Time for an Italian coffee!
I don’t know about you, but every now and then, I love taking the highway. Just going with the flow, listening to music, watching the scenery go by, and letting my mind wander a little. Sometimes, though, we go too fast. As if the only thing that matters is always getting there. As if saving a few minutes still mattered at all.
Highway rest area
I recently let myself be tempted by a journey that took me to the other side of the Alps, near Aosta, with—further on—that Mediterranean atmosphere that always beckons me. And then I stopped. Not at a trattoria tucked away in the back of a village. Not at a coffee roaster’s that only insiders would pass along to one another. No. At the most ordinary of places: an Italian highway rest stop. I ordered a coffee there.
You pay at the register, pick up your ticket, and then hand it to the counter. A charming lady is busy behind the machine, and a few moments later, here comes that little cup of coffee—strong, concentrated, almost tiny—with the aromas and intensity we’d come looking for without even realizing it. An espresso. Or, as we’d gladly call it back home, a ristretto. And it’s exceptional.
A Story About Coffee
So, all of a sudden, it’s no longer just about coffee. It’s an entire way of life that we’re starting to see in a new light. All around me, people are stopping. They’re ordering, chatting, and drinking their coffee while standing. I look at the displays of panini, the grissini, this whole little world just a few meters from a highway where everyone was in such a hurry just a few minutes ago. Admittedly, the products probably aren’t of the same quality as those you might find in a grocery store or in an Italian village square. But let’s remember where we are.
And I don’t want to leave anymore. So I order a second coffee. I savor it. I take my time. For a few minutes, time reappears. I’ll even make a confession: I could have had a third one. Just on principle. Just to prolong that strange feeling of having rediscovered something that our era is constantly trying to make us gain: time. Then it’s time to leave again.
Gallic neighbor
The road stretches on and on, eventually leading me to our Gallic neighbors. And there, the contrast is striking. The land of fine dining seems to have put part of its identity on hold the moment you pass through the gates of its gas stations. Major international chains take over: Pizza Hut, Starbucks, Daunat, and other standardized concepts dominate the scene, while mass-produced sandwiches reign behind the display cases. It’s as if, once on the highway, we’ve accepted that mass-market consumer goods and junk food are inevitable.
It’s strange, though. France, a global leader in gastronomy, boasts a culinary heritage that the whole world envies. Yet in these places where thousands of people pass through every day, it can sometimes be hard to find even the slightest trace of it. In Italy, even at a highway rest stop, someone will still make your coffee for you. This post isn’t a rant. And it’s certainly not a lecture. It’s simply an observation.
The Joy of Taking a Break
Perhaps we ourselves are out of step with what people really want. Perhaps they want to move quickly, to find the same brands, the same tastes, and the same familiar landmarks wherever they go. Or perhaps we’ve simply ended up making them believe that’s what they wanted. I don’t have the answer. But between a panino, a few grissini, and two coffees at the counter, I rediscovered, for a few minutes, something I thought I’d come all this way to find. The pleasure of taking a break. And I’m now thoroughly convinced of one thing: in Italy, even a coffee at a highway rest stop is well worth the detour.
