What makes a good Italian coffee bar good?

Given how picky and demanding Italians can be regarding food, furiously sending back a dish if the carbonara has even a hint of heavy cream, it's curious how patient they are when it comes to espresso, sometimes settling for pretty awful brews. Why is that?

Are we Italians just impatient?
Have we gone too long without heavy-duty caffeine, so anything will do?
Do we not want to make a fuss, since a bar is far more public and intimate than a restaurant?
Maybe it's steadfast loyalty to our neighborhood barista—a loyalty that can be deep and wide and sometimes last decades.

Romantic notions aside, no one should ever settle for a bar that fails to cut it, whether because the coffee is mediocre or the morning pastry too dry. A bar holds a crucially important, practical, and cultural role in daily life—in that way at least kin to an American "watering hole." If your local bartender can't mix drinks, there's trouble in Dodge.

But how exactly do you go about rating an Italian bar? What makes a good bar good?

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Italy's hot weather refreshments (no ice, sorry)

Though cafés and "bars" have expanded their beverage offerings, Italy's list of cold drinks really hasn't changed much over the decades — particularly when it comes to hot weather refreshments.

With summer in store, here's an overview of Italy's most popular cold beverages and non-alcoholic drinks Continue Reading →

How to enjoy Italian coffee like a local

Italians are regimented about their caffè. Neapolitans won't drink espresso other than on their turf, deeming anything else served outside their city as vile and toxic Espresso brewers throughout the country perform absurd propitiatory rituals to ensure their post-prandial Joe is just right. Some never wash the stovetop moka pot to conserve flavor in the hardware parts. Others add a grain of rock salt in the water boiler. All will tell you never, ever to pat down the coffee powder in the filter. Cappuccino fundamentalists insist on not drinking any after 11 a.m., and especially after meals, when caffè rules.

Beyond the simple espresso comes a whole universe of choices. The number of ways Italians enjoy the concentrated beverage brewed by forcing very hot water under high pressure through coffea Arabica beans that have been ground to a fine powder is at once finite and endless. Here's an alphabetical shortlist of common espresso-based bar beverages.

Affogato translates to "drowned." This is a shot of brewed espresso poured over a scoop of vanilla gelato commonly served as a dessert in restaurants, though some fancy bars and cafes with magnanimous baristas will sometimes dish it out over the counter...

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How to make coffee with a Napoletana pot

Sure, the piping hot cup you get at the coffee bar in Italy is something else. With its trademark froth and energetic kick, properly extracted espresso is superb.

But as far as homemade coffee goes, the Napoletana stovetop espresso pot historically delivers the best.

The flavor of the caffè is "round," longer and more complex than regular coffee made with a Moka.

Naples is a city often associated with pizza and spaghetti. But if you've ever tasted coffee in Naples, you'll agree it's probably the best you've ever had. Scholars hold the water responsible, others say it's the technique, some say it's magic. The Napoletana was invented in 1819, and is used less and less on a regular basis in Italian households. And that's because using a Napoletana is not easy: bizarre mechanics, empirical measurements and lots of patience are involved.

Here is a step-by-step tutorial on how to brew a little bliss with a Napoletana, a ritual more than a method.

Tip: Use only the best finely ground coffee. Coffee powder is best kept in an air-tight glass or glazed earthenware container, not plastic. And stored in a cupboard, not the refrigerator.

Tip: Don't skimp on the coffee powder. Compact it with the back of a spoon and then make 3 little holes in the surface with a toothpick.

Tip: Overturn the Napoletana in one quick, single move, holding it by both handles. During this movement water will spout from the escape hole, this is totally normal.

Tip: While you wait for the water to drip down through the filter, make a little paper cone called "coppetiello," and place it on the spout. This will keep the aroma form escaping the pot :)

Waiting times vary according to pot. Mine takes 15 minutes to full drip down, some are quicker. You'll have to figure that part out on your own.

