Goethe already knew that the Italians are superior to us Germans in many ways. The language, the art, the fashion - all of this is simply more beautiful on the other side of the Alps. Lemon trees also thrive there. So outside. And there is another clear competitive advantage for our southern European friends: A good coffee is served even in the smallest, most secluded town. And we're not talking about any filter coffee hipster bars or even big chains like Starbucks (how the brand, whose model was originally Italian coffee culture, found its way into Milan's Piazza Duomo after decades is a sad story of its own). But from the countless little bars in which almost perfect espresso can be brewed at any time with shiny chrome portafilter machines.I therefore fully understand the Italian father, who years ago desperately exclaimed in the middle of Potsdamer Platz in Berlin: “Cazzo, ma non c'è un bar?” (“Sh ..., isn't there a bar here?”), Desperate in the coffee diaspora - I feel its pain.
And I prefer to remember the coincidence that gave me the best coffee of my life, almost exactly 15 years ago in southern Italy. The Italian friend and I had traveled south from Milan by night train, without our own car and correspondingly exhausting, because the local transport network in the Italian south was and is legendarily catastrophic. We had seen Salerno and Naples (overrated, except for the pizza) and had now taken the train again to Pompei (without the "j") to see the ruins of the ancient city of Pompeii (in German with "j") ) to visit.
For the beginning of May it was pretty cold and walking on the streets of the ruined city hit our spirits, so macabre was the idea that Vesuvius had buried every life here under its volcanic ash about 2000 years ago.
Back at the station, the train drove out from under our noses.
In short: the mood was in the basement and it was a matter of killing time until the next departure.
So we went to the first bar we found and there it happened: I drank a latte macchiato that I have never had since then and which in my memory is only getting better and more inaccessible.
Principles of drinking coffee
First of all, I have to explain that I rarely drink latte macchiato. Perhaps it is due to the bad reputation the drink enjoys in this country (“Latte macchiato district” and “Latte macchiato parents” have made it into our language as derogatory terms) or the principles of coffee drinking that I learned in Italy. First: never, but really never drink a cappuccino after 11 a.m. - especially not after dinner - unless you want to come out as an absolute tourist. Second: Anyone who is self-respecting orders a “caffé”, which means an espresso, optionally as “doppio” or, if it is supposed to be extravagant, “macchiato”, ie stained with milk. I had even got into the habit of ordering a “marocchino” as a matter of routine: an espresso with some milk foam and cocoa powder.But here, on this dreary day, in the bar in the train station district of Pompei, more was needed. Something nourishing, warming for the soul.
The perfect latte macchiato only needs two ingredients, espresso and hot milk.
The milk makes up the main part of the drink and must be heated to 60 to 70 degrees.
Ideally, the hotter espresso collects above the warm milk and below the upper foam layer, thus creating the characteristic color gradient.
And: the more fat the milk, the more frothy it becomes and the more suitable it is as a flavor carrier for coffee.
The brewed espresso itself (25 to 30 ml) should of course not be a weakling, so that it does not give the impression of a children's drink, which according to rumors it was originally in Italy.
Perfect in combination
I don't know exactly how the barista in Pompei went about it, I neglected to ask him. But I remember the taste: At first it was intense like milk, so it must have been quite fatty, then after a really good, very aromatic espresso. The combination was perfect, so that the rest of the day was forgotten, in contrast to the memory of this hot drink, which lingers to this day.
Exactly where I was allowed to taste this latte macchiato cannot be reconstructed today, but it was not far from the train station, perhaps with a view of the impressive tower of the pilgrimage church Santuario della Beata Vergine del Rosario. It was probably not a cheap pleasure, because we were certainly not the first tourists looking for a rescue wake-up call and we probably even took him to us while sitting at the table, which usually costs extra (another professional tip: coffee always standing up drink directly at the bar). But the experience was worth every penny and since then has supported the thesis that a good coffee can unexpectedly come across in Italy on every corner.