Perché Amo il Cappuccino? (Why do I love Cappuccino)

"Everyone needs a tagline. And I guess yours is cappuccino?"

That's what my boss said to me as I pulled out my cappuccino shirt and laughed about my recent purchase.

"You really do love it, don't you?" She added.

Still laughing I told her that I had also created business cards with a cappuccino image on them.

"It really is your tagline."

And then another co-worker chimed in.

"Why do you love it so much?"

That answer is easy. But it requires a story:

It starts with falling in love with coffee. You see, I can tell you the exact day that I began loving coffee. I was sitting in the kitchen with my mother, and she was filtering coffee into a mug that had the Starry Night design on it. I hadn't even tasted the coffee, but just the smell had gotten me. It was a scent like none other. The only competition, it had, in fact, and has ever had has been fresh chocolate chip cookies-which come in second place every time. You see, growing up, each time I noticed the steaming aroma moving through the house, I'd walk upstairs and sit with my mother. "One day this mug will be yours," she would tell me, as she sipped from the Starry Night mug.

The mug now resides on a shelf in our guest room. When I finally have my own place--I'll inherit it. I dream of my own starry night when I can drink a cappuccino from that mug myself. For now, I just have inherited a love of coffee that I am not sure I can ever lose.

In fact--in high school, I wrote a five minute audition speech comparing high school to a cup of coffee that won me the honor of being one of two class speakers on graduation day. Nearly four years later, I had debated re-writing the coffee metaphor to match college. But I think someone told me that the only speech I should be making about coffee again is at a support group for coffee lovers... "Hi, my name is Libby, and I am a coffee addict."

But it wasn't till my junior year of college that I discovered what a cappuccino was. I traveled across the Atlantic Ocean and into Italy. As I looked at a menu of coffee drinks, I felt like Columbus must have felt when he discovered a new world: Lost and heavenly all at once. There was espresso, and caffe Americano, and caffe lungo, and caffe late, and then--there it was--cappuccino. The only problem was I didn't know what any of these were. I hadn't taken an Italian class yet, and I had become accustomed to ordering a large-hot-caramel flavored coffee at the Dunkin Donuts located on the top of my campus. Everything was foreign to me--except the smell of the coffee shop. I nearly ordered a caffe Americano, but after watching my friends bitter expression, following a sip of her first cup of Joe in Europe, I went for the more fun sounding drink--the cappuccino.

It was then that I never looked back. It was then that I discovered bubbles, and foam, and fun latte art, and the pet peeves of Italians to drink a cappuccino after 10 am. It was then that I learned I didn't mind a coffee drink being so small in comparison to the ones I had always drank in America, because I could just buy more--taste more--treat myself more.

It took me two years to go back to Italy to have a cappuccino, after returning to America. Upon returning to Italy in October of 2010, I began my blog, drank up to 7 cappuccino in one day, attempted to make my own cappuccino (failing miserably), and coffee crawled through northern Italy.

And while my love for cappuccino started accidentally, my continued love has been purposeful.

Because my love for cappuccino is in lots of things. It is in the smooth sound of the steamer as my barista or baristo forms the foam. It's in the latte art I receive on each different occasion. It's in the familiar smell of the aroma that fills a room. It's in the smile my coffee shop friends have when they see my look of ecstasy upon receiving my beautiful mug of deliciousness. It's in the hand(le) to hold on each mug. It's in every cappuccino--even if some can't compete with others. It's in every part of cappuccino. And I don't think it's going anywhere--anytime soon.

And that's why I love cappuccino so much.

Il cappuccino sul Confine (The cappuccino on the Border)

I’m on the border of two countries. One foot is placed perfectly in the pizza capital of the world, while the other is plopped into Austria. I am in a running position—on my way to Munich, where meat is their speciality and where my vocabulary goes as far as “Danke…” to mean thank you. I am leaving cappuccino paradise for three days, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy one last one for the road—one last one on the road.

The truth is that I am on a train, unsure of what country I am in at the present moment. I could still be at the tip top of Italy, but there are police men walking through each corridor asking for passports. This hints me that I may have already crossed into Austria—or that I was really standing between country lines. Either way—I don’t have a care in the world. The only thing sitting between me and the window to the unknown territory is a perfect last cappuccino for the road—a perfect last cappuccino on the road.

Before sneaking to the back cart to order my cappuccino I take in the scenery. The view is nice—snow filling the creases of the mountains that fold over like a fortune cookie along the tracks, and skylines outlined by rocks and the tops of trees. Rather than dreading this 4.5 hour train ride to Munich, Germany for my detour outside the country walls, I approach it like an amusement park—full of thrills…full of spins…full of loops—unexpected jars. It’s like I am on the famous train ride in Epcot…where without leaving the park, you visit every country on earth that you can imagine. This is the perfect opportunity for the last cappuccino that I will have for three days—for the last cappuccino I will have before I enter the world of meat lovers—(where, being a vegetarian, I may find no eats at all!).

“Prendo un cappuccino,” I say politely to the waitress in the restaurant cart. She looks at me funny. I take note that she’s not Italian. “A cappuccino, please,” I say. The train may or may not be in Italy anymore, but the language sure isn’t Italian. “Sure, a cappuccino,” she says.

“Where are you from?” I add.

“Austria.”

“So you speak German?”

“And English…”

Immediately, I begin quizzing her in German—knowing full well that I won’t have a chance in Munich with the locals if I can’t spit a word—literally.

“How do I say thank you?” “And you are welcome?” “How about please?”

And how do you say “Can I please have a cappuccino?”

"Ein cappuccino bitte"

I laugh out loud. She clearly doesn’t understand why I am laughing. It’s okay. I still get pleasure out of it.

She foams milk onto the top of my espresso which is placed perfectly in a to go cup to take back to my seat: my cappuccino for the road…my cappuccino on the road…my cappuccino on the tracks…my cappuccino on the border.

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.

Prendo un cappuccino con...

"It is merely the world that is chaotic, bringing changes to us all that nobody could have anticipated."-Eat Pray Love by Liz Gilbert

Before I get into anything else, I should point out that I am not going to Italy to find myself. While I may have quoted her to begin my blog, this is not--I repeat--this is not some sort of Liz Gilbert escape to eat, pray, and love: This isn't a search for the perfect slice of pizza--I have had that before, in Naples in 2008; it's not a desperate attempt to leave some man behind who broke my heart--I am only 22 and I've got a lot of heart break to go through before I even think of escaping from it; and I might pray a lot since the Pope will be my neighbor, but it's certainly not my purpose of going to Italy. So if pizza, prayer, and love are out, what is left?

That is simple. I'll start my days similar to the way I start my days in America...I'll start my days with a cup of coffee, but it won't just be any cup of coffee. No, I won't just take an espresso shot. No, too simple. Each and every day that I am in Italy, I will

partake in foamy fantasticness. I will drown in delightful dolce (sweetness), and I will smile with each sip.

It's simple...Oggi tanti prendo un cappuccino...Each day I'll take a cappuccino. And on the most extraordinary of days, I'll share those cups of cappuccino with you...

Won't you join me?