My Italian true love is particular about coffee. She doesn't like American coffee. Says it really isn't true coffee. We had lunch today at the Swedish Inn in the city of Lindstrom. In Minnesota. A state known for its Swedish heritage. So there was some hope that the coffee would taste more Swedish than American. Unfortunately, it didn't. The American taste prevailed. And so my true love settled for water. Without ice. She likes water at room temperature. When it comes to coffee, only the Italian kind suffices. And that's what she gets when I brew coffee at home. Usually, espresso. Italian espresso. Not American. I've never been much of a coffee drinker. Drank milk for breakfast. But now I have my morning espresso. I've cultivated a taste for it. In fact, a taste for everything Italian. --Jim Broede
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