Five Types of Coffee

Tastes and memories from my travels

My obsession with finding the perfect brew is no surprise to those who know me. After all, I roast my own beans, to complement my indulgence of an Italian espresso machine (thank you redundancy payout). How can I not be inspired by the fact the Italians designed an espresso maker capable of working in the zero gravity of the International Space Station?

So, when travelling, my quest for a decent coffee is half of the adventure. Here are five of my favourites — so far.

i) The God Shot

In coffee parlance, the God Shot refers to the perfect espresso. Mine was in Naples (though a few others in Italy proved very close rivals).

Naples was an amazing discovery. Even in the height of summer the only crowds were outside the gelateria and two pizzerias competing to be the best in the city. En route to the Archaeological Museum (not to be missed) is The Bar Mexico. A strange name for a cafe in Naples, but well worth a visit.

It is an unassuming place near the Piazza Dante. Inside was immaculate, with both the bar and the machines gleaming. Two men in white suits stood behind the bar. One poured a glass of sparkling mineral water; it was on tap, like beer in a pub. The other made the espresso: strong, flavoursome, with a rich crema. The God Shot, and for only 1Euro.

ii) Coffee From a Vending Machine

Choices for coffee in Japan proved limited. In this land where apparently anything and everything can be bought from a vending machine, I wondered if this might be my best option.

The vending machines offered coffee in a multitude of choices — mostly described in Japanese. The most I could decipher was a red button for hot, a blue for cold.

Coins fell into the machine, I chose a red button at random, then came a whirl and a shudder, followed by my can. It proved almost too hot to touch. Not surprisingly, the coffee had a rather metallic flavour. Still, I’ve had far worse. Indeed, it became part of my daily ritual. On hotter days, a cold latte; when the wind was blowing off the snows of Mt Fuji, a long black.

I’m still searching for a can the size of a macchiato.

iii) Airport Coffee

My affair with searching for the perfect coffee when travelling began, naturally enough, at an airport — Rome airport, to be exact. Flying anywhere from Australia takes forever, and on landing at 5am I was exhausted.

The world lay in darkness. Customs waved us through with a glance, and the luggage bearing our carousel had to be coaxed fitfully from sleep.

Heading towards the exit, my husband and I passed a bar. The metal bench gleamed; the rest of the bar was outfitted in black. The barrister sported immaculately oiled hair with matching stubble. Without a word he slid two espressos towards us. I had never had such coffee before. It was strong and sweet, and suddenly finding the right bus was easy. Fuelled by the java I had the energy to explore as Rome awoke under the kiss of dawn.

iv) Coffee Laced with Condensed Milk

For a coffee aficionado, this might seem a strange choice. In Halong Bay, Vietnam, I was proven wrong. Exploring away from the chaos down by the water, my husband and I found the local market at the back of town.

Our delicious lunch was cooked over a tiny wok. As I nursed her baby, the lady in the stall next door made coffee. All through Vietnam coffee is brewed with the most gorgeous percolators which drip thick coffee straight into a glass. This is followed by a dollop of condensed milk. The fruity flavour of the coffee and the sweetness of the milk seemed so appropriate in the heat of the day. (I drank similar brews on the balconies of Saigon, and again in Hoi An. Always just perfect for Vietnam, for sitting and watching the world go by.)

v) Midnight in Rome

Just near the Pantheon stands the Cafe Eustachio. It is easy to find: simply look for the crowds outside, even at midnight. There are no queues; simply elbow your way to the front, Italian style, then, once served, do the same in reverse, coffee in hand.

This was the best coffee I had in Rome (a big call), the closest to rivalling that espresso in Naples. With a distance of 20 years separating the two tastings, it is unfair to compare them; it must be time to try them both again.

But the aniseed flavour of the coffee as I stared over Rome at midnight lingers in my memory.

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