If we allow it, coffee can be a reminder to slow down and appreciate la vita bella.
The salmon was just right: a simple filet on a small bed of white beans and ragout. The cavatelli, perfecto. The bite-sized morsels of sautéed broccoli rabe and homemade sausage complimented the size and texture of the pasta in a way that a deep Italian heritage truly understands. Peter Sullo’s Isola in Edgartown has those roots.
Barely over a month ago I was in Rome, eating meals that looked just like this. Appetizers merely whet the whistle, tantalize the senses and tease the imagination; dinners that consistently meet and surpass all expectation. And odds are that at Isola, you’ll take some home with you. Don’t get me wrong, eating in the Eternal City can get pretty filling if it’s your first time. When in Rome, right? Try the bruschetta here, the crostini toscana there–and don’t forget your pasta course. Did somebody say biscotti? And like any good Italian, it’s only right to prolong your meal with a quick, strong espresso among friends. Eating, drinking, and being the envy of the world: this is what the Italians are best at.
It’s a damn good thing restaurants like Isola exist on Martha’s Vineyard. And for about an hour and a half, they had me fooled. Before the melty house made ricotta cheese was placed in front of my drooling mug, I was looking at flights back to Italy. After the first round of appetizers, I was ready to lay a cot down in the kitchen and live there eternally.
But I was jolted back to reality when I had one look at the size of my after-dinner cappuccino. This thing was gargantuan. You could have filled a hat with it. The saucer it sat on would have doubled as a dinner plate in many countries. This is of no fault to Isola. Us Americans drink coffee in gratuitous proportions. I’ve never quite understood why.
Growing up, we all watched our parents heat up their coffee every morning before they whisked us off to school. In college, I watched friends hoover cup after cup so that they could function during class. Nothing’s changed since then. We buy our coffee and run out the door. Some of us never even exit the car to get our fix. And the sheer amount of it! According to the National Coffee Association, the average American drinks around 27 ounces of coffee per day.
I can barely finish the 8-ounce cup I buy from Mocha Mott’s. My lack of endurance is not lost on me. I realize that I will never get anyone to empathize with me on this point. We drink a lot of coffee, so what? Maybe it’s my inner-European talking but all I want is a siesta in the middle of my day, and if I can’t have that a few ounces of strong black coffee after dinner will do.
But more than that, more than a permanent cot with my name on it at Isola, more than a return trip to the Eternal City, I’d like for Americans to slow down and treat our coffee as something more than just a beverage. Coffee can be an event, a reminder that there are more important things in life than the vicious cycle of production and consumption. Okay, I take that back–I’ll forever look at plane tickets to Rome–but I’ll always come back hoping that Italian-sized coffee has become as modish as, well, Italy.
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