The first memory I have of coffee is the pleasant scent my babbo (a Florentine way of saying dad) was surrounded by when he would greet us after work–a daily sign that he had finally arrived home. My grandfather in the 50s founded a coffee roastery in the heart of Florence and today, like often in Italy, the business has remained a family affair. 

Growing up, we spent many summers in Germany visiting my Deutsch mother’s friends and family. There, as a child, I often got the “Oh your family works with coffee, in Italy? That’s such a beautiful clichè” comment and, when I later lived abroad, my friends often asked “Please, can you make us coffee? You’re Italian!”