Can't find a Napoletana (also called maghenetta in dialect) where you live?

Buy one on my Amazon store and have it delivered to your doorstep!

Espresso coffee, 3 ways

Are you sleepy too? You look tired. I know I need a pick-me-up.
Can I make some for you too? Something to jolt us out of this inertia? Good idea.
Here, sit. You can have the paper first. Read, relax. Put your feet up while I make us some coffee. But not just any old coffee.

Image copyright Tipi d'aMare

I have three kinds of custom espresso in mind.

Let's begin with something classic.

Image copyright Giardino dei Ciliegi

1. Orange-flavored Espresso
Delicious aromatic after dinner coffee

4-6 large cups of strong espresso
The rind of 2 unwaxed oranges, white pith removed (turns everything bitter)
1 cinnamon stick
Sugar to taste
Milk

Steep the orange rinds and the cinnamon in the hot coffee for 5 minutes, then discard. Pour through a cheesecloth and serve in tall mugs, stained with just a droplet of milk, and sweetened with a suspicion of sugar.

Image copyright Pastry Chef Online

2. Cafè Argentino
Droolworthy caramel cream coffee. Generally used as a base for desserts in Argentina, dulce de leche lends coffee a sweet, almost sensual flavor.

500 ml (2 cups) boiling hot espresso (not too strong)
50 ml (1/4 cup) dulce de leche (can be found in specialty stores)
Milk or cream

Divvy up the coffee in 2-3 large teacups. Add a tablespoon of dulce de leche to each and stir until completely dissolved. 

Add milk or cream and sit down in comfortable chairs, Carlos Gardel playing loud.



3. Nocciolato
Choco/hazelnut coffee. Not your everyday moka. Beyond decadent.

500 ml (2 cups) piping hot, weak espresso (made by adding more water in the making)
50 ml (1/4 cup) hazelnut liqueur (like Frangelico)
50 gr (1/4 cup) Nutella (or any hazelnut-chocolate spread)
Sugar to taste
Cream

Whip the cream with an electric beater until quite stiff and refrigerate. Divvy up the coffee in 2-3 large teacups. Add a shot of Frangelico and 1 heaped tablespoon of Nutella to each, stirring carefully - scraping the sides of the cups - until completely dissolved. Sweeten to your taste (no need, really) and garnish each cup with a dollop of whipped cream.


Which is your favorite?

Espresso coffee

We Italians, and especially Neapolitans, who are Italy's most famed coffee fundamentalists, pay special attention to the preparation, the selection of the blends and the use of accessories, that are all part of a special culture focused on the dark and mysterious drink.



In this excerpt from the Eduardo De Filippo theater play Questi Fantasmi, Professor Pasquale Lojacono - played by De Filippo himself - discloses the secrets to making the perfect demitasse of coffee with the trademark Napoletana drip brew coffee pot.
I have followed his instructions in this step-by-step Napoletana tutorial.

The venue where Italians drink coffee is called a bar, which is a coffee bar that also serves cocktails and spirits, but also sandwiches and croissants. So in a bar you can drink coffee beverages, fruit juices, alcoholic drinks and also eat pastries, panini, gelato, etc. (with many possible variations). Sometimes you can even gamble with a slot machine. Some bars are only a counter and a cash register with no bar stools, others may have tables and serve a warm meal for lunch.

But mainly, the bar, to be called one, has to brew coffee. Il caffè is normally enjoyed at the bar, and either with friends or alone, or chatting with the barista (Italian for barman), and it implies asking for an espresso. Espresso is always served with a saucer and demitasse spoon, and sometimes with a complimentary wrapped chocolate and a tall glass of cold tap water. While caffè espresso is normally drunken quickly, often standing up and on a rushed break, Napoli tradition imposes the strict rule to drink your espresso seated to fully enjoy its pang.

