Coffee Culture
Walk into any Roman bar at 9:00 a.m. and you’ll witness the city’s most practiced ritual: the morning caffè. Elbows out. Eyes sharp. Regulars bypass the register and head straight for the counter, where they order with confidence. While seasoned locals might seem to breeze straight to the counter, most bars actually prefer you pay first, especially during the morning rush. The standard protocol is to go to the register, pay, and bring your scontrino (receipt) to the counter to place your order. It keeps the chaos in check and the espresso flowing. Even in today’s tap-and-go economy, some of us still slap a coin on top of our scontrino to signal we’re ready. The key is moving with purpose: if in doubt, pay first and follow the rhythm of the room.
You’d be forgiven for thinking Rome’s relationship with coffee dates back to antiquity, but the bean didn’t even arrive in Italy until the sixteenth century, when it landed in Venice via Ottoman trade routes. By the time Antico Caffè Greco, Rome’s first proper café, opened near the Spanish Steps in 1760, Venice already had more than two hundred. Greco quickly became a haven for artists, expats, poets, and intellectuals, many of whom wrote manifestos while drinking near-lethal quantities of coffee. It’s still there, gilded and theatrical, with padded benches and steep prices to match.
Back then, coffee was a luxury, an aristocratic affectation served in porcelain cups in palatial salons and elite cafés, where it was typically brewed by boiling the grounds with water, a method that predated modern espresso technology. Rural folk and the urban poor made do with substitutes: chicory root or toasted barley, simmered into bitter brews that mimicked the taste of the real thing. The democratization of coffee didn’t begin until the early twentieth century, thanks in part to technological leaps like Milanese inventor Luigi Bezzera’s espresso machine, patented in 1901. His invention forced hot water through ground beans under pressure, producing a concentrated shot in seconds and setting the stage for the stand-at-the-bar culture that would come to define Italy.
Still, widespread coffee drinking didn’t take hold in Rome until the Fascist era. Mussolini’s push for national self-sufficiency led to rationing and propaganda campaigns that celebrated barley-based caffè d’orzo as a patriotic substitute. Real coffee, being imported, was both scarce and politically fraught. Yet paradoxically, the regime leveraged espresso during wartime—it was a stimulant, an appetite suppressant, and a convenient way to placate the hungry working classes. Mussolini even exploited Ethiopia’s status as the birthplace of coffee to rationalize the brutal colonial occupation in the 1930s. Tellingly, Rome’s most famous coffee shop, Sant’Eustachio near the Pantheon, didn’t open until 1938, when Italy was reeling from sanctions and cafés delivered a subsidized distraction in the form of espresso. A cup of coffee, like so many things in Fascist Italy, was political.
Coffee remained a rare treat into the postwar years, but by the time the economic miracle of the 1960s rolled around, Rome was awash in espresso. Home-grown companies like Danesi, Trombetta, and Palombini signed exclusive deals with bars, flooding the city with bitter blends and darker roasts that were more about consistency than origin. For home use, the moka pot, invented by Alfonso Bialetti in 1933, became a mid-century staple, bringing strong, espresso-adjacent coffee into Italian kitchens and further embedding the ritual into daily life. Rome stuck with this flavor profile for decades, even as places like Melbourne and Berlin led a third-wave coffee revolution. In 2006, the Nespresso boutique opened in Piazza San Lorenzo in Lucina, a capsule-powered Trojan horse of the specialty coffee world. George Clooney’s smirk on ads did more for espresso branding than a thousand baristi ever could.
But change was brewing. In the 2010s, young Romans who had worked abroad in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis came home, bringing with them a new vocabulary: single-origin, light roast, pour-over. When Faro opened near Piazza Fiume in 2016, it kicked off a wave of specialty cafés that now dot the city, many roasting their own beans. Starbucks arrived in Italy in 2018 and Rome in 2023, cautiously and controversially, but Roman coffee culture didn’t blink. It’s still standing at the bar, sipping fast, and savoring slow.
How to Order Coffee in Rome Without Getting Yelled At
Roman coffee culture is all about rhythm and observation. Yes, you can order a cappuccino after 11:00 a.m. at the bar—don’t believe TikTok. She lies. Just don’t try it in Naples. That said, it’s never acceptable to order one at a restaurant or trattoria, or generally consume one immediately after a meal.
Most bars (aka cafés) operate on a pretty standard system: Head to the register if there is one, pay, and bring your receipt (scontrino) to the bar. Or, if it’s a pay-after place, go straight to the counter, place your order, then settle up before you leave. In either case, making eye contact with the barista is the Roman equivalent of asking nicely if they’re ready. It’s a sweet old-school move, but not mandatory.
