Archived Posts from this Category
Archived Posts from this Category
Napoli is a town of doppelgängers. Perhaps fitting with their con artist reputation, Neapolitans are masters of location-based bait-and-switch marketing.
Just take Pizzeria Sorbillo. Operated by Gino Sorbillo and considered one of the greatest and most historical pizzerias on the planet, it is located at via dei Tribunali, 32 and attracts long lines of tourists, foodie blog zombies, and multinational TV crews. Its relatively quiet neighbor at #35 to the east is also called Pizzeria Sorbillo (operated by Gino’s brother, Patrizio). The next door further down at #38 is the ever so slightly more popular place called … wait for it … Pizzeria Sorbillo (operated by Gino’s cousins, Antonio and Gigi).
This might not seem too dishonest given that there are 21 pizza-making siblings from the same Sorbillo family. But they are three distinctively different pizza places with three different owners, three different menus, and three different pizza ovens.
Easy enough, I mixed them up my first time here: it’s quite confusing. Read the reviews on TripAdvisor or Google or Yelp.it — even the ones written in Italian — and you’ll notice that some 10-20% of them undoubtedly reviewed the wrong place and to this day believe they ate somewhere else. Perhaps more accurately, they probably presumed there was only one Pizzeria Sorbillo on via dei Tribunali.
Which brings us to Caffè del Professore, the café (or bar if you will). Many consider its espresso as some of the best in all of Napoli. Its name also refers to the Caffè del Professore roaster, based in Palermo, which is one of the most prized small roasters boasted on the front signage of many a local café in Napoli.
Given its Sicilian origins, Caffè del Professore, the roaster, is actually a little unusual for the region. Culturally speaking, the many discerning Neapolitan espresso drinkers have embraced and prized the local micro-roaster idea for generations. By contrast, New York City only started toying with the idea since around the time that Justin Bieber got his first tattoo. Many cafés in Napoli proudly post signs professing their coffee sources — and the smaller and more local, the better.
But this is supposed to be a review about Caffè d’Epoca, right? Right. And when you walk in front of this small café and look at the bold signage above the door, in the back of the establishment, and along all the sidewalk seating in front, you’d be hard-pressed to say this wasn’t the famous Caffè del Professore on Piazza Trieste e Trento in Napoli.
But the reality is that it isn’t: that place is actually called Il Vero Bar del Professore (i.e., “The Real Professor’s Bar”) at Piazza Trieste e Trento, #46 — and this is #2, just partially around the square. Like many a Twitter handle, at some point the confusion compelled Bar del Professore to add “The Real” as part of their official name.
Confusing? It’s by design. Il Falso Bar del Professore indeed. Oh, they use Caffè del Professore coffee alright. But you will not find the name Caffè d’Epoca posted anywhere here — save for the printed register receipt. That sort of Neapolitan cultural curiosity made us want to check out this place even moreso than the three-chicchi-rated Il Vero across the way.
Despite ample outdoor seating on the front sidewalk under Coca-Cola parasols, inside the space is very tight and quite dark. Locals do come here in addition to a few misguided souls believing they are somewhere else. The locals come largely to avoid the line of tourists across the way and to have a solid espresso shot at only €0.90. And like Il Vero nearby, they promote their own Italian-style hot chocolate: here it’s 32 flavors of Eraclea.
Using a four-group La Spaziale machine at the rear of the dark bar (what, a semi-automatic??), they pull shots of espresso with a medium brown crema that dissipates relatively quickly in the MPAN Caffè del Professore logo cups. It has a balanced flavor centered on spices and some herbal pungency, but it’s surprisingly of restrained strength.
With Pizzeria Sorbillo, even if you didn’t wait for an hour to get into il vero Gino’s, you’ll find that it may not be the world’s best, but good pizza still doesn’t fall far from the family tree. Similarly with Caffè d’Epoca, even if you are fooled by the Caffè del Professore branding (other than the suspiciously out-of-place espresso machine), the espresso is still pretty darn good.
Read the review of Caffè d’Epoca in Napoli, Italy.
Without question, this gran caffè is a city institution. It’s long been considered a gathering place for intellectuals, thinkers, poets, foreigners and locals alike. Opening in 1860 as Il Gran Caffè, it started as a Parisian-styled singing café — or café-chantant — before adopting its current name in 1870. It is rightfully recognized among I Locali Storici d’Italia — an association dedicated to recognizing and helping to preserve some of the historically significant establishments in Italy.
