n a city where there is a Starbucks on every corner, many people don't realize they could be drinking a much finer drink than they've grown accustomed to. With a properly-tamped shot, you should be getting a wonderfully heady dose with a solid kick of aroma. Sadly, you won't be getting that perfect pump at Il Gato Nero. I expected better, as gallons of the stuff are served here, keeping the localers' blood pressures and adrenaline levels up to par.

Even on our visit, there are a dozen people in the house, and a mob of bleary, pre-caffeinated bohemians snaking out the door and onto a patio littered with cigarette ash that appears on every surface. There is zero-zero-charm at Il Gato Nero. And the barista is on automatic pilot; pumping out bitter espressos with a thