The first time I ever drank a cup of coffee in my ENTIRE LIFE was in Italy.  All right that was a lie.  I had tried coffee before in America, but my reaction was always the same-one of absolute disgust.  In my humble opinion, coffee is absolutely terrible.  I will never understand how one could say coffee tastes good.  I do, however, understand the coffee addiction.  It is undeniable that the alertness produced from caffeine is fantastic.  Honestly though, cut the middle man out and try every college student’s best friend; adderal.

In my introduction, I denounced coffee, praised caffeine and recommended drugs to you.  You should probably stop reading this article.  Nevertheless, if your still here, fight the good fight my friend, because there’s beauty in the breakdown after all, isn’t there?  All right talk about pointless tangents.

It was 10 in the morning and I was wandering the streets of Milan, Italy looking for something to eat.  I had class in 30 minutes and I was NOT about to sit through 3 hours of Italian language instruction on an empty stomach.  By what I can only call fate, I decided to walk relatively far from campus, even though, there were several cafe’s along the way.  I decided to choose a cafe in nearly another sector of Milan.

When I walked inside the place was crowded with local Italians wearing suits and sipping coffee.  It seemed this was their “pre-game,” spot, before work.  I was wearing a Buffalo Bills beanie, Gap jeans, an American Eagle hoodie and basketball high tops.  For the record, I’m not a fan of the Buffalo Bills, it was an awful purchase which I stubbornly refused to admit.  As you might imagine EVERYONE was staring at me.  One man approached and said spoke in Italian and I responded with the phrase, which I so heavily came to rely on, “Parlo Inglese.”  I nearly hugged him when he responded, “No problem, what do you need buddy?”

It is not often you come across a bilingual man in Milan, Italy working at an immensely popular, trendy cafe.  He asked me what I wanted and when I stared back at him wide-eyed he said, “I think I have a feeling.”  Ten minutes later he handed me a toasted panini with turkey, lettuce, tomato, melted mozzarella and RUSSIAN DRESSING.  It was only missing bacon, of course.  Anyway, Russian dressing is in caps because I had NOT had anything even closely resembling Russian dressing in Italy.  Of course, I had asked for it, but people tended to look at you like you were a lunatic anytime you asked, in plain English, for Russian dressing.  I begged this mystery man to adopt me after eating the sandwich, but when he denied my compelling offer I simply vowed to make his cafe my new lunch spot.

As I was paying for my sandwich, which was an unusually cheap 3 euros, he asked me, “How bout a coffee?”  I wanted to seem like I wasn’t COMPLETELY clueless, so I nonchalantly responded, “Yeah sure, I’ll take an espresso.”  I didn’t know what an espresso was, but I noticed they had a very cool looking machine that said espresso on it; so I took a risk.

Moments later I was handed an absolutely tiny cup on an even smaller saucer.  I attempted to pick the cup up with the microscopic handle attached to it, but as I looked at myself in an adjacent mirror, I looked like a sexually confused Italian American drinking coffee for the first time.  In other words, there was nothing cool or straight, about drinking with the handle.

When I inspected the contents of the cup it contained a legitimate DAB of coffee.  I awkwardly looked around hoping to find guidance in what I was supposed to do with this.  I mean sure, I knew I had to drink it, but what satisfaction could I get out of this miniscule cup.

Being the risk taker I am, I threw caution to the wind and drank it like a shot. Truly regret I made such a decision. I tried to wipe the look of disgust off my face as I paid for the espresso (1 euro) and headed off to class.

The next time I had coffee I was with 2 of my ROOMATES.  One of them was a beautiful girl from Australia and the other was a punk rock chick from France.  Yes, studying abroad is guaranteed to be an insane experience.  Anyway, I watched as the 2 ordered coffee and it was there that I learned that the espresso is intended to be mixed with sugar and maybe some milk.  Nevertheless, I couldn’t begin to understand the purpose of paying money for something that could hardly even quench your thirst.  The Australian decided to go with a caffe latte and it was at that moment I was introduced to my soon to be coffee mistress.  A caffe latte was no different from a regular American coffee and it was topped off with a milky froth.  It looked like a far better choice than the espresso, so I tried it.  Of course, I was sure to top off my coffee with sugar and milk this time.  I’m aware you probably think I’m a moron for not initially doing that.

It was cold outside and I was tired so the combination of a hot drink and the immediate effect of the caffeine was wonderfully addictive.  Suddenly I was drinking something that wasn’t too bad.

At first the effect of the caffeine was IMMEDIATE and sometimes overwhelming.  I had never drank coffee before and caffeinated drinks were banned from my house as a child. So, it was like drinking cocaine.  I loved how attentive I became in class and I LOVED how I could go from feeling groggy to sufficiently pepped up.  The world’s obsession with coffee was quickly starting to make sense.

The main differences between coffee in Italy and in America is accessibility.  Similar to pizza in Italy, there is no such thing as “to go,” coffee.  You will NEVER see an Italian scurrying to the subway with his Starbucks in hand.  In fact, I don’t think there are any Starbucks in Italy AT ALL.  Woah.

Rather, one has to sit down, arrogantly hold the tiny handle of their cup and discuss how much better Italians are than Americans.  In otherwords, Italians take their coffee seriously and sitting down for a cup of coffee is treated with similar respect to sitting down for a meal of pasta.

The most wonderful invention I ever came across in Italy was a coffee vending machine.  I may be wrong, but I’m pretty certain when I say that this does not exist in America.  If it does, then plenty of time was wasted among my friends and I when we discussed how much money one could make off of these vending machines.

Anyway, throughout the hallways of the school I spent a semester at, Universita Cattolica del Sacro Cuore, there were coffee vending machines.  For a mere 40 cents one could have a mini cup of fresh coffee prepared for them; instantly.  Caffe late, caffe late con cioccolato (coffee with chocolate) or simply hot chocolate.  For those looking to sway away from major caffeine they offered tea with lemon too.  It was a fantastic vending machine and it was ALWAYS crowded, in between, before and after classes.

It wasn’t long before I became just another Italian, mixing my caffe latte with the mini plastic sticks that were dispended with each cup of coffee.

Not long after my introduction to coffee we were on a trip to Barcelona.  EVERYONE in our group of 15 went absolutely berserk when we stumbled upon a Starbucks.  Since I was introduced to coffee in Italy, I looked at Starbucks like it was peasantry; at its finest.  I watched as my friends ordered ice cream coffee shakes, not elegant cups of coffee.  I couldn’t associate with these pigs.

I guess its hard not to be bias when you’re raised among the elite of Italy.  In terms of this competition, it’s not even fair.  Italy reigns supreme when it comes to coffee.

For more Times Square articles like Italian’s laugh at the very sight of Starbucks please visit the Dining/Food Stories Section of TimesSquare.com