Some of this café’s great historical connections include where Edoardo Scarfoglio and Matilde Serao launched the daily paper Il Corriere di Roma in the 1880s (they later went on to establish Il Mattino in 1891), where Gabriele D’Annunzio penned the Neapolitan classic “‘A Vucchella” in 1919 (here’s a version by Enrico Caruso, famed 1906 SF earthquake survivor), and where Jean-Paul Sartre, Oscar Wilde, Ernest Hemingway, Benedetto Croce, and the aforementioned Giovanni Agnelli each came to sit, think, talk, and maybe even write at some time or other.
Outside there are often crowds of tourists gathering for tours of the Napoli underground. There’s outdoor seating in front under parasols against Piazza Trieste e Trento, which very much feels like the heart of the city given nearby Piazza del Plebescito, Palazzo Reale, and the San Carlo theater.
Inside, there are many rooms of slightly fading glory: stucco, marble, grande chandeliers, ornate detailing, frescoes and paintings by some of Napoli’s great artists of the 19th century, antique woodwork. The place feels almost Torinese in its classic style and sophistication. There are books on coffee making from 1836 for sale. And many of the interior rooms feel like capelle — small chapels as if in a cathedral — dedicated to the art of pastries, gelato, a grand tea salon, etc. Some of these grand rooms were cut off as part of a separate bank established under Facist rule in 1938, but in 2001 they were reunited with the main café.
The often brusque baristi here can be older veterans, but there are some newer faces in the lot. Together they might linger longer on the orders of the locals regulars while speeding up for the tourists. They will preheat their ornate, Gambrinus-detailed MPAN cups, pulling shots from their manual four-group lever La San Marco machine with a striped dark and medium brown crema.
It’s a solid effort with Caffè Moreno coffee: a pungent Napoli-friendly flavor that just edges shy of a tobacco edge. A mere €1 at the bar. The 2014 Gambero Rosso Bar d’Italia rated them two tazzine and two chicchi, which dropped them one chicco in their coffee rating from the 2013 edition (i.e., they were previously rated the maximum of three).
Like many places in Napoli, they have their own specialty drink: the Caffè Gambrinus, consisting of espresso, cacao powder, milk foam, whipping cream, and chocolate sprinkles.
Read the review of Gran Caffè Grambrinus in Napoli, Italy.
This grand café and bakery has been servicing more upscale patrons around Ischia Porto for over a century. As a true grand café — though they call themselves a “Pasticceria – Gelateria” — they also are known for cocktails and light meals.
Located on an upscale piazza (Piazza San Girolamo) just below the grand gardens, they offer extensive outdoor seating spaces along Via Vittoria Colonna with a long deck and dozens of café tables under broad sun umbrellas located across of the corner café.
In front they display some of their famous cakes and gelato, and inside there’s a full bar (with a couple dozen bottles mounted upside-down for easy pouring) and more seating towards the back. But the main attraction is the outdoor space, perfect for people-watching along to a 70s American funk soundtrack on the speaker system (at least when we visited).
Using a four-group La San Marco lever machine at the bar, they pull shots of Caffè Moreno with an even, medium brown crema. It has a rich flavor more in the range of spices and some herbal pungency but almost no tobacco notes to it. Served in IPA logo cups, and only €1 at the inside bar.
Rated a surprisingly low one tazzina but two chicchi in the 2014 Bar d’Italia.
Read the review of Gran Caffè Vittoria in Ischia Porto, Italy.
Words can mean a lot. When it comes to coffee, that can mean words like “food” or “transparency”. We’ve noticed both of these words coming up a lot in recent public discussions about coffee quality, and yet neither word really belongs in the conversation.
Today’s Daily Coffee News from Roast Magazine registered examples of each in an article on the recent Good Food Awards held annually here in San Francisco. In case you’re not familiar with “the GFAs,” they were born out of the Slow Food Nation event held here in 2008 with many of the same key players at the helm (at least on the coffee side of things). The goal of the awards is to recognize “outstanding American food producers and the farmers who provide their ingredients.”
All worthy goals. But here’s one of our long-time pet peeves, albeit a small one: coffee is labeled as “food”. Perhaps it seems innocent enough. But while the coffee industry has spent years belaboring the point of trying to be taken as seriously as wine, there’s is simply no way wine would ever be classified as “food” at an awards event.
It has none of the nutritional values of food; you do not eat it. What are we, civets? Sure, you could say that both food and coffee are consumed, but you could say the same for unleaded gasoline.
