Allow me to share with you the story of my first time. I was 22 years old, had just moved to Rome and the apartment I was renting had a Bialetti stovetop espresso maker and some grounds. It sorta made me wonder if that set came standard in all Italian living spaces. My first morning I set up a chair on my patio and made myself a cuppa. So there I sat listening to the sounds of old Italian women babbling, enjoying the fresh morning air, and sipped on my very first coffee. What a way to start, right? But even here, in NYC, every cup I have makes me think of that moment and while the tastes differ, there is very little more comforting than that warm, roasted, sometimes acidy, taste.
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