L'Italo-Americano

THURSDAY, JULY 11, 2019 www.italoamericano.org L'Italo-Americano 2 I n Naples, coffee is poetry, is a way of thinking, a life philosophy. Inside that thick, little white cup, served rigorously hot and with sugar at the bottom, you'll find traditions, habits and even songs that, perhaps, mirror better than anything else how the tazzulella is more than what we think. More than the scent of a moka, of the intense flavor of the espresso served in a café; more than the slow stirring of the brew before drinking it or of the tinkling of a teaspoon in your tazzina. More even of the ritual itself —solitary and meditative, but also friendly and social — of having a coffee. A cup of coffee, in Naples, is more than a dark brew to sip with your breakfast, during a morning break or after a meal, it's part of the city's identity. That's not to say that coffee in the rest of Italy is not as good. Because there isn't a place in the Belpaese, from north to south, where it isn't considered an essential part of local identity, indispensable piece in the complex mosaic of "being Italian," just like pizza and pasta. But in Naples, so to speak, you'll find the essence of Italy's coffee ritual, from the art of making it, to the wish of sharing with others one of life's little pleasures, as shown in the beautiful habit of the caffé sospeso, where you pay an extra coffee to be offered to the first person who doesn't have money for it. Naples speaks and sings with coffee. Not because the air is perpetually filled with its strong, invigorating aroma, but because coffee is an image, a flavor, a gesture expressing all types of thought. A beautiful example of it, full of nuances at once carefree and romantic, is a song by Roberto Murolo, one of Naples' greatest singer songwriters of the period between the end of the Second World War and the 1960s. In A Tazza 'E Café (1964), he says "Ma cu sti mode, oje Bríggeta, tazza 'e café parite: sotto tenite 'o zzuccaro, e 'ncoppa, amara site..." Singing to his beloved, who has been giving him the cold shoulder, he says: "with this behavior, oh Brigida, you remind me of a cup of Finding Napoli's songs in 'na tazzulella e café From the director coffee. Deep down, you have sugar, but you are bitter on the surface. So I have to stir and stir, until the sugar from the bottom of the cup reaches my mouth!" Funny and mocking, just like the lyrics of another great Neapolitan songwriter, Renato Carosone, author of many songs famous in the US, like Tu Vuò fà l'Americano, 'O Sarracino, Maruzzella and Un Caffé. Here, he says: "two coffees, waiter, two coffees, two very black coffees, then leave us alone. Why? Once we got to the moment of truth, I'm looking for the fruit of love and alas! I realize the girl is Giancarlo, the barista! Uè!" Way more bitter, because only reality can be so harsh, is the aftertaste left by Na Tazzulella e Caffé, by Pino Daniele, beloved Neapolitan artist who made the song popular in 1977: "A cup of coffee leaves a better taste in the mouth of those who don't want to know. And we carry on with stomach aches and, instead of helping us, they fill us with coffee. A cup of coffee and then a cigarette so we don't see. They build palaces, they do crazy stuff, they trick us and they do it again, they rise taxes..." That coffee tastes like the melancholic, sad, defeated, but also proud and bold, essence of who decided to stand up to injustice and to rebel; the essence of people who feel like Neapolitan Masaniellos, common heroes that turn into leaders, betrayed yet adored. In other words, Neapolitan music finds in a cup of coffee the heart of a city. You drink it, and the energy you get brings you closer to people's soul. We cited these songs to speak about Neapolitan coffee also for another reason. When, around 1650, this new eastern drink became famous in Europe — in Paris, to be precise — it soon began to be associated with entertainment. During the Belle Époque, cafés turned into venues: it was the era of the cafés chantants, where enjoying a coffee would go hand in hand with music. In Italy, the trend became particularly popular in Naples: soon, caffé concerto started appearing. The Café Gambrinus, one of Naples' most famous historical venues, which opened in 1890 and still today serves countless cups of coffee in its frescoed rooms, was a favorite spot for Neapolitan intellectuals of the late 19th and early 20th century. The thoughts and tales of the city, all of its urban and human ordeals, are strictly tied to caffé. Cafés have been home to people's emotions and moods, and it was there, under the watchful eye of the Vesuvius, that music and coffee met, fell desperately in love and swore to be faithful to each other eternally. Simone Schiavinato, Director NEWS & FEATURES TOP STORIES PEOPLE EVENTS

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