Restaurant coffee will surely suck as long as coffee is treated as food’s red-headed stepchild — and not something worth recognition outside of food’s long shadow the way wine enjoys. And because the “food media” provide only superficial and patronizing cover of beverages is why Karen Foley, formerly of Fresh Cup, started Imbibe magazine. There are reasons they are called “barista” — the Italian word for bartender — and not “waiter” or “waitress”.
However, let’s turn to a topic that’s a bit more controversial: transparency.
You can roughly define coffee transparency as visibility into its entire supply chain: from seed to cup. It’s about assigning the proper credit (or blame) wherever deserved and exposing just’s in the bag and behind its pricing.
It’s critical stuff. So much so that international coffee guru, roaster, and former barista champion, Tim Wendelboe, had this to say about transparency some three years ago:
A lot of high quality driven roasters, including ourselves, preach that transparency is the most important part of our trade.
There are a number of good reasons for this. One is sustainability of coffee growing and business practices — i.e., ensuring that not only can you find your favorite coffee sources, but that you can reward and encourage all of those behind its proper growing, harvesting, processing, storage, and shipping practices. Another virtue is the reproducibility of results, so that growing season after growing season you can ensure that you get a similar if not better product each time.
But what transparency is not is a measure of quality, and this is where we see a lot of coffee consumers — and even some purveyors — confusing the two. Just as Fair Trade is an economic program but not a quality certification, transparency has everything to do with the means of achieving your results but it is not a measure of quality in those results. The means are being confused with their ends.
Which is why we appreciated that Jen Apodaca, 2014 GFA Coffee Committee chair, didn’t take the bait when Daily Coffee News asked in their article, “Are there specific benchmarks for criteria like traceability, transparency…” [etc.]. Because the fact is that transparency doesn’t have a flavor — I can’t taste it directly in my cup. The GFAs are trying to recognize sensory qualities more than intellectualized ones.
Even more to the point, the fact that one coffee is more traceable than another does not mean it is of any better quality: your coffee could be highly traceable but still taste like ass.
One of the most common ways coffee consumers experience transparency and traceability is through labels such as single origin (Serious Eats?: yet another coffee-is-food reference!) or micro-lot coffees. There’s a misplaced sense that having greater precision in where your coffee comes from somehow naturally means it’s of higher quality. It does not.
The merits of this precision are more psychological than sensory. We’ve seen a lot of coffee professionals donning their best Mr. Yuk faces when someone dares to dilute the pedigree of a single row of coffee shrubs by blending coffees to achieve a specific flavor profile.
We can overlook that this kind of “master race” obsession with purified gene pools has gotten our species into deep trouble in the past. But when that geographic precision becomes the primary goal of a coffee in itself, you’re no longer seeking the best taste outcome in the cup but rather some intellectual notion of a purist expression of its terroir. You’re not thinking about optimizing for flavors as much as you’re thinking about pinning your pristine collection of butterfly species inside a museum case.
Look, there’s great terroir and there’s lousy terroir. A wine showing terroir doesn’t mean it’s good.”
I guess we all can put that in our ever-popular wine analogy and smoke it.
Taking a short respite from our series on espresso in Napoli and the Amalfi Coast, we have a couple of local coffee shop reviews to catch up on. One is the obscure and eponymous CoffeeShop_.
This dive of a coffee shop has been operation since 2012, but the overwhelming majority of locals in the neighborhood wouldn’t know it. It kind of defines the term “understated”, so you pretty much have to stumble upon it.
It’s a tight space with no seating, inside nor out, though thankfully they do offer their espresso in “for here” cups anyway (Pagnossin cups with no saucer). Though even with the tight space and nothing to sit on, you’ll often find people hanging out inside.
In addition to espresso drinks they sell Hario drip coffee (they also sell the drippers) and baked goods from Batch. Their coffee is proudly sourced from Emeryville’s Ubuntu Coffee Cooperative, which also explains some of the other “hippie crap” on the drink menu such as yerba mate and matcha.
Using a two-group Promac, they pull shots with a very creamy texture. It has an even-textured medium brown crema with a flavor of pepper and mild spice with some modestly sharp brightness (to let you know the coffee is freshly roasted). But without potent fruitiness or candy-like sweetness.
Three generous sips, and we’re still not entirely sure why the espresso shots get the nickname “Dirty” here. (As in: “I’ll have a Dirty, please.”)
