One of the distinct pleasures of an Italian sojourn is cultivating an appreciation for the local tavern. It’s akin to the importance of the public house in Ireland in its core role in Italian culture. The tavern serves as a respite from the daily chores, providing an opportunity for a quick tete-a-tete with acquaintances, the barkeeper or even unfamiliar faces on matters such as weather conditions, political discourse and the ever-fascinating topic of football.
Naturally, the tavern serves as Italians’ go-to place to satisfy their penchant for caffeine. However, drawing a parallel to the Irish preference for enjoying a stout in company, an Italian’s enjoyment of an espresso is enhanced in the presence of companions. A remarkable demonstration of this is a scene from a popular film featuring the acclaimed comedian and actor, Massimo Troisi. Well-remembered by Irish viewers for his Oscar-nominated performance in the 1994 film ‘Il Postino’, Troisi brings to life the Neapolitans’ fervent love for coffee and their equally fervent sociability.
In the film, he cunningly slips into an aged neighbour’s flat, stumbling upon a coffee pot designed to make a single serving. This he proclaims as the epitome of loneliness – what’s the use of a coffee pot if it can’t brew enough coffee to share with companions?
The particular coffee pot found by Troisi in his neighbour’s residence represents the smallest variant of the universally known moka, a common feature in Italian kitchens. The moka, conceived by Alfonso Bialetti in 1933, embodies the history of Italy during the years preceding and following the war.
A native of Piedmont, Bialetti, born in 1888, migrated to France in his youth where he spent a decade working at an aluminium factory’s foundry. On his return to Italy, he established his aluminium goods manufacturing plant. However, it wasn’t until 1933 that the idea for the moka struck him, inspired by women he observed laundering clothes in a contraption known as a ‘lisciveuse’.
The ‘lisciveuse’ was a metal pot featuring a large hollow tube at the centre. When heated, the boiling water ascended through the tube, dissolving the soap and evenly dispersing it over the clothes contained within. Watching this process closely, Bialetti decided to adopt this mechanism for brewing coffee.
Bialetti devised an uncomplicated three-component structure. It had a lower section or boiling chamber for water, a filtering medium for the coffee grounds, and an elevated chamber receiving the brewed liquid. Bialetti’s upper chamber embraced an octagonal design which still persists today.
Bialetti’s Moka Express, often referred to as a macchinetta (small machine), was an immediate hit. It allowed Italians to recreate the experience of a bar-served espresso at home, as the tagline suggested. Bialetti’s selection of aluminium as the core material was particularly apt, considering the fascist regime’s proclamation of aluminium being key to national economic growth at the time.
The moka, with its futuristic sheen, was precisely the sort of innovation that aligned with Mussolini and Fascist ideologues’ preferences. Coffee adverts started mirroring the regime’s opinions on ethnicity and gender roles within domestic spaces. As Italy plunged into war, Bialetti was producing 10,000 units a year, selling them at local fairs and markets.
The moka’s popularity spiked post-war when Alfonso’s son Renato, a former German prison camp detainee, initiated mass production. Bearing the brunt of wartime deprivations, many Italians ensured their homes never ran short of essentials like coffee and sugar. During the booming economic growth of the 1950s and early 1960s, Bialetti managed to shift millions of units annually, making the moka a symbol as identifiably Italian as the Fiat 500 or Vespa.
As copycats flooded the market, Renato added the icon of a small mustachioed figure on the moka to reinforce brand recognition. Despite once being ubiquitous, the moka’s presence is diminishing now, partly due to George Clooney endorsing an alternative pod-based coffee machine. Nevertheless, the fervour for coffee among Italians persists.
Eduardo de Filippo, the accomplished Neapolitan playwright and movie maker, exemplified it perfectly in a renowned monologue from one of his dramas. The scene takes place on the terrace of a Neapolitan dwelling. De Filippo, after contemplating about a Neapolitan’s association with coffee and his distinctive way to prepare it, delightfully serves a tazza from his newly concocted brew and smiles satisfactorily at the spectators, remarking, “Observe, the modest requirements for a man’s joy: a peaceful cup shared outdoors with a congenial neighbour nearby.”