(Written January 28th)
Today I ran out of my instant coffee packets, and haven’t purchased a coffee maker for my apartment yet. Anyone who knows me must know that cutting off my coffee is almost like cutting off my air supply. So today, around 16:30pm (trying to get used to a 24-hour clock), I took my first solo walk down to the corner café to buy my first Italian coffee. It took me a second to realize that I order it right at the bar, which was occupied by old Italian men drinking their afternoon whiskey and beer.
I pulled a noob move of accidentally greeting the barista with “Buon giorno” even though it was evening now, and she responded “Buona sera” (“Good evening”). Then I ordered, “Un caffé, por favore,” and she handed over a cute little espresso cup and asked me a question I didn’t understand. So I asked her, “Parla inglese?” (“Do you speak English?”), and she said no and laughed kindly—but I was glad that it wasn’t immediately apparent to her that I can’t speak Italian, even with my botched greeting. Then she pointed to the milk and asked me in Italian if I want milk, which I understood but replied no, because I wanted to have my first true Italian cup of espresso-style coffee.
It was about 2 oz of liquid, but man did it do the job! I stood at the bar and sipped down my mini-coffee like a pro, enjoying its strength and instant jolt. Then I asked “Quanto costa?” and paid my 1 Euro, then carried on with a lifted spirit. I’m ready to take on Firenze un caffé at a time…even with the Italianglish.