lattiecaffè I suffered with too many cookies Montebove.
In a very short time I had to swallow the mush that, according to my mother, enjoyed all the requirements necessary to support the student asylum during his long day. The nature of the Bolshevik
essentially household spending kept away from the pantry of the house the products of capitalism (such as Kinder brioche, tarts Mulino Bianco, Yo-Yo Motta and Snowdrop Doria in those years were the most popular), but to encourage and support the ' work of the Brothers and Companions Montebove always attentive to the pockets of the proletariat (scallops with wine £ 1000! to name one). However
understood the concept of breakfast in the home as a duty but something unpleasant and covavo within me the desire for independent and free breakfast at the bar: the occasion was not long in coming.
the age of 18 years working for the Albanian Law Firm near Viale Mazzini and the choice of the bar fell almost a must to go: those elegant red-orange curtains rejoiced Via Col di Lana immediately attracted my attention. At the time badavo still a lot to the substance for which the ideal configuration of my breakfast was represented by two yeasts (or croissants as they say in my part) and a glass of water (in order to swallow and economic). Vanni from the chocolate dumplings made their pork duty for almost two years, until something changed.
A change of management heads rolled too important not spared from dismissal Raffaele, unique among the local barman who had saved my daily custom, signed with the shared mutual pleasure that subtle that is established between the customer who wants to be served without saying 'Ah' and the bartender laughing in his sleeve that you need without the hassle of being controlled, giving proof of his wit.
An abuse of this kind could not be tolerated so that will be lost one of its most devoted customers:
I turned to the direct competitor, the rival town, the bars that have long had climbed the order of preference or the entire district Meadows Antonini bar. Since Antonini
good breakfast each took on the aspect of a social event: eminent and respected professionals in the company of women from the ankles fine, offspring in tan turtlenecks, show-which are less prestigious Juror Michele Cucuzza or Luke, it was really short the crème de la crème. About
cream, my breakfast consisted of a cappuccino and Danish cream with chocolate chips.
served in china cups of exquisite workmanship, the Capuchin Antonini is really the best you can sip in Rome (the only drawback is the highest temperature to which it is served) and is the perfect milk froth mixing desks , milk and coffee.
The Danish and he settles for less on medium to high quality schemes, which also covers the custard is truly exceptional.
After a year of faithful attendance, I had a big surprise: Raffaele who apparently was hired by Antonini implemented a competition policy should also be liable to discredit the human.
I interpreted this in a symbolic event, a closing of a circle that somehow empathetic saw me involved. It was time to change again and the air was beautiful and a good excuse to justify some escapades on Saturday that perpetrated against Antonini for the benefit of the prince, but I say the prince, the king of the bar, the KING of Molise.
Every man who makes a point of elegance of the ways of honor surely know what I mean when I say I eat breakfast on Saturday morning leafing through the newspapers with detachment is a class act of extreme and it has a special meaning to the King in As the place is devoid of aura glossy and rather vulgar that haunts the bar mentioned above and is undoubtedly the way of the Essential elegance.
I was introduced to the attendance of the King in just one of those Saturdays from some friends who (at least on Meal morning) the long knew.
Mr. Pupo (this is the nickname that was given because of the vague resemblance to the singer from Tuscany), almost always behind the counter, through careful management family keep this place for decades and is the soul of the King: I can imagine every morning (read: before dawn), as would a loving father, smiling and happy to assist sfornatura of the first horns almost like giving birth. In fact, the King
croissants autoproduce them, not like those dingy bar where the yeast if you do get with the truck, clear and cold boxed in aseptic cartons.
I am free to say (hoping that no one be offended) that the binomial Almond / Braid the King has no rivals in Italy in terms of taste, appearance, taste and digestibility, a choice of almost every worthy Hamlet resolves customer pappandoseli both.
I close this post by pointing out briefly some monstrous bar worthy of consideration.
- Bar Antica Bologna: Nicknamed Bulgari, via s.vitale, Bologna
- Bar Maury: in Bologna, with a nymphomaniac waitress and jazz softly diffused
- Bar / Rotisserie The BUZZER: Torrevecchia Street, where I worked a little time to realize that I had to go to university.
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