Tradizione (Tradition)

Look back on a time—a moment in your life that you want to repeat. And repeat that moment. Create a tradition.

That is what happened when I looked back on December 24, 2011. I thought of the day that I set off on a day long journey, in a Santa hat, to enjoy seven cappuccino along the cobble stoned alley ways of Rome. While Italian families were off destroying seven fish, I was drowning my loneliness of the holidays away in foam and bubble baths of Roman coffee. I was on the cappuccino crawl of the century—until I took the opportunity to do it again—only in America, and a week earlier than Christmas Eve this year. And now it’s not just the one time event, but rather the tradition—the memory I can keep living over and over again.

Originally, I had set out on this year’s cappuccino crawl with the idea that I would touch every borough. Seven cappuccino had been rough, and had taken a long time, and I wanted to cater the crawl to my current home—my real home. One cappuccino per borough. But plans—well they don’t always go according to plan—and this one didn’t even pretend to. After finding out that our first stop in Staten Island was closed, taking a random bus, attempting to take an express bus, and ending up on a bus with a driver who hated us—after our first mistake—we returned to Manhattan with a new plan: Manhattancino Crawl. Five cappuccino in five hours—in Manhattan. And while the disappointment of missing out on all five boroughs took a bit to fade, the hike through Manhattan soon unfolded into a wonderfully caffeinated, delicious day—taken over by these five shops:

La Colombe

Ost

Table 12

Via Quadronno

Bourbon

From foamy to decadent these cappuccini were far from disappointment. My mouth is already beginning to water at the thought of the next crawl--maybe a five borough crawl will win out--one of these days. For now...Salute.

Una preghiera di Cappuccino - (A prayer of Cappuccino)

Our Cappuccino, who art in mug

Swallowed be thy fame

Thy caffeine come

Thy will be drunk

In kitchen as it is in café

Give us this espresso, our daily dose

And forgive us our coffee lapses

As we forgive baristas who trespass against us

And lead us not into addiction

But deliver us to satisfaction. Amen.

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.

Un Cappuccino con Giulietta (A Cappuccino with Juliet)

"Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."

-Romeo and Juliet

I am two blocks from Juliet's house...two blocks from the house that acts as her house...two blocks from Verona's tourist attraction (trap)...two blocks from a world of imagination.

I walked to Juliet's house and I beckoned to her window. She invited me in for a pastry, and I invited her out for a cappuccino.

"What's in a name...that which we call a cappuccino

by any other name...would still taste so wonderful..."

Now here we are.

Juliet and me.

We are standing at a bar in Piazza Erbe. We are sipping on our cappuccino, complimenting the foam that has now formed a milk mustache on each of our upper lips.

"Romeo would have loved that," I joke.

Juliet laughs.

"What does thou think of love?"

"You know... we are in the 21st century, Juliet. We don't use...thou...just "What do you think of love?"

"So says the English teacher who is returning to America to stop teaching English..."

"Touche," I say.

"Mi scusi. What do you think of love?"

"It's simple," I answer.

"Did you read my tragedy? ... Like seriously....cause I died and so did my boyfriend over love. I wouldn't call it simple..."

"No. You were written to die. That is Shakespeare's fault. You and Romeo should have plotted for a new writer before that final act..."

"I am waiting. Love...simple?"

It is. It is a hand hold. It is a lend of a smile on a bad day. It is a hug when you feel nothing but loneliness. It is in what you do without being asked. It is in a handwritten letter. It is in this cappuccino. It is in your heart.

I look down at my cappuccino and then back to Juliet. "It is magical and fantastic. It is everything. It is simple."

"It sounds like you have thought about this a lot."

"Maybe."

"Love can--and has been--a tragedy my dear."

"Or love can be life..." I add.

I look down at my cappuccino and I see a reflection of everything I have ever loved develop in the foam.

I look back at Juliet...to where she was standing, but she is gone.

"Love is believing," I think out loud.

"Thanks for letting me believe in you for a bit Juliet," I whisper to myself. "Thanks for letting me believe in love."

I look back to my cappuccino.

"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!

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?