Here in Italy, you will not be able to replicate your experience of ordering and consuming a coffee beverage as you would, say in an American coffee shop. In Italy, each beverage comes in a predefined size (an espresso cup or a cappuccino cup) and with a standard type of milk (usually pasteurized whole milk). Concepts like medium, large, tall, fat, slim and non-fat are foreign to us. Decaf is (barely) accepted. You may be able to obtain soy milk in some establishments, but you’ll be looked upon with suspicion.

In Italy we don't walk around drinking coffee, so the concept of "to go" is quite foreign. Because we do not routinely use disposable coffee cups, we don’t see the need to bring our own to reduce waste. We also don’t feel compelled to fill containers to the brim. In fact, in some cases, that is a veritable no-no. For example, a shot of espresso will never fill the cup. If it does, the coffee is considered annacquato, watered down, thus denoting inferior quality.In Italy we drink un caffè for the pleasure of tasting an intensely aromatic nectar that leaves behind a heavenly aftertaste. Water makes us skeptical. "Acqua fa ruggine", my old nanny used to say. Water generates rust.

Most Italians do not have an espresso machine at home: they use a stovetop coffee brewer pot called moka. In 1933 Alfonso Bialetti revolutionized home coffee-brewing in Italy with the introduction of the Moka Express aluminum stovetop brewer. This simple, reliable machine became a design icon of the 20th century and even today can be found in nearly 90% of Italian households.

I think if I were a woman I’d wear coffee as a perfume. 

~John Van Druten

Blueberry streusel recipe

I left the house bright and early, with self-gratification and coccole (cuddles) on my mind. After a 30 minute jog and an invigorating apricot body scrub, I sashayed into the Thai day spa for a herbal facial and a 90-minute Ayurvedic massage. 

Coming back home, floating on cloud 9, I left all tensions behind and… baked streusel. The beauty treatment is a 360° affair, is it not?

While E. helped by grinding the roast beans for my steaming demitasse of afternoon espresso, I whisked today’s ultimate merenda reward: blueberry coffee cake.

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
A pinch of salt
200 g (1 cup) granulated sugar
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
100 gr (1/2 cup) hazelnuts, coarsely chopped
100 gr (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, plus more for greasing (softened)
3 small eggs
1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
200 g (1 cup) plain yogurt
200 g (1 cup) fresh blueberries (OK, thaw the frozen kind)
2 large eggs

For the streusel topping:

50 g (1/4 cup) pastry flour
100 g (1/2 cup) granulated sugar
50 g (1/4 cup) butter, cold and cut into small pieces
Preheat oven to 180° C (356° F).
Grease a 9-inch square cake pan with butter and dust it with flour.
Whisk together the flour, baking soda and salt.
In a large bowl, stir together the granulated sugar, cinnamon and hazelnuts. Beat in the butter at medium speed bursts until fluffy. If necessary, use the back of a spoon to press out any lumps. Break in the eggs, one at a time, beating until fully combined, and then finally stir in the vanilla and yogurt.
Add the flour mixture in 2 batches, stirring until just combined (over-stirring will make the batter harden), and fold in half the blueberries.

Spread half of the batter into the prepared pan, it will be quite sticky and messy, you can use a silicone spatula to make things easier. Sprinkle the nut mixture over the batter and top with the remaining blueberries. Spoon the rest of the batter into the pan, smoothing the top.
Make the streusel topping by mixing together flour and sugar in a bowl, rubbing the butter into the flour mixture with your fingers to form coarse blibby crumbs. Sprinkle these over the cake and bake until a dry spaghetti strand (or a toothpick) inserted in the center comes out clean, about 35 to 40 minutes.
Let the cake cool slightly while you brew your coffee, and then unmold. Allow it to cool completely on a wire rack (I hardly ever obey this last instruction) before cutting into 2-inch squares and applying to face.

Oscar night rituals

I'm jet lagged. I spent the night in L.A. yesterday and the body’s schedule is not yet in synch with the clock ticking on my bedside table.

