. I don't care who knows it. And yes. I am having a relationship with my cappuccino. I bet you never had a blind date as good as this:

Il Cappuccino di Sorpresa (The Cappuccino of Surprise)

When I look for good cappuccino, I often feel like I should camoflage myself in Italianess, like I am battling baristas for the very best cappuccino in the world. It is as if I should be ducking behind the bar and critiquing how they treat the machines—how they clean the steamer at night. For me, it has become my own personal war with the Italian coffee shops to find the very best cappuccino in every nook of every city. Often times, I can tell by the outside lights, the décor of the bar itself, and the dress of the barista/o what I will be in for.

See the following:

Roberto: Family run business where the cappuccino is fresh and made with love.

Sant’Estauchio: No bigger than a TCBY in the states and the casualness of the baristo let you know that it could quite possibly be the best cappuccino in the world (and thus far—it is).

Tabacchi store on random corner of a small street in Florence: You know that this is the cappuccino you want to drink when nothing else is open but you need a go.

Gilli: The baristi and bariste are dressed up in their Sunday attire and make you feel like you are attending a business meeting each time you walk in. Classy, but you know the taste won’t match the look. Still, you enjoy the classy feeling.

So when I walked into what first appeared to be a classy caffe in Siena, Italy on a Monday afternoon, I half expected the cappuccino to be sub par (besides it was SIENA—we weren’t in Rome anymore (sigh)). Then when I saw the baristo who appeared uninterested in my excitement over a simple cappuccino. And so I thought: Oh boy this could be quite terrible. But I was wrong...this cappuccino turned out to be so much more. This was the cappuccino that planned a sneak attack on me—that took out my tastebuds first and melted my heart. This was the cappuccino that I never expected.

This was much more than a Tabacchi style-stay-awake-nothing else is open- cappuccino. This was a taste-good-feel good-keep you going-bubble bath-round the bases-grand slamd kind of Joe. This was my favorite cappuccino since the first time I had ever tasted Sant’Eustachio in Rome…since I first discovered that incredible bubble bath of foam—since I deemed Sant’Eustachio quite possibly the best in the world.

I can’t lie—when first handed to me, the cappuccino truly deceived my eyes. The foam seemed thin and I prepared myself for what I had already declared in my mind a disaster. Again—it was Siena, I didn’t have high expectations for the cappuccino—the sights yes—but the cappuccino…Gosh, I had no idea. As I slowly dipped my spoon into the foam, I realized that the foam was much deeper than I had predicted—and it was as if I had just stepped form the shallow end of the ocean into a deep drop off—like I could drown within this coffee cup—within this foam—like I had just found a fresh hot tub of foam to submerge within…and then I dove in slowly—sipping the foam, casually, realizing not only was the foam deceivingly deep but it was also stunningly tasty to the tongue.

Leaving me weak in my knees, it was the best sneak attack of the century.