The name for a traditional place to have breakfast in Italy is ‘bar’. This one was not far from Milano Centrale, around via Panfilo Castaldi. However, the most memorable Italian breakfast I had was in a different bar, on my first morning in Milan, at the start of probably the most beautiful day in my life (and the day of my grandpa’s 80th birthday too). By the way, can this count as evidence supporting the claim that breakfasts, and mornings in general, are most important?
So it was a typical bar, and behind the counter was a very welcoming Milanese named Valter, who ran the place with his parents (they were sitting at one of the tables having breakfast amid other regular customers). I remember trying to chat with him in my elementary Italian and then sitting down at a table next to the window, drinking my cappuccino, eating my cornetto con nutella and watching children being brought to a posh-looking school across the street.
The reason I found the place is that it was in a street leading to Santa Maria delle Grazie, where I went to see Leonardo da Vinci’s Il Cenacolo, before going to Venice later that day. And a curious coincidence, one of so many in my life, was that when I was on the underground earlier that morning, on my way to see da Vinci’s astonishing masterpiece, a woman entered the carriage holding a book by Dan Brown.
