Photo by Daisy.Chain / CC BY-SA 2.0
When I came to Europe, I was craving to experience all that the continent has to offer: easy travel, rich culture, weird ketchup, IKEA, and the true staple of European life, the Cafè.
The Cafè, in stark, grainy black and white and thick as a stone with the smoke from a hundred French cigarettes. Slow piano jazz and the occasional mourning saxophone fills the air. An old man in a white linen suit smokes a cigar and nurses his gin. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Stein are in the back room chasing absinthe with Veuve. I knew that this exact scenario was awaiting me on every corner of every city, from Milan to Paris.
When I hopped off the plane from JFK, I breathed in the fresh, Italian air and made a beeline for the center of town. I knew that the quintessential European Cafè was waiting for me, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on an authentic double-mocha frappuccino with 3 Stevia’s and extra whipped cream. I could already taste all those ingredients masking the flavor of my coffee. I was ready.Read the Full Article