Joe

The coffee was pretty awful. But that was OK. I walked one block West and I was on Broadway. I had another (much better one) in my hand within a couple of minutes.

I became obsessive in my search for New York's best espresso. This is what deprivation will do to you: I bought a special guide book that listed all the best spots by neighbourhood. Wherever I was in Manhattan, I could find a spot to try within a couple of blocks. After a shot, I'd make margin notes in my guide book so that I'd know where to come back.

#1: a little cafe called Zibetto in Midtown (Sixth Ave and 56th). The note in the margin says "best esp yet!". The shop front was simply a glass door. It led into a long skinny room with a bar (standing room only). The vibe was pretentious - lots of suits, most of whom were clearly regulars. I got brushed several times by the Italian guy behind the counter, but I'm pleased I persevered because, as the locals would say, it was a bloody good 'cup-a-Joe'.