![]() In fact, I was truly shocked when he became an even greater coffee-enthusiast than I was. Little did I know that I would continue to be surprised by my husband’s newly-discovered taste for coffee. Surprised, I handed him the petite cup of espresso and sat back to watch.įor those old enough to remember the Life cereal commercial in which “Mikey likes it!” and shocks the other children at the table, you can imagine the scenario at the little table shared by my husband and I at this Italian cafe. Before I could do so, James stopped me, and said he wanted to try it. The bitter espresso was too much for me, and I wanted to ask the waiter for a little milk (“ latte”). In Italy when you ask for “ un caffe,” you are asking for an espresso. James ordered a cannoli and I ordered “ Un caffe, por favor.”Īs soon as the waiter returned with the tiny cup of dark coffee I realized that I had forgotten a basic Italian distinction. We found a marble-covered table in the corner and sat down to wait out the rain. ![]() We ran to the nearest cafe and made a futile attempt to dry our soaked clothes.Īnd we discovered that we were at one of the oldest cafes in Rome: Sant’Eustachio Caffe, near the Piazza Navona. The two of us were nearing the end of a five-day stay in Rome and were trying to accomplish some final sightseeing in the beautiful ancient city when we found ourselves in the middle of a torrential downpour. He had never tasted coffee until he experienced his first sip in Italy at forty-eight years old. My husband James’s first taste of coffee was a bit more dramatic. To this day, I still drink my coffee black. Although she took hers with a heaping spoonful of sweetener, for some reason, I never added sugar or cream. I quickly “warmed up” to the taste of coffee, and soon I was drinking a cup each morning with my co-counselor. One cold morning, however, I took a sip, and-to my surprise-it wasn’t bad. ![]() I didn’t intend to drink it-just to enjoy the hot steam that drifted to my nose and face. The week before the campers arrived for their four-week stay at Camp Rockbrook, we gathered together in the mornings to plan for the summer activities that lay ahead.Īlthough it was June, the mountain air was chilly, and as I entered the dining hall each day I would pour myself a hot cup of coffee from the old-style percolator just to keep my hands warm. I was seventeen and a camp counselor in the mountains of North Carolina. ![]()
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