I’ll be the first to admit, I was “that girl” for 23 years. That is, the girl that wouldn’t touch a cup of coffee, who swore up and down she’d never be a coffee drinker. While I did make it through AP classes, high school theatre Hell Weeks, and all of college (not to mention a full-time job in DC) without a sip of java, I fell off the no-caffeine wagon about two years ago.

My switch to the dark side sadly began not during a jaunt around Milan, but during a holiday dinner at my now-in-laws’ house in Virginia. My Mother-in-Law put out demitasse cups with a platter of cookies and an array of after-dinner liqueurs. Matt caught me eyeing the sambuca. “Just try it!” he encouraged. I filled half the cup with sambuca and half with espresso (ugh!). With trepidation, I took a tiny sip and sure enough, I liked it. Matt never lets me live it down.

Fast forward to present-day in which I have an espresso every afternoon. In fact, I consider it an essential part of my writing ritual. I can promise you that each of my posts has been and will be accompanied by a shot (or two). There is a long history of writers holing up in the cafes of Paris and Vienna, caffeinating and churning out iconic works. What I didn’t know is that Italy, particularly Rome, has its own literary legacy - one that lives on in the walls of historic cafes.

In the 18th century, writers from across Europe flocked to Caffe Greco, Rome’s oldest cafe. According to its maitre d’, Byron, Shelley, Keats, and Hans Christian Andersen all frequented the cafe. Perhaps, like me, they needed a pick-me-up to keep writing through the afternoons. I can be chipper at 7am and stay awake until after midnight, but don’t ask me to do anything between 2 and 4pm sans caffeine.

There is one important difference between these literary giants and me (is the sarcasm obvious enough?). Despite Italy being the mother of espresso culture, the highly-pressurized coffee wasn’t introduced until the 20th century, which means Byron and Keats weren’t sipping on tiny cups with pinkies up.

While espresso has evolved over the decades, recently becoming an Instagram trend and a household staple thanks to Nespresso, we keep it old-school in our house. I don’t drink espresso for the taste, I drink it for the ritual. Sure, espresso may have literally developed as an express order, but there is something romantic about waiting five minutes for my moka pot to start bubbling with fresh coffee. When I spoon out the grounds and screw on the heat-stained metal cap, I feels like I’m participating in an age-old tradition. Though I don’t know all the rules of Italy’s coffee culture (which extend far beyond no cappuccinos after 11am), I’m getting there. For now, I’m content with my afternoon espresso and a biscotto or two.