Cap, Capa, Capuchin

Cappuccino. Cappuccino. Cappuccino. Frothy milk poking out of pitch black espresso, just like the bald head of a Capuchin monk which is where the drink gets its name. Cappuccino.

An espresso is an out-the-door, business, frank talk, on your way coffee. But a cappuccino, in the words of one elderly barista I remember, should feel like “a hug from your mother.”

I have watched many hands make many cappuccinos. I have had cappuccinos made by cappuccino masters who would get tears in their eyes and go all mystical when they explained the textures and flavors and sensations of coffee. I have had cappuccinos made by college kids who just tumbled out of bed and landed behind their first barista counter and could barely remember how to run the machine. I have had cappuccinos from old men with rusted coffee carts on street corners that would put Starbucks to shame. I have sat beneath cathedral spires and sipped cappuccinos infused with fragrant European cheese (true story!...ask and I'll tell).

I have watched many hands making making many cappuccinos in many places, from the Rivertown Coffee Shop in Florence, Alabama, to cozy deep-winter hidden spots in Kyiv, Ukraine, trendy kiosks in Prague, street-side shacks in Vietnam, and up to rooftop hipster joints in Shanghai, China. I have explored a world of cappuccinos, made by many hands.

And I have watched those hands. How they move when they tamp down the coffee, how they swirl the froth and milk, and how they delight in the little art they can do on the top of the foam. I have watched, because I love cappuccinos. And I have taken notes. Pages and pages of scrawling mental notes.

So today, I watched my own hands make a cappuccino. It went ok. I need practice. Give me time.