This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
It’s just gone 11:30 a.m. on a Friday morning, and just for once, I’m not at work.
The blue skies above lie like a canopy between the buildings flanking the courtyard on all sides. Directly in front of me is an array of foliage: yucca plants in terracotta pots, lush green ferns artfully placed in beds amongst other greenery, and at the far end of the courtyard runs a line of palm trees reaching up towards the blueness above.
In a building somewhere across the other side of the courtyard drifts the sound of a violin, possibly played by a student under the watchful eye of their teacher. Or maybe it’s the teacher themselves, reliving memories of nights on stage at the Scala whilst the student gazes on… rapt.
The only other sounds come from the pair of bullet-shaped lifts that glide gently up and down the side of the building to my left, and to my right, the sound of a dapper French gentleman on a call, who, in response to whoever is on the other end, gently replies, “Uh-huh… oui,” every now and then.
I lean forward, take a sip of my doppio espresso, pick up my pen and notebook, and, after thoughtful consideration, begin to scribe once more. And thus, it is here, in the courtyard of the Bar della Musa in the cool confines of the Palazzo Talia, that I finally feel I have arrived in the Eternal City.
The service here is polite, prompt, and unassuming: exactly what you would expect from a hotel of this prestige. For here, read also the Riva Lounge at the Gritti Palace, Venice, and Franco’s on Jermyn Street, London.
Each has its own redeeming features. At the Gritti, it’s the view across the Grand Canal to the Salute opposite, backdrop for many a Hollywood movie. At Café Murano, it’s being seated at an outside table on one of the smartest streets in London, home to shirtmakers such as Budd, shoemakers Loake and John Lobb, and, tucked at the top end of the Piccadilly Arcade, the perfumer Santa Maria Novella.
At the Palazzo Talia, it’s different. There’s no Grand Canal and no clothing stores to distract you from your musings. It’s a place to breathe, to reflect, rest, and recuperate. To fully appreciate being in the moment. Almost like a meditation practice, but with great coffee.
To me, this is how you should enjoy an espresso (or whichever cup of black gold is your preference). And so I breathe deeply, relax a little more, and enter an espresso state of mind.