And yes, there is table service at most Roman bars—but it usually costs more. Some spots will let you carry your caffè to a table at the same price, but most tack on a service charge. There’s no hard rule, so watch what the regulars do. Is everyone lingering at tables with waiter service? Cool. Is the vibe all standing-room speed drinkers? Probably not the spot to spread out with a newspaper.
When in doubt: Pause, scan the room, and read the bar like a menu.
Decoding the Roman Coffee Menu
Ordering coffee in Rome can feel like navigating an insider club. Here’s how to use the lingo like you’ve been doing it your whole life.
Caffè
This is a single espresso. It’s the default. No need to specify anything. Just caffè. One word, one shot.Caffè al vetro
Same espresso, but served in a small glass instead of ceramic. Some people swear it tastes better; others are into the aesthetics. Either way, it feels fancy.Caffè lungo
Pulled longer than usual, with more water. Slightly less strong, more volume.Caffè ristretto
Super-short shot. Tiny but intense.Caffè macchiato
Espresso “stained” with a touch of milk. Ask for macchiato caldo (hot milk) or macchiato freddo (cold milk) if you’ve got a preference.Cappuccino
A classic: espresso, steamed milk, and foam. Totally fine to order after breakfast hours—but only at the bar, never at a restaurant—but know it’s not standard Roman behavior.Caffè latte
Milk-forward, espresso-light. If you ask for just a latte, you’ll get a glass of cold milk. Ask properly.Caffè shakerato
Espresso shaken with ice, often served in a martini glass and sweetened with sugar. Chic and summery. Ask for it from October to May and you’ll be reprimanded. Follow the recipe on page 303 to make your own.Marocchino
A layer of cocoa powder, a shot of espresso, and foamed milk on top. Served in a glass, perfect for a midmorning buzz.Caffè d’orzo
—Caffeine-free barley brew. Popular with the caffeine averse, and powered women, and people still living in the shadow of wartime rationing.Caffè corretto
Literally a “corrected” coffee, spiked with a shot of booze like grappa, sambuca, or brandy. Popular in the morning among men of a certain age and people already having a day.Granita di caffè
More of a Sicilian import, but you’ll find it in Roman bars with southern roots. Strong coffee frozen into icy shards, usually layered with sweetened whipped cream (panna). A full meal if you do it right.How Starbucks Tiptoed Into Italy’s Coffee Culture
No one comes to Italy for bad coffee. When you’re posted up at a bar knocking back an espresso in three seconds flat, the ritual is sacred, efficient, and blissfully unadulterated. So when Starbucks announced plans to open in Italy, the collective response was a mix of horror, confusion, and begrudging curiosity. Did Italians really need a grande no-whip white chocolate mocha with five pumps and an extra shot?
If you wanted to convince Italians to drink Starbucks, you weren’t going to start with the skeptical nonni in their neighborhood café. You were going to ease it into the ecosystem, testing it on young Italian mall rats with TikTok accounts. It was a carefully curated rollout, one that allowed Starbucks to test the waters without diving straight into the deep end of Italy’s notoriously opinionated coffee culture.
The first Starbucks in Italy opened in central Milan in September 2018, and it wasn’t just any store. It was a twenty-five-thousand-square-foot Reserve Roastery in a historic post office near the Duomo. A gilded temple to coffee with gleaming brass machinery and a menu more third-wave than drive-thru, the Milan Roastery generated massive international press. That attention helped demystify the brand and introduced it to an Italian public that had only ever encountered Starbucks abroad. The store was more spectacle than shop, a strategic move to build buzz without alienating traditionalists outright.
Once awareness was in place, the real expansion began. Starbucks moved into outlet malls and shopping centers, safe zones where global brands already thrived and where foot traffic skewed younger and more open to international chains. These locations quietly did the heavy lifting, getting Frappuccinos into the hands of Gen Z Italians before the brand inched its way into city centers.
Behind Starbucks’ Italian debut was Antonio Percassi, a former professional footballer turned retail magnate known for bringing global names like Zara, Victoria’s Secret, and The North Face to Italy. He understood the psychology of Italian consumers and the importance of timing and context when introducing a new brand to a deeply traditional market.
By May 2023, Starbucks had made its way into the heart of Rome, opening a location next to Parliament, followed by another in Piazza San Silvestro, and eventually three in Termini Station. And the brand is still growing. The strategy is simple: Don’t try to compete with Italian espresso. Instead, offer something entirely different: sweet, dairy-laden drinks treated like desserts, sold at a premium. It’s working.
These days, Rome’s Starbucks locations host a mix of local students on laptops, tourists refueling between museum visits, and yes, even some older Romans, tentatively cupping their caramel lattes, testing the waters. But the apocalypse has not come. The city’s beloved bars still thrive. The reality is this: Italians don’t live in a vacuum. They travel, they evolve, and, sometimes, they want a milkshake-inspired coffee in a giant to-go cup.