A coffee drinker’s guide to the world

The nonchalant artists behind the counter serve up one mini-masterpiece after another. But you won’t find Il Caffe in any Milan guidebooks.

Not many tourists wander down this little side street by the block-long concrete hulk of the Palace of Justice. A dozen tables, the smell of pastry, an air of caffeinated intrigue. Flocks of prosecutors, cops, defendants, lawyers, journalists and bureaucrats drink espresso standing at the counter, Italian-style, all day. Banter mixes with the hiss of steam and clatter of cups.

And the coffee, not surprisingly, is great. You know it as soon as you see the golden froth on top. Not too hot, not too bitter, not too sweet. The cup is appropriately small. The jolt lingers and invites another.

There are countless Il Caffes across Italy. You find good coffee even in the dingiest gas station. The real quest begins when a globe-trotting espresso addict leaves Italy and ventures out into the world.

As far as the immediate neighborhood is concerned, the quality declines only a bit in Spain. Plus you discover fun variations. On winter mornings in the countryside, laborers and gray-mustached veterans of the paramilitary Guardia Civil gather in noisy bars (is there a quiet bar in Spain?) to fortify themselves with a carajillo: coffee with a shot of cognac.

North of the Pyrenees, French wine and cuisine deserve their fame. But the coffee? Ask an Italian cop whose years of pursuing desperadoes -- all-night stakeouts, marathon interrogations -- across Europe have been fueled by vats of the stuff.

He’s an avid Francophile who visits every chance he gets. But he grimaces elegantly. “Puagh. The French don’t know how to make coffee. Acqua sporca [dirty water].”

Cue Gallic indignation. Only one man’s opinion, of course. Other experts are more approving. They say the trick is to request “bien serre [very tight],” and make a crushing motion with thumb and fingers. But espresso purists regard French coffee as watery and bitter: somehow strong and weak at the same time.

In the spirit of comparison and contrast, here’s a modest, impressionistic and unscientific review of some coffee-related places and experiences.

London

Perhaps it’s a result of the gulf between Anglo-Saxon free-marketeers and French protectionists that you hear about these days. Perhaps it’s because the British lack an ingrained coffee tradition of their own. The fact is that the tea-swigging British have thrown open their borders to Italian-style coffee and the chains that purvey it. Wherever you turn, there’s a Caffe Nero, Costa Coffee, etc.

Ashkelon, Israel

Israelis make it and drink it with verve and determination. During the intifada in 2002, sentries with automatic rifles guarded the hip sidewalk cafes of Jerusalem. Civilian customers sipped with pistols jammed in their belts. During this winter’s war in Gaza, Hamas unleashed missiles on the beachfront city of Ashkelon a few miles north. Most shops in the two local malls closed down because a direct hit on a glass roof wounded several people. But on the first floor of the downtown mall, Cup O’ Joe, part of a nationwide chain, kept serving excellent espresso.

Rio de Janeiro

It’s apparently Brazilian law that you must charm guests with cafezinho, whether in a government ministry or a bullet-scarred shacktown. In the 1990s, The Times had a bureau in a big old house with a stunning view of the Christ statue atop Corcovado Mountain across the bay. Bureau employees thought it was their solemn duty to ensure that visiting correspondents had a steaming cup on their desks at all times.

Baghdad

For Iraqis and many Arab neighbors, the culture centers on tea and that’s that. But a few years ago, one Iraqi politician, a former exile returned from London, served interviewers a potent brand of thick Turkish coffee. It was much appreciated.

Caracas, Venezuela

If you can get good coffee at the airport, you know things are going to be OK. As in the rest of the Caribbean, the Venezuelan style is sweet and strong. Come to think of it, the Miami airport stands out among U.S. counterparts. That’s probably because many of the people behind the counters are Cuban Americans. And Cuban-style coffee competes with the best of them. Regardless of ideology.

Buenos Aires

Instead of cathedrals, Buenos Aires has cafes. Palatial, ornate, historic cafes -- they feel like museums. Argentines drink plenty of coffee, a taste inherited from many Italian and Spanish ancestors, because they haunt cafes: for business and leisure, for conspiracy and art. There’s even a tango, “Cafetin de Buenos Aires,” about a neighborhood cafe. The singer declares it’s the only thing in life that ever compared with his mother. The place where he learned philosophy, dice, love and “the cruel poetry” of thinking about himself no more.

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rotella@latimes.com