Photo by Diana Dinverno
An Italian Heart in my Cappuccino
In September when I was in Florence, Italy, doing research for a writing project, I sat at a table while my husband, Christopher, ordered cappuccini at a bar. A few minutes later, the young man behind the counter placed two cups and saucers on the marble top. Christopher carried our beverages to our table and sat. The barista leaned over the bar to get our attention, and gestured that we should switch cups.
“Per la signora (For the lady),” the young man said.
My husband did as he requested and when I looked into my cup, found my steaming cappuccino had a heart of foam. The barista grinned. I smiled, nodded, and murmured grazie. This is how it is done, and not just at this particular establishment. As we travelled from Florence to Venice, and then to Varenna on Lake Como, the frothy hearts appeared.
Home now, in Michigan, it puts a smile on my face to think about this small Italian flourish, foreign to my local, and compared to its Italian counterpart, somewhat pricy, coffee shop. I’ll continue to ask for a heart in my cappuccino despite the claim they simply don’t know how to accomplish the effect. Eventually, the barista will succumb to whatever charm I can muster or my persistence. Don’t you think?
I hope you drop in from time to time, or better yet, subscribe to hear stories of my travels, and discussions of history, art, architecture, books, and food. For my writing friends, I intend to post a writing prompt on Wednesdays. My interests are varied, but I promise you this: Whenever you join me here, I’ll share a piece of my heart.