Every year come mid winter, hordes of movie buffs, cinephiles and fans gather in séance-like covens to worship the Academy of Motion Picture’s viril statuette and its artist, thespian and author recipients. Here in the Old World - 9 hours ahead of Hollywood - we like to party hard and late to watch the Oscars through dawn. Buffet style snacks, loads of chocolate, pretzels & chips, espresso and gallons of booze accompany us through the wee hours and the overly long acceptance speeches of the less interesting categories. Bets and prognostications, theme dress-up (it is Carnevale after all) and convivial merry make the 6 hour-long Notte degli Oscar an annual must.

My virtual flight of fantasy landed early on the Kodak Theater’s red carpet, as ushers were still buffing the brass velvet rope holders, cameramen tweaking their equipment and florists busily assembling the last colorful arrangements. As the celebs and their limos began spilling onto Hollywood Boulevard, I dwelled – my stiletto heels burrowing into the soles of my feet – brushing gowns with Nathalie Portman, Anne Hathaway and Meryl Streep. I winked at Robert Downey Jr and socked Mickey Rourke in his granite shoulder. I tried hard to chase after Sean Penn, but that slender wife of his kept bouncing me off. Once I finally filed into the Oscar shrine, I managed to get front row seats and followed the event’s succession of surprise presenters and acceptance speeches through the night.

The first celebrity to grasp Uncle O’s statuette was the sexy guapa Penelope Cruz who claimed she just might faint. The documentary winner "Man on Wire" was the first Oscar acceptance speech to include magic tricks, its star Philippe Petit furthermore showed his gratitude by balancing the Oscar on his chin. The Best Animated Feature Film? The award in this category was picked up by Wall-E and his beloved Eee-vah (yippee!). Dustin Lance Black tried hard to hold it together while accepting his original screenplay award. That’s when I started sniffling. I tend to get quite get emotional at the Oscars.
The most powerful and touching Oscar moment pinnacled as the Hollywood crowd rose to its feet, with several nominees getting teary-eyed, as Heath Ledger’s family stepped up to accept his best supporting trophy for "The Dark Knight." Ledger's father, Kim Ledger, said the award "would have humbly validated Heath's quiet determination to be truly accepted by all you here tonight, his peers within an industry he so loved." Sister Kate Ledger told the audience the honor will go to "your beautiful Matilda," which drenched quite a number of tissues for me. I also was moved by the inspiring "All my life I've had a choice between love and hate. I chose love… and I'm here." A.R. Rahman’s speech, the shy and quiet man who won both best score and best original song for Slumdog Millionaire and clumsily sang on stage between awards.
Sean Penn won for his portrayal as Harvey Milk in Gus Van Sant's excellent Milk, his speech reflected the recent Proposition 8 issues in California and featured quite a bit of good light-hearted comedy.
Kate Winslet’s out of breath gratitude opened with a humble "I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t made a version of this speech when I was 8 years old staring in the bathroom mirror and this was a shampoo bottle," as The Reader actress told the audience. "Well, it’s not a shampoo bottle now. I feel very fortunate to have made it all the way from there to here."
In one of yesterday's sweetest moments, Slumdog Millionaire director Danny Boyle jumped up and down like Tigger the hyper tiger from Winnie the Pooh after winning for best director. Explaining his eccentric behavior, the British filmmaker said he'd told his children that "if this miracle ever happened, I would receive it in the spirit of Tigger." It was a Slumdog Millionaire sweep, the rags to riches story infact held the last smile with the Best Picture win. Steven Spielberg took the stage to announce the winner of the Academy Award for best picture. This was the 8th and the final win for Slumdog in the 81st Oscar Night. The entire cast and crew climbed on the podium to receive the award. And it indeed made me smile as I coasted down from the clouds and landed face down on my bed where E snored quietly.
The early morning school day alarm buzzed me awake at 7:40 am, shattering the coma-like nap I had slipped into just moments before, and erasing all Hollywood glitz. Until next year, that is.

