Yesterday, while I was having my coffee at the counter, it came to my mind that it was probably one of the last time I was drinking a coffee in a bar in Italy. I had a look around me, listened to the noise of the plates and cups extracted of the dishwasher, saw the guy managing perfectly all his actions to make 2, 3, 5 coffees at the same time (in a minimum of gesture). I noticed the old boiserie, the smell of the coffee, the guy knowing by heart each customer preference and I thought how funny it was, that morning coffee had became one of my favourite daily routine, whereas when I arrived, I was finding it stressful. I remember how weird it was for me to see people getting their “shot” of coffee and leaving.
In France, we have the tradition of seating to sip our coffee. I remember as well how I started loving that moment, like if every morning, when I was getting up, I was having my injection of Italian culture before starting the day. It was not anymore about considering this moment as drinking a coffee alone and in a hurry, no, it was like if I had finally discovered the Italian secret: the art of getting a concentrate of social life mixed with caffeine energy in less than 3 minutes… It was about small pleasures, and for this, no need of the volume of an American coffee…
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