Nonna’s Espresso Pitcher
by Alyssa Liegel
A serving of espresso is 2–3 ounces, and this pitcher is the perfect size for keeping pre-made batches. It’s not too big but holds enough to last a few days. I searched online and visited brick-and-mortar shops hoping to find some modern-day, mass-produced version of Nonna’s fluted-glass pitcher with a sturdy, (surely artisan-crafted) no-spill lid. No luck.
My grandmother — I call her Nonna Angie — always has a pitcher of pre-made sweetened espresso in the fridge. When you walk into her house, after kissing you on each cheek, she’ll ask, “Caffè cold?!” No one can resist the offer, not even my mom or her two sisters, who are all notorious for declining any food and beverage. I have always assumed they accept the offer because it reminds them of their childhood. After all, the pitcher it’s stored in practically radiates “piece of family history.”
Nonna’s house is a time machine to the 1960s — except for the living room, which has a flat-screen TV (my grandmother enjoys an upgraded cable package that includes every Italian add-on). The house is full of family relics and knick-knacks older than me. It’s easy to assume the espresso pitcher may have been given to my grandparents by relatives or friends when they first moved in. I do not remember her ever having a different pitcher.
When I wanted to take on the practice of keeping “caffè cold” in my own fridge, I needed a pitcher just like Nonna’s. A serving of espresso is 2–3 ounces, and this pitcher is the perfect size for keeping pre-made batches. It’s not too big but holds enough to last a few days. I searched online and visited brick-and-mortar shops hoping to find some modern-day, mass-produced version of Nonna’s fluted-glass pitcher with a sturdy, (surely artisan-crafted) no-spill lid. No luck. Everything I could find was too big, too clunky, or too plastic.
I gave up and finally asked my nonna where I might be able to get something similar. She insisted she would buy me one. I knew this would happen. I didn’t initially ask her because I didn’t want her to go out of her way or, God forbid, insist I take hers.
She called me two days later to let me know she had one for me and to come by and get it. I couldn’t believe she found one so quickly. What secret boutique home goods store existed around here that my Google-searching didn’t turn up? I thanked her profusely, and she assured me it was no big deal; the dollar store was just up the block.
…
This piece was written for the “Narrative Strategies for Objects” workshop instructed by Rob Walker during the 2024 D-Crit Summer Intensive Residency at the School of Visual Arts. The next Summer Intensive session will take place June 2–13, 2025. Apply for free by April 15th.