Confessions of a rampant Nutella junkie

Of all forms of temptation to sin, I think chocolate is what turns me on the most without foreplay. Honey colored slabs of glossy, firm milk chocolate; tiny white chocolate pralines; snapping bars of dark, bitter chocolate; choco-coated coffee beans. I can’t resist. As a rampant chocoaddict, I'm forced to indulge, greater forces moving me.
Nutella, a delicious creamy spread staple that has marked generations of Italian children with premature lust, unwanted calories and acne, is today’s drug of choice. On this rainy Roman day, we Nutellaholics celebrate its pure spreadable joy.

Many chocolatiers produce their own nutella-like products, but nothing beats the original contained in the trademark stout glass jar with white screw cap or the mismatched tumblers with the snap top boasting the same 70’s red and black label. The unchanged illustration below the logo is a steadfast Italian icon. Mid afternoon merenda snack meant thick slices of crusty bread slathered with Nutella and a guaranteed energy boost capable of orbiting us to Pluto.

Today, February 5th, 2009 – World Nutella Day – I officiate as Nutella High Priestess (E is way too small for such mundane and Dionysian pleasures). I solemnly jab a hole in the gilded seal, cerimoniously tearing it open. The ciabatta is warming in the oven, and the ecstasy of thrusting just-washed fingers in the virgin tranquil sea of its surface is the prelude to a lustful moment of private Nutella plenty.

Here is a recipe I want to share as a sign of grateful thanks for Michelle of Bleeding Espresso and Sara of Ms Adventures in Italy, for proclaiming and instituting World Nutella Day.
Grazie, mie care sorelle!

Quantities for 4 Nutella Virgins (or 1 aficionado):
250gr (1 1/4 cups) whipping cream
2 tsp confectioner’s sugar, sifted
3 tbsp Nutella, or more to taste

If you are among those who store half opened jars of Nutella in the refrigerator, please refrain from reading any further. This means that a) you actually manage to have any left over, and b) you show no respect for Nutella’s signature creamy nature. In both cases you win my distrust.

Whip the cream with the confectioner’s sugar until quite firm. Add the Nutella, blending it softly with a wooden spoon in round, loving motions. NOW refrigerate the combined elements of your pseudo-mousse for 15 minutes, if you can resist.
Can be left plain or garnished with sifted bitter Dutch cocoa, a cinnamon stick and a few mint leaves before applying to face.

Passeggiata in Rome's centro storico

Glinting cobblestones and aroma of toasted chestnuts. That to me sums up Rome's centro storico.

I took advantage of the sunny afternoon to take a stroll around Campo Marzio today. The "Field of Mars," number IV of the 22 historical districts of the Eternal City, retains the name the Romans gave to the whole area between the walled city and the river where their invincible army used to drill the troops. In modern day Roma, Campo Marzio is considered the heart of Rome's trendy, sparkly and commercial centro storico.

I pushed the three wheel stroller past the contemporary snow white stark lines of the Ara Pacis, which shares the same grounds as the majestic Mausoleo di Augusto, the tomb of the first Roman emperor. I ambled past the Pantheon and stopped at Sant'Eustacchio for an energizing Gran Caffè, complete with dollop of "cremina" – the emulsified froth of the first concentrated espresso to spout from the machine whipped with granulated sugar. I took a peek at the spiraling belltower of Sant'Ivo ai Portoghesi, I admired the window at the funky pen shop near San Lorenzo in Lucina, and I pretended not to look in the windows of two of my favorite shops: Angelo Feroci and Volpetti alla Scrofa.

The first is probably among the best butchers of the city. The family run store’s turn of the century furnishings are shadowed by the incredibly fresh and tasty meat served behind the eight foot counter. I am a carnivore, and I love my steak. I am therefore naturally attracted to the place more often than my wallet can allow. During busy store hours, upstairs mamma Feroci prepares all sorts of high quality ready-made dishes for the avid customers waiting downstairs. It is common to find more ladies than gents, shoulder to shoulder at the high marble counter. This may be due to the fact that all the male family members and employees are quite good looking. They even have a calendar out, with pictures of the butcher hunks carving quarters of beef in viril poses. Not kidding.

