Coffee in Italy sucks (almost) everywhere

The bitter truth about our national ritual, and where to find the 'should-be-coffee' in Bologna

You just landed.
Rome, Bologna, Milan, doesn’t really matter.

You’re in Italy, and the first thing you want to do to feel “local” is grab an espresso at the airport bar. The young, bored barista rings you up: €2. In seconds, a steaming tiny cup is sliding across the counter.

First sip.

It tastes like burnt rubber and nostalgia for a medicine your mom forced you to take as a kid. Only hotter.
You think: “Maybe I’m just not ‘Italian’ enough to get it?”

No. The truth is much simpler.

Most of the coffee we’re drinking in Italy actually sucks.

The ritual vs. the reality

I know, it sounds like heresy.

But the raw material is often low quality, the barista doesn’t always know the craft, and the machine rarely gets the deep cleaning it deserves.

The reasons for this are buried deep in our history.
It started with the economic boom of the 1960s and the tight, almost unbreakable commercial ties between big roasters and local bars.

We also have a cultural “price ceiling.” When you refuse to pay for quality, you get exactly what you paid for: cheap, over-roasted beans used to hide defects.

You might tell me: “But Italian coffee is supposed to be bitter! That’s the style!”

I agree that a classic Italian espresso can be a blend—maybe 80% Arabica for the aroma and 20% Robusta to give it that thick, iconic crema.

But that doesn’t mean what ends up in your cup should be “black poison” that requires sugar (or a shot of grappa if you’re in the north) just to make it drinkable.

Now, the good news

The most important part in the title is “almost.”

Because, luckily, great coffee does exist in Italy.

People call it “specialty coffee,” but I hate that term. Something that is good shouldn’t be “special”—it should be the standard.

Let’s call it “should-be-coffee.”
It’s coffee where we know who grew it (and that they were paid fairly). We know its characteristics. It’s roasted to highlight flavors, not to hide defects. It’s coffee that tastes good on its own, with no tricks or additives.

In Bologna alone, there are at least 4 or 5 places serving excellent should-be coffee.

And the best part?
Most of them are recent.
Opened by young, enthusiastic people who actually care.

A few names?
My friends at Aroma, the guys at Brisa, Terzi, and a few others.

You just need to know where to look.

And yes — next time you’re in Bologna, we’ll start with one of those coffees.

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What’s new

• It’s the time of the year where we tune up our food tours, ready for the next season. In the Classic Bologna tour we’ve introduced Lasagne. Yes — finally.
  In Modena we still have the keys to open a real family-run acetaia (the kind you don’t stumble into by chance).
  And Parma, well Parma remains a quiet gem. Always has been.

• I joined Wendy of Flavor of Italy for a podcast episode where we talked about pasta, osterie, and why eating well in Italy is mostly about knowing where not to go. I had a lot of fun — you can listen to it here.

• I’ve updated this guide about the best street food in Bologna.

  And if you’ve ever passed through Bologna Centrale, you know it can be …an experience. I’ve put together a survival guide to the Bologna train station. Hope it helps.

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Thanks for reading this far.
I always try to keep these emails short — but when it comes to food, coffee, and Bologna, I tend to get carried away.

Stay caffeinated (properly),

Andrea