In search of a cappuccino in Trieste

By RACHEL SPENCE

You can get cappuccino all over Italy. What makes Trieste so special?

Passion and expertise. The average Triestine drinks twice as much coffee per year as other Italians – which means they're drinking around 10kg each.

Today, she's the leading coffee port in the Mediterranean; the hometown of Illy caffè and supplier of more than 40 per cent of Italy's coffee. It's one of the few places in the world where you'll find every cog in the coffee-industry wheel: importers, wholesalers, purifiers, roasters, dealers, tasters, not to mention torrefazioni (fresh coffee shops) and hundreds of cafés.

Trieste and the bean go back a long way?

More than 200 years. In 1719, cunning Charles VI of Austria declared the city, then a part of the Hapsburg empire, a duty- and tax-free port. Suddenly Trieste was everybody's favourite anchorage and, Austrians being notorious caffeine addicts, coffee was one of their biggest imports. The industry took root here, followed by some of Europe's finest coffee houses.

Great, is it time for a cup of Joe?

No, we're starting at source, down by the waterfront, now a tame wash of glassy water peppered with weekend sailing boats. As we wander down the Molo Audace jetty, we see the stone stanchions, wrapped with hefty chains. It was here, back in the 18th century, that the merchant captains moored their sailing ships, groaning with sacks of beans, after voyages from the Ivory Coast, Brazil, Cuba.

Ugh! Maybe I'll skip the coffee.

No, come to the Pasticceria Caffè Pirona (Largo Barriera Vecchia, 12). A favourite haunt of James Joyce, who lived in Trieste from 1904 to 1920, its cosy, wood-panelled interior evokes fin-de-siècle Vienna. Customers stand at the glass counter under which lie rows of mitteleuropean pastries: strudel, sacher torte, kifel.

Joyce wasn't much of a coffee drinker – he preferred something stronger – but I try his favourite pastry, the cornetto alle noce, a nutty, honeyed confection in the shape of a horseshoe. Scrumptious.

However, when I ask for a cappuccino, what arrives is a miniature cup of foam-topped, caramel-tinted hot milk, that to me looks just like a macchiato – espresso with a dash of frothed milk.

Proprietress Giuseppina Demarchi explains: "That's a Triestine cappuccino. In the rest of Italy, they call it a macchiato." So there's no difference? Well, no. "But there are lots of other special Triestine coffees. For example, a gocciato (droplet) which is like our cappuccino, only with less milk. And then there's a lungo gocciato, and a nero and a capo in B ..."

Is coffee a political statement here?

Not any more, but once even the cafés had political leanings. Caffè San Marco, for example, is where the Irredentisti – Italian nationalists – hung out in the 19th century while plotting to overthrow their Austrian rulers. Meanwhile, the Austrians huddled in Caffè Eden. The latter is no more, but San Marco is the perfect place to while away a Sunday morning.

Fine, but I need to work off some caffeinated energy first!

That's why we climbed San Giusto hill, alongside a stream of Triestines on their way to church. This takes you through the old town, a muddle of Roman arches, scaffolded building sites and graceful 18th- and 19th-century apartments. On the hilltop, more Roman remains whisper the history of the original settlement, Tergeste. Inside the Romanesque cathedral you can attend mass and admire the 12th-century mosaics.

After the service, everyone strolls down to the centro storico for a little something. In Trieste's great square, the Piazza dell'Unita, we visited the much-vaunted Caffè degli Specchi. The grand decor and mirrored walls live up to its name (specchi means mirrors) but after waiting too long for table service we crept out and headed for Caffè San Marco.

Our route took us through the Borgo Teresiano, a grid of streets and squares built in the 18th century to satisfy the Germanic soul of Empress Marie-Thérèse of Austria. Mitteleuropean this architecture might be, dull it isn't. As the city's merchants grew ever richer, they developed a "mine's-bigger-than-yours" mentality. As a result, neo-classical edifices drip winged lions, gods, putti, and, everywhere, bare-breasted women.

Is Viennese coffee the order of the day?

Not at the Irredentist San Marco (Via Giovanni Battisti 18)! On a Sunday morning, the cavernous interior is as it must have been in the days when writers like Joyce, Saba and Svevo drank here. Red flock tablecloths are striped with sunlight; two old men play chess and a fur-hatted woman reads La Stampa while sipping her Negroni. So calm is the atmosphere, it's easy to forget the Austrians torched this place during the First World War.

I order capo in B and receive a tiny glass mug of macchiato-style coffee. This Triestine speciality is designed to warm the hands when the Bora wind sweeps in from Russia. The B stands for bicchiere (glass).

Can I buy coffee to take home?

Go to a torrefazione, where they grind the beans while you wait. One of the best is Cremcaffè (Piazza Goldoni, 10). Cruel strip-lighting highlights mounds of beans behind glass-fronted cabinets; waitresses serve coffee from a mammoth 10-spouted espresso machine. After polling the locals, we plumped for a packet of Gusto Bar at €10.60/kg .Three weeks later, the aroma still lingers in the car.

Can we eat something now?

No problem. After an eye-popping tram ride from Piazza Oberdan – so steep is the hill that a little cable engine appears from nowhere to nudge us from behind – we arrive at Opicina, a mile from the Slovenian border. Suddenly we are in central Europe: signs double up in Slovenian and Italian; Trieste becomes Trst.

So you never did get that cappuccino?

At another great art nouveau cafe: Caffè Tommaseo (Piazza Tommaseo 4/c), I asked for a "cappuccino normale". This didn't go down well, so I explained to the barista what I wanted. "In Trieste, that is called a cappuccino grande," he replied severely. And yes, it was very good.

- INDEPENDENT


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