Taste of Travel: Italy : Roman Aromas : Coffeehouses in the Eternal City not only make the perfect cup of espresso or cappuccino, they make the trip a true cultural experience

I’m standing in Caffe Tazza d’Oro with a cappuccino in front of me. Burlap bags lining the wall are inscribed with the words aroma di Roma and, indeed, the invigorating scent of coffee hangs heavy. Three men behind the counter are in nonstop motion, a human assembly line filling an unending stream of tiny cups from copper espresso makers--the L-shaped room resounding with the clank of china, the hiss of steam and the ceaseless flow of coffee-fed conversation.

It’s my favorite spot in Rome. Yes, I know some come to the Eternal City to see the magnificent monuments and I, too, love the perfect interior of the Pantheon and the crumbling glories of the Roman Forum. But I think of them as points of reference from which to locate the city’s best coffeehouses. It is the simpler, more elemental pleasure of coffee and the coffeehouse experience that draws me back to Rome, year after year, if not for the taste alone, but for what it represents in the culture.

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To an Italian, coffee is an essential part of life; no meal is complete without a caffe (it’s no coincidence that a single word represents both the locale and the brew). The Italians import enough for 33 billion cups a year, according to industry sources, and I can believe it--that’s only about 550 cups per person annually. (It’s not an exact comparison, but adult Americans drink fewer than two cups per day). The coffeehouse is an important part of Italian culture, a traditional meeting spot where friends gather, acquaintances confer and even strangers share a moment of common purpose.

In my frequent trips to Rome, there are three spots to which I always return for their history, ambience and just plain good coffee. The most revered in town is Caffe Greco, occupying a prime spot on chic Via Condotti, near the Spanish Steps. It’s the city’s oldest caffe and in 1953 was declared a national monument.

Local archives mention Greco’s existence as early as 1760, though the management claims it dates back even further. Founded by Nicola della Maddalena, a Greek man (hence the cafe’s name), it has attracted a wide range of artists over the years, including composers Bizet, Berlioz, Liszt and Wagner, and writers Gogol, Goethe, Baudelaire, Byron, Shelley, Hawthorne, Thackeray and Twain. But, I was told, the visit that caused a sensation was the 1906 appearance of Buffalo Bill, an event duly noted today in a photo on the wall showing a jaunty William Cody and rather dour members of his entourage seated at one of the tables.

I’ve had many a caffe (the Italians use this word to refer to espresso) in the stand-up bar in the front of the building. Of course, I’ve first made the requisite trip to the cashier; in Italy you pay and then head for the counter, where you put your receipt and a small tip on the bar and place your order. It’s a procedure I quickly master to avoid embarrassing myself or, more importantly, to delay my coffee drinking. Taking my place at the dark marble bar, lighted by the soft glow of candles reflecting against the red-flocked wallpaper, I sip my way into caffeinated bliss.

It wasn’t until my second visit to Greco several years ago that I realized there are posh salons in the back. I prefer the stand-up bar, where the focus is more on coffee and the atmosphere more casual, but if you’re in the mood for a splurge, have a seat in one of the elegant rooms, decorated in a variety of styles. My favorite is the Wedgwood-inspired Omnibus Room, with its statuary, portraits and plaster medallions.

“We’re just a little family enterprise,” says manager Fabio Valeri. But while the caffe has, indeed, been in the Gubinelli family since 1840, it’s anything but a mom-and-pop operation.

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As you sit at a small marble-topped table beneath oil paintings and marble busts, formally attired waiters deliver your requests on small silver trays, with elegant prices to match. Espresso, for instance, costs $4.80 (compared to $1.30 in the stand-up room); a piece of torte will set you back $6.50, a cocktail $10.30. There are more tourists back here than at the front bar, but there is also a representative (if rather upscale) sampling of locals.

It’s a true landmark, the coffee lover’s equivalent of the Colosseum. But, as I mentioned, to my mind the city’s monuments are really there to offer reference points to coffeehouses. I give directions to the Spanish Steps by saying they’re near Caffe Greco.

About 15 minutes away, in the heart of old Rome, lies the Pantheon, notable for its location midway between Caffe Sant’Eustachio and Tazza d’Oro. I wonder sometimes whether I love this neighborhood because of its historical and architectural wonders or because there are two wonderful coffeehouses here.

Caffe Sant’Eustachio (or Sant’Eustachio Il Caffe, according to the sign outside) is just a few blocks west of the Pantheon, on Piazza Sant’Eustachio. Founded in 1938, it’s the least touristy of my favorites, and offers the opportunity to see a diverse group of Romans unfettered by the swarms of tourists that sometimes descend on a famous spot like Greco. Though there are a few outdoor tables that afford a nice view of this car-free piazza, most of the action takes place inside.

