Be precise in your spelling when you punch the name into your maps because getting it wrong would take you to a different coffee spot with a similar sounding name rather than this neighbourhood café in Santa Croce. Here, you will find Alessandro in the mornings who makes the best cappuccino. If you strike up a good conversation with him, the next time you're in the shop, your cappuccino would come with beautiful white hearts.
The find
This café was a completely serendipitous find. We were queueing for Pino's Sandwiches, and in need of a morning caffeine kick. Just diagonal to the sandwich shop, unassuming and a corner store at a small intersection was Caffè Michelangiolo. I was on a hunt for authentic Italian cafés anyways and Michelangiolo had the right look to it. It's name board was faded, edging towards illegible. It has two entrances, one on Via Ghibellina and the other on Via Giuseppi Verdi which forms its corner. On closer inspection, the dim lightbulbs have a slight yellow tinge to them which adds to the vintage appearance of the café. Everyone inside was also on the vintage end, and that's when I knew I came to the right place.
If elderly Italians frequent this spot, I knew I found the neighbourhood gem.
Entering, I was a little daunted. Everyone knew what they were doing, where to order, and precisely how much to pay in coins. The plump barista that seemed to be doing absolutely everything would shout out a quick goodbye before tending to the hissing coffee machine and loading empty espresso cups into the dishwasher. I edged closer to him and his work area: a semi-circle, beige, stone-top bar that delineated the coffee station.
Having waited for 5 minutes in an invisible line that I made up, the barista took pity on me and gave me a quick nod, signalling his readiness to take my order. "Due cappuccini, per favore" I croaked, having Googled how to place my order in Italian (speaking English felt like a transgression at that point). Thank the lords he understood me and set about pressing buttons on the coffee grinder. Now that most of the regulars have left the shop, I stood at the bar and watched the barista do his dance. Because, it truly was a dance - well rehearsed and performed. There were no wasted movements. As the grinder spat out ground coffee into the portafilter, the barista used the time to load more used cups in the dishwasher. As the portafilter filled with coffee grounds, he turned around to flattened them with a deft movement before locking the portafilter into the coffee machine, punching in buttons, and placing two cups on either side of the spout. The coffee machine hissed and puffed out miniature clouds. He then swivelled round to wipe down surfaces and rearranged his workstation as thick frothy coffee trickled out. I breathed in the scent of heaven and breathed out a content little sigh.
An old man who was the only local left at the bar made his way over to the cashier I stood next to. He spoke slowly as he picked his words in English, "best cappuccino in Firenze... the cream...smooth texture...very hard to find." He ended his comment with a small smile before dropping a few coins onto a plate near the cashier and saying a quick goodbye to the working barista.
The coffee
When I looked back at the barista, he had already placed a coffee cup on his workstation. Over the creamy shot of espresso, he dusted some cocoa powder and gave his pitcher a few taps on the counter before pouring thick milk into the cup, filling it to the absolute brim. He whipped a saucer underneath the cup, wedged in a teaspoon and slid the cup in front of me. The coffee sloshed gently in the cup, threatening to spill over. I lifted the full cup and sent it straight to my lips.
That cappuccino simply glided.
Just the right temperature, slightly sweetened and nutty with that dusting of cocoa, smooth and creamy as the old man had described, the ratio of dark coffee to milk was in perfect balance - it was divine. Michelangolo, the artist that this café was named after and whose museum is round the corner, was right when he depicted the Creation of Adam. The touch of God that joined ever so slightly with the outstretched fingertips of Adam was how my lips felt from that first sip of Alessandro's cappuccino. A bit of divine revelation, and some help from the Hand of God must have went into the making of this ambrosia.
Needless to say, I came back to Caffè Michelangiolo the next morning.
The welcome
The second day I entered the shop, Alessandro saw me and yelled out, "due cappuccini?" You can only imagine my joy when I heard him and returned with a giddy, high-pitched, "sí!" This time, the cappuccino came with a gift, a beautifully drawn heart floated on my morning coffee served with a proud smile from the barista.
Getting this cappuccino quickly became my morning ritual for the remainder of my trip. All it took was entering the shop for my order to be placed and made by Alessandro. Once, I went back to the café in the afternoon to grab a second dose of nectar for the day, but unfortunately, Alessandro was nowhere to be seen and the subsequent cappuccino did not receive divine blessing.
On the last day of my stay, after I have properly savoured every last drop of my coffee, I informed Alessandro of my departure as I dropped €3 for the two coffees at the cashier. He replied with dramatic rejection and a series of gestures that I can only deem to be Italian for sadness.
The memory of the warmth I received at Caffè Michelangiolo is my takeaway from Florence. It is a warmth I hope you will also get to experience if you find yourself in this lovely town. You'll know which coffee bar to visit in the mornings.
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