Crappuccino

That's right, crappuccino. The other day I had a crappuccino. (I won't say where.) That's the "cappuccino" you get 99.9 per cent of the time in the United States. It has 2 inches of "foam" thick enough to hold up your spoon like a soldier at attention. I heard someone actually order extra foam. The makers of crappuccino think foam is good. They think it's authentic.They think that's Italian. They think that's the way it's supposed to be.

That's not the way it's supposed to be. That's not Italian.

Okay. So does crappuccino qualify as cosmic relief? No. But cappuccino does.

I've been to Italy enough times not to know how many times I've been to Italy. And every time I return to the States I cannot order a cappuccino (read: crappuccino) for at least six months. The memory of the real thing is too strong. Too wonderful. The taste of the perfect balance between steamed milk and excellent espresso lingers on long enough to launch me into Italian reveries for several minutes of every day. The cobblestone streets, the way-too-bright sun, the Italian voices chattering, the crusty brown buildings, the surprise splash of fountain 'round a corner.

Why is it so hard to get right here? They have the equipment. Those large hunks of machinery sparkle behind the counters here like they do behind the bars over there. Is it the American bigger and better syndrome? More cream, thicker foam, bigger drink? Filling a 16 ounce paper cup! Oiy! Italians would probably spit before it to get the evil eye out of their way.

When you get handed a cup of cappuccino you should be able to see the coffee color within the foam or rather let's call it cream...as in "crema." 

In Rome, they tell you to go to Sant'Eustachio near the Pantheon for coffee. And yes, you should go there. Coffee extraordinaire. But a typical non-celebrated bar in Rome will give you the authentic product, too. When they hand you your cappuccino (which you know should be a breakfast drink, not an after-dinner coffee) you can see the coffee delicately mixed with the cream on top. 

There is a bar in NYC called Macchiato near Grand Central Station. I almost fell down when the barista handed me a cappuccino. It was exactly -- I mean exactly -- like the best of Italy. The top had that beautiful pattern like a coffee and milk feather. I asked him where he learned his barista skills. He said Israel.

So you see, all you crappuccino makers. You don't even have to go to Italy to get it right. It may be learnable anywhere.

And when you do figure it out, you'll give the world outside of Italy some very necessary cosmic relief. Especially me.