I pass under the brown awning into the old stone building, where an engraving above the long metal bar depicts a group of workers harvesting and transporting coffee, and two machines provide the usual variety of choices (prices range from 95 cents for espresso to $1.40 for cappuccino; you can also get freshly roasted beans at $2 for 3.5 ounces). As I take my receipt to the bar I remember to ask for my espresso senza zucchero, without sugar, as both Sant’Eustachio and Tazza d’Oro add sugar unless you instruct otherwise.

Un amaro (bitter), shouts the man behind the counter, and a moment later I’m swirling around the thick dark liquid, which is topped by a fine layer of crema, the thin patina of tan foam on top that is the sign of a perfect espresso. As I check out the dimly lighted room, which couldn’t be more than 20 feet square and yet has a reputation as a giant in the coffee world, I see a diverse crowd chattering animatedly as they toss back their tiny cupfuls.

I love the sense of camaraderie, especially in the stand-up bars, where being upright seems to unite the crowd rather than divide it into groups at individual tables. I feel right at home sharing the counter with business people quickly downing espresso, artists and students meeting for lively conversation and a macchiato (espresso with just a spoonful of foamed milk), and shopkeepers lingering over cappuccino, in lieu of breakfast.

I leave Sant’Eustachio, stroll through lovely Piazza Navona, make my pilgrimage to the exquisitely proportioned Pantheon.

But it’s time, I tell myself, for a little pick-me-up. So I head east half a block to Tazza d’Oro (Cup of Gold), for what is my first but probably won’t be my last, visit of the day. In fact, when I arrive in Rome I have an established procedure: I dump my bags at the hotel, splash some water on my face and head to Via degli Orfani, in the shadow of the Pantheon. Here, under a bas relief of an Amazonian woman strewing coffee beans onto the city, is the entrance to my favorite coffeehouse in town.

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I’ve been told that the area around the Pantheon still draws its water through an aqueduct built by Augustus Caesar; this could account for the superior coffee at Tazza d’Oro and Sant’Eustachio. Yet when I rave about the coffee to the man behind the Tazza d’Oro counter, he says nothing about aqueducts but simply smiles knowingly and replies, “That’s because we only do coffee.” And it’s true: Tazza d’Oro is devoted to coffee, as it has been since its 1946 opening.

They’ve recently added the requisite case of brioches and the like, but that’s about it in the food department. There also aren’t any tables--who has time to wait for table service when they’re about to experience the best coffee in Rome and in the Italian manner?

Every visit produces a new convert. Last May I introduced my friend Lucy Brackett, on her first trip abroad, to the pleasures of a Tazza d’Oro granita di caffe, a sinfully rich sweetened espresso frozen into slush and sandwiched between layers of fresh whipped cream.

After one taste of this late afternoon delight she became such a regular that when I stopped in Tazza d’Oro the following October, the man at the counter inquired, “But where’s your friend?”

Oh, she’ll be back, as long as there’s a granita still to be had. Everyone I’ve taken to Tazza d’Oro agrees: This must be the espresso they serve in heaven. Strong without a touch of bitterness; satisfying but not overwhelming. And astoundingly cheap, too, with espresso costing only 75 cents, cappuccino or granita 90 cents.

I usually order two cups of espresso senza zucchero to save me the trouble of going back to the cashier. Then I might do a little gift shopping, picking up a half-kilo of beans in Tazza d’Oro’s signature sack ($12) or two parcels of coffee with a pair of the cafe’s cups and a serving tray ($30). It may not taste quite as good at home (my friends don’t have that special Roman touch--or an ancient aqueduct), but what better souvenir for a coffee lover?

I’m not the only devotee. On one trip to Tazza d’Oro, as I stood at the bar savoring my third espresso of the morning, I observed a young woman lost in the pleasures of the caffeinated mecca. She swirled her coffee around in the cup, swallowed it in a single gulp, raised her eyes heavenward and in a soft voice intoned, “Madonna!” She then disappeared onto the streets of Rome.

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GUIDEBOOK Espresso Lanes

Where to drink coffee: Caffe Tazza d’Oro, Via degli Orfani 84, near the Pantheon; local tel. 678-9792.

Caffe Greco, Via Condotti 86, near the Spanish Steps; local tel. 679-1700.

Caffe Sant’Eustachio, Piazza Sant’Eustachio 82, a few blocks west of the Pantheon; local tel. 686-1309.

--R.R.