Finding "Our" Coffee Bar in Rome: the Story of Two Searches

If you're in Rome more than a week, nothing is more important than choosing your coffee bar. The coffee bar is central to Roman--and Italian--life. Mornings begin with coffee and a cornetto (a Danish); then there's the late-morning break for coffee--either at the bar or delivered from the bar on one of those ubiquitous round trays. And so on. 

On a recent trip, we were lucky to stay in two Rome neighborhoods; we got to choose two coffee bars rather than just one.

Our first neighborhood (quartiere) was Aurelia South, a busy, pleasant, middle-class enclave tucked in between the Vatican on one side and the long shoulder of Monte Mario on the other. The area is full of coffee bars. We tried ten! The one closest to the Vatican was nice enough, but the prices were too high--the tourists had reached the area, if only barely. Others were men's bars (the tables outside invariably occupied by long-term, older Roman guys), or the coffee wasn't good enough, or the outside space was limited, or whatever.  

Here's one reject: 

And another reject, a bar called MilkCoffeBurger. Despite the name, we tried this one a couple of times.  

Another was too fancy, although, as you can see in the photo below, the police stopped in for coffee late one day. This was our late-afternoon wine bar. 

We finally settled on Venere Caffe' (Bar Bistrot) a place with a nice outside space, stuck out into the street--and covered, shielded from the sun. Good coffee. The label "bistrot" is widely used these days. We've even seen "ristrot," a combination of bistrot and ristorante. 

After about two weeks in Aurelia South, we moved to an apartment just a short block from Piazza dei Re di Roma.  We tried Pompi, the largest and most famous bar in the area, known for its tiramisu. We found the coffee ordinary at best and the staff impersonal. No. And we tried Cannoleria, a bar that features cannoli. No seating inside, a nice outside space [see photo below, with Piazza dei Re di Roma in the distance] (you carry your coffee and stuff out the door on a tray, and walk around the flower shop). Coffee was good, cornetti excellent. Too expensive. Slow service from a too-busy staff, but good enough that it was our favorite on Sundays and holidays when our otherwise favorite one was closed.

We tried a small corner bar on Via Aosta--too small inside, rather ordinary tables, uncovered, outside. No comfortable space in which to reader the morning paper. And lousy coffee.

Then we found "our" bar. On via Pinerolo, just steps from our apartment. The name is Antica Caffetteria, and on the awning it says "Wine Bar Gastronomia," half of which is true. This is definitely not a wine bar, in the sense in which that term ought to be used, although they serve an afternoon "spritz." But there is a kitchen, which serves a daily lunch that attracts quite a crowd, and the cook is the wife of the owner/manager.

Here's the bar from down the sidewalk. When the sun is shining, as it usually is, the tables on the right, beyond the awning (and nearer the street), are not favored.

Across from the bar there's an old phone booth, now an informal library, decorated with embroidery. We saw lots of folks looking at the books and taking one or two.  

The bar has good outside seating, some of it uncovered (not good) and some of it covered sufficiently to ward off the morning sun. 

Befitting a place where food is served, there were a number of tables inside in back, where we often sat and read the paper. The price was right: E1 for coffee (no additional cost for an Americano), E1 for a cornetto, total E4 for both of us (about $4.20). The cornetti were Roma standard, the coffee uniformly excellent. 

Like many establishments in these days of Covid-19--especially those not in a tourist area--there's no extra charge for sitting at a table, inside or outside. Rather than table service, customers are encouraged to take their coffee and cornetti to their table, on one of those round trays. When finished, we always disposed of our napkins and took the cups back to the bar--not required, but a courtesy. Our bar usually gave us small glasses of tap water with our our coffee (see the glasses on the tray, below). 

Late in our visit we learned that the bar is a family operation. Dad runs the cassa (the cash register), cleans up here and there and buses tables. In the photo below, he shows surprise at being photographed (I didn't expect him to come into the frame).

His two sons are baristi, making coffee and serving customers their cornetti. As noted, their mother is the cook. A young woman, who often made our coffee, was apparently the only non-family member working at the bar. Her head can be seen in the 2nd photo, below. 

Like all good Roma coffee bars, the baristas at "our" bar knew our order by the third day. That's not only a nice touch, it's a form of community that you won't get at Starbucks. 

If you're in the vicinity of Piazza dei Re di Roma, save a few minutes for a stop at Antica Caffeteria, on via Pinerolo. One of our favorites. 

Bill 

 

Coffee Bars, Pigneto: So Near, Yet So Far

One of the first things we do when arriving in a new Rome neighborhood is to find "our" coffee bar--one we like.  We prefer the fancy, old-fashioned bars with lots of wood, staffed with old guys with coats who have been there for years, maybe an on-site bakery for an especially fresh cornetto.  But we'll take a place that's not so old or fancy, one that makes a good caffè americano and has something like "atmosphere." (Ten years ago we wrote about this hunt in another neighborhood!)

Usually the find-the-coffee-bar process plays out in a couple of days. But in Pigneto--Pigneto Nuovo, the Pigneto east of the tracks--where we landed about two weeks ago, it took well beyond a week. Here's why.