On the other hand, Volpetti is a historic neighborhood deli, founded in 1870. In Italy similar establishments are what we refer to as salumeria, gastronomia or alimentari, and tavola calda when hot dishes are served. But Volpetti trascends all definitions. You can walk in and do your grocery shopping at the large section dedicated to prepared meals, from pasta, to vegetables, roast meat and fish, as well as a vast choice of cheeses, cold cuts, sausages, regional Italian delicacies, pizza, salads and a decent selection of table wines. Or you can stand briefly at the counter for a caffè, or dine seated at a table in a separate room at lunchtime; watch the half-dozen patient countermen shaving wafer thin slices of prosciutto, sawing off hunks of grape-leaf-swaddled pecorino, scooping out olives, and spend your months pay in take out.

I personally have to keep away from Volpetti for two big reasons. Their meatballs and their signature insalata di riso. One is an ongoing relationship between me and the dish. My thighs, buttocks and tummy, their final repository. Meatballs are the emblem of home cooking and rarely served other than in the family. When a rastaurant serves meatballs, serious ground leftover meat action has been taking place. Yet at Volpetti polpette are a given, you order them and eat them waving away the thought of leftover meat as you moan with pleasure at every bite. They come in two versions which are always available, either dredged in breadcrumbs and fried, or stewed where they are smothered in a delicious and simple tomato sauce.

During summer, the seasonal magnet that periodically draws me to Volpetti is the boutique's famed and trademark tossed rice salad, insalata di riso. A dish normally (again) prepared at home, something to cool off with in the summer heat, and somewhat of a recycle bin unto itself. My rice salad usually includes leftover grilled veggies, diced salumi, chopped frittata, a vast array of oil-preserved artichokes, eggplant, zucchini, pumpkin, etc. Just toss in what you like with boiled minute rice and you have lunch. Oh, but not at Volpetti. No, their insalata di riso is a minimalist trumph of luxe. Few elements, great taste. The parboiled rice dances among sensual slivers of smoked Scottish salmon, clusters of black and red caviar, fresh steamed and shredded lobster tails, boiled scampi tossed with a featherweight organic homemade whipped mayonnaise. When I have guests over for dinner, I usually buy a crateful to go and serve it as antipasto along several chilled bottles of Jermann Vintage Tunina, sit back and watch my guests have a gastronomic epiphany.

Fortunately both stores were closed today, being Sunday. I daydreamed hard and long of possible purchases and reveled at the recipes I could have prepared as I bumped into a mercatino on the way home. This was one of many spontaneous and roving weekend antiques market stalls that dot the city year round, and where you can buy virtually everything from antique furniture, to second hand clothes, to vintage jewellery, old turn-of-the-century postcards and curious Mussolini memorabilia (there are still folks who dig that stuff). I like to wander without a specific goal. I mainly look at the faces of the vendors, trying to guess their story.

I once bought what I thought was a unique Art Nouveau Lalique-style vase only to find its carbon copy a few weeks later at Porta Portese, Rome's most famous flea market. I never again ventured into the antique accessory bargain negotiation. On the other hand I've been happy to notice quite a few organic and traditional foods stalls recently. The Sardinia cheese and honey kiosk with the 4-headed flag flapping in the crisp Roman breeze; the Umbria counter distributing free samples of truffle paste and freshly baked brustengo; or the Liguaria booth, laden with cold pressed olive oils, biodynamic wines and a rainbow of jams.

Today I stopped for a chunk of Tuscan Pecorino and picked up a loaf of Altamura bread at the Puglia tent. I got home, folded a snoozing E. into the king size bed we cosleep in, and snacked on my guaranteed genuine purchase, waiting for the night to fall. Buonanotte Roma.