A good coffee is hard to find

There are many things that are different here in Romania - that's what's so interesting. So many great things like pastries and sweets, free wifi everywhere, very helpful people and so much more.

There are some things that take adjusting to though, when you get to a new city, a new country and culture.

Coffee has been a sore point for me. Some who know me have been privy to emails detailing my excursions in pursuit of a good coffee. OK, so I drink coffee with milk and the puritan Italians will argue that's not real coffee. Argument taken into consideration.

I have after many attempts though, found what is called here a LATTE MACCHIATO - which in Italy is in fact a cup of warm milk with just a hint of coffee. Commonly consumed in the morning. Here in Romania though, the Latte Macchiato is similar to the Australian Latte. Bingo! So I think I'm sorted. I know the coffee to order that sort of relfects what I crave in the morning.

There are are a few problems though. The milk tastes strange here and the best coffee they have is Illy (no offence, as I quite like Illy - but since the wave of artisan coffee blenders arrived in Sydney I've been fortunate to have a lot of choice and good coffee - like the ones made by my good friend Renea)...I digress.

Today I came to Bierhaus - a pub. You can have coffee in pubs here which is another great thing about this great country.

I ordered from my friendly waitress (who is dressed in traditional German attire - alas no flaunt of the bosom) in my broken Romanian a Latte Macchiato. She returned quickly. First problem I notice is that they serve it with a straw instead of a spoon. How in God's name can I stir in the sugar with a straw. And why do you expect me to drink coffee out of a straw! Again I digress. After I've managed to stir the sugar around a bit, I take a sip and it's cold. Maybe luke warm at best.

What words do I use in Romanian to complain? I gesture to her, she comes over smiling and I tell her "It's not warm". She is horrified. She steps away. I smile. A friend helps explain in better Romanian than mine that she should just make one that has war milk in it. She's puzzled and dosen't want to take the coffee away. What, do they never have anyone complain? Has she never made a mistake. She has problems to deal with that go beyond not being able to deal with dissatisfied customers. Don't they give staff an induction that includes how to deal with unhappy people like me? I guess not.


She goes away and comes back with a new one (see above). I touch it and it's warm. I'm pleased. I smile at her and thank her profusely. I wanted to ask for a spoon instead of a straw but thought I'd just deal with it. I stir, take a sip and burn my *%&$ing tongue! Is she serious. Do they really not know what temperature the milk should be warmed to? Renea what is it? Perhaps I should tell them.

I dare not tell my waitress that I'm even more dissatisfied than I was before. I drink icy water to soothe the tongue and vow to find a place that knows how to make coffee at the right temperature, let alone GOOD coffee.

OK, so there's one thing I miss about Sydney. It was bound to happen. It certainly didn't happen when I called Westpac's 24 hour hotline to ask for a new pin number earlier today. The woman, forgot her name now, though she introduced herself so well, had the strongest Australian accent I've heard in months. I don't really miss that do I? There's another great thing about Romania - there's no horror of bumping into a crowd of loud Australians behaving badly.