Zazie nel metro (named for the French book and film)

Zazie-nel-metro bar looked like a winner, if an odd one.  More like a 1960s coffee house than a Roman bar, it was close to our apartment, plenty of no-charge tables, a guy maybe writing a screenplay, women customers to make Dianne comfortable.  Because it wears its radical politics on its sleeve, we call it "FREE PALESTINE BAR."  Service was OK, but the coffee?  Not so good.  You can't teach an old dog new tricks, and you can't change how a barista makes a cup of coffee.

What looks like a customer - the lone person in there - is
actually the barista.

An even closer bar was a new, modernist space just down the street. It's got the unlikely name of Apluvio: La Puglia Che Piace (the Puglia [a southern province known for its food] you like.  What?  No one is ever inside the place, but we tried it anyway. The barista, a gaunt 20-something, seemed flummoxed at the idea of making an Americano, let alone serving customers, and called to the back for a woman. She showed him how to make the Americani, then left him alone!  Not enough action here for us.  We have a name for this bar we can't share.






Early on we found what we call TEA BAR, because it serves tea and has a tea-room look and feel, serves pancakes and bacon on Sundays (!), all of which is not for us.  In addition, when we asked for a caffè americano, we got brewed American-style coffee that had been sitting in the pot, rather than espresso with hot water.  That's a new one, and not a good one.



Onto a rather ordinary bar on busy via Prenestina.  The name is Bar Malu'. Nothing fancy but very Roman and a few tables to inhabit while reading the newspaper. Enticing in part because of the newsstand right outside it - we buy a Rome newspaper every day.  Some very Roman guys sitting in a corner to lend the place that certain authenticity.  Except those Roman guys were talking so loud--really yelling at each other, though in good spirits--that we couldn't think straight.  Woman comes up, starts talking to them, we think she'll help modulate the conversation, but she's yelling, too.  Coffee's OK, but this is now known as LOUD GUYS BAR.



Next morning we head out to a busy avenue a few blocks to the east and south--a middle-class neighborhood, more upscale than our own. We strike it rich: a new, modern, hip bar with its own excellent bakery, down the street from our place, full of wealthier types taking pictures of their tiny cute dogs.

Tables outside under a perfect canopy of trees. It goes by the name of Fattori.  Dianne, seeker of (at least some) luxury and style, is in heaven. BUT the coffee is cold--or rather not hot enough.  On this we agree.  We think it might have something to do with the setting on the high-tech electronic espresso machine.  Hoping that the setting will be different the next day, we return.  Still not hot enough.  After 20 years in Rome, this is a new problem.  We explain our concern to the barista--a woman--who seems not to take it seriously.  We do not return. We call this bar TRENDY BAR or COLD COFFEE BAR.

Fattori - always busy, communal tables, very hip, great pastries.

We reject any bar that's a big hangout for men, especially old men--and Rome is full of older men, most of them "pensionati"--retired.  They commandeer the tables outside and smoke.  Here's an example, on via Prenestina, of an OLD MEN'S BAR, or, at this hour, a MEN's BAR.

Now we are in trouble.  We've been trying a coffee bar a day and still have not settled on a bar.  How will we establish ourselves in our new neighborhood.  Never fear.  There are more bars to try.  We've been eyeing a place not far from TRENDY BAR.  The name outside is Sami Bar.  It has tables outside (but no trees and no umbrellas) and some decent seating inside--and customers.




The three folks running the bar are in black outfits (or white blouses) with red half ties--designed to look like full ties, tucked in.  We like the outfits, appreciate the artifice.  And the bar has a certain modernist near-elegance.  But once again, the coffee is not hot enough!  Perhaps we could have coached them to make it hotter.  This we call RED TIE BAR.

Our story has a happy ending.  We found OUR BAR (that's what we call it) on the corner of via Prenestina and the railroad tracks that cut Pigneto in two.  It has a heritage (1931) but lacks the veneer of oldness in part because the building that originally housed the bar was torn down and replaced in the late 1930s.  The name is Berardo Caffe' (though inside, in an effort to market the bar to younger folks, they call it "Moby Dick"--photo right). It has the the advantage of being right next to another news stand, where we purchase the daily paper (Il Messaggero this year).

A big burly guy runs the register while younger folks make and serve the coffee.  The cornetti are just fair - varied, but not made "in casa."  However, the coffee is tasty and--now important to us--hot.  Sometimes the bar gets very crowded, but that's OK; it's a sign they're doing things right.  Unfortunately, just recently the guy who in the photo below is running the espresso machine was doing the dishes (it's done right in front of the customers) in the narrow space here where that day a woman was running the espresso machine

"Our bar"

(they trade off these tasks).  The two of them had a lengthy argument; it appeared he thought she wasn't pulling her weight.  This is not appropriate bar behavior, and should it become a daily occurrence, we'll be looking, once again, for OUR BAR.

Bill

Other coffee wanderings about which we've written include:
Meet you at the hospital for coffee.
Coffee in the traffic circle.
The stand-alone coffee bar.
Caffe' Natalizi (one of our favorites - in Salario).