Read the review of CoffeeShop_ in Bernal Heights.
The town of Forio on Ischia’s west coast has about 17,000 inhabitants and faces a wide-open Tyrrhenian Sea. Because of its exposed location, it boasts numerous coastal watchtowers dating back to the Middle Ages as protection against invading Saracen and African pirates. By the 1950s, the marauding pirates were replaced by an invasion of marauding artists, turning Forio into something of a global artists’ retreat. Rape and pillage comes in many forms.
Yet it remains a beautiful location. There are narrow streets, working painters and ceramic workshops, idyllic views of the volcanic rocks and sea, and Saracen architectural details around town dating back to some of its earliest invaders. Divino Cafè resides near the center of town on a (mostly) pedestrian walkway between fashionable shops and restaurants — with the occasional disturbing breast-implant disaster parading by courtesy of an aging local fashionista. (Prepare about an hour for your scalded eyes to recover.)
It’s a rather small space with a couple of tables in front, an angular serving bar, and a semi-private upstairs lounge (when open). Unlike most coffee shops in the area, they proudly brand themselves with the decidedly not-local Lavazza. Like a number of cafés around Napoli, they proudly offer their own version of a zucchero-crema concoction (literally, “sugar-cream”) — which they call Cremina di Caffè — to optionally add a formulated syrupy sweetness to their variations of espresso drinks. And also like a number of notable coffee shops around Napoli, their list of coffee drinks is long.
Sticking to the basics for review purposes here, they use a three-group La San Marco lever machine to pull shots with an even, medium brown crema. It has a pungent flavor that’s a bit narrow, and its served in Lavazza-logo cups from Cup & Saucer. Rated two chicchi and one tazzina in the 2014 Bar d’Italia.
Read the review of Divino Cafè in Forio d’Ischia, Italy.
Despite being a relatively large island, you can get around most of Ischia through a combination of walking and its rather dubious-yet-functional public bus system. Starting from the island’s main transportation hub of Ischia Porto (i.e., the actual ferry port) and the nearby bus terminal, walk east, towards Ischia Ponte, for about a half-mile and you’ll encounter Bar Calise a Ischia.
This massive café resides along a more suburban-looking stretch of Ischia’s Via Antonio Sogliuzzo. The Bar Calise owners started their business nearly a century ago in nearby Casamicciola Terme. But in 1960, as the neighborhoods east of Ischia Porto experienced a great deal of expansion and development, the owners branched out to this flagship location on Piazza degli Eroi.
It has several signs off the main road to flag down drivers and an assortment of pedestrians. It also has a rather extensive parking lot (for Italy), a wide swath of outdoor garden seating, and some indoor seating inside the huge café and bar. Besides the various panini, pizza, pastries, and many other edibles, they also serve a decent espresso.
Using dueling three-group La Cimbali machines with a gold patina at the rear bar, the professionally dressed baristi pull shots with an even, medium brown crema that’s a bit full in the (Porland) cup for the region. (Though it is still only about three sips.) It’s a dark, rich pour with a good body and some smokiness over that characteristic Passalacqua pungency that characterizes much of Napoli.
Order at the bar for only €1 — though most patrons order the table service version for €3 with a relatively flavorless cookie served over the top of the cup. Rated two tazzine and one chicco in the 2014 Bar d’Italia.
Read the review of Bar Calise a Ischia in Ischia, Italy.
Like it’s more famous and cosmopolitan sister, the island of Ischia resides in the Gulf of Naples. But that’s where the similarities end.
Capri draws mostly international tourists on day trips seeking the fashionable high-life. Years ago while hiking Capri’s (highly recommended) Villa Jovis around 8am one Sunday morning, a peek over a cliff’s edge revealed a marine invasion of ferries and tour boats from all directions that must have rivaled D-Day on the beaches of Normandy.
By contrast, Ischia draws far more tourists and yet has a completely different feel. For one, 80% of the tourists are Italians — most of whom stay overnight. Ischia is a larger island and supports a much greater number of local residents, giving it a strong sense of community. The island feels more like a connected suburb of Napoli (despite the one-hour-plus boat ride). And then there are the spas and hot springs.
As for Ristorante e Bar Cocò: what a complete scene. It’s hard to overstate how much this local café resides at the center of an entire island’s social fabric. A combination bar and restaurant, this Ischia institution opened in 1951. The island locals who flock here partly do so out of the quality of the place, but perhaps moreso because of its stunning location: along the shores at the base of the footpath that leads to the dramatic Castello Aragonese.
Built by Hiero I, tyrant of Sicily, in 474 B.C., the site of this castle has since been alternatively sacked/occupied/expanded by Parthenopeans, Romans, Visigoths, Vandals, Goths, Arabs, Normans, Swabians, the Angioini, English, and the Bourbons.
Mornings, afternoons, and (in particular) evenings, people gather at this watering hole at the base of the footpath to eat, drink, and mostly socialize beneath the shadow of the castle. There are many Italians sitting out front for table service beneath a thatched roof (where they serve €1.70 espresso instead of the in-bar €1). Inside there’s only a cashier and standing at the bar — other than seating inside the neighboring restaurant with shorter hours.
At the bar they use a four-group lever La San Marco machine to pull dense, syrupy shots of Caffè Moreno. It has a dense thickness and outstanding body with an even, dark brown crema that looks a bit like a dark brown egg yolk at times.
Read the review of Bar Cocò in Ischia Ponte, Italy.
Along the Amalfi Coast, Maiori is the larger counterpart to nearby Minori. Like Minori, its roots date back before the Romans: it was founded by the Etruscans under the name “Reghinna Major” (with Minori as “Reghinna Minor”). Unlike Minori, Maiori is a larger, “L”-shaped town and boasts the longest unbroken stretch of beach along the Amalfi Coast.
The place where that “L” draws back from the coastline and climbs inland is the broad Corso Regina, marking the social and commercial heart of Maiori separate from the town’s attractive beachfront promenade. Pasticceria Napoli is located along that Corso Regina — a few blocks up from the beach. It is a tiny, local establishment. While it lacks the service volume, finesse, and notoriety of a Sal de Riso (in nearby Minori), it’s an excellent local example of a neighborhood pastry and espresso shop.
The small, non-descript space has a few indoor, colorful-plastic-backed café tables. There’s often a number of tasty baked goods on display, and behind the bar (with its prominent Illy branding) is a two-group La Cimbali machine.
With it, they preheat the Illy-logo SPAL cups and pull shots with an even medium brown crema of good thickness and no heat spots. It has an Illy flavor of wood and spice, but with a robustness typical to Illy when consumed in Italy. The barista here can be a character but extremely friendly: the staff here are known for their exceptional friendliness.
Rated a respectable two tazzine and two chicchi in the 2014 Bar d’Italia. A solid effort for a mere €0.80.
Read the review of Pasticceria Napoli in Maiori, Italy.
Positano is an impossible town. By that, I mean that the place even exists — grafted vertically onto cliffs overlooking a gorgeous sea — defies belief. Glimpsing just a single photo of the place was all I needed to convince me that I had to first come here nearly 12 years ago. And I certainly am not the only one.
John Steinbeck visited Positano on multiple occasions. His essay in the May 1953 issue of Harper’s Bazaar is said to have put Positano on the tourist map. Which then lead to inspiring Patricia Highsmith to write The Talented Mr. Ripley in 1955. Her novel became a 1999 film that was also partly shot in Positano.
A decade later, Positano inspired a visiting Mick Jagger and Keith Richards from The Rolling Stones to pen the song “Midnight Rambler” — from the brilliant 1969 Let It Bleed album — in its cafés. La Brezza Net Art Café wasn’t around at the time for Jagger and Richards, but there’s a high probability that one of the cafés where they did write it stood in La Brezza’s place back then.
Because La Brezza makes the most of its prime beach location in fashionable Positano. There are two floors inside that feel a little bit cramped, but most of the activity of its patrons naturally takes place on the front patio under canvases or among the sidewalk tables along the paved walkway down to the beach.
They serve beachside gelato and various lunch items with a view over the sand and the small, wooden fishing boats beached on the shore. Inside their espresso machine might look like a chrome Fiorenzato, but it is a two-group Esprèsso by SAB.
Using Irio Caffé from just over the Amalfi Coast mountain range, they pull shots with a darker, rich-looking crema with the occasional lighter medium brown heat spot. Not surprising given Irio’s wood-roasting processes, it has a woody and smooth flavor of mild spices but a body that runs a little thinner than expected. At €1.50, it’s a little pricey — but half the cost of table service (which is still worth it, given the hangout).
And good enough for Gambero Rosso’s 2014 Bar d’Italia to rate it 2 tazzine and 2 chicchi.
Read the review of La Brezza Net Art Café in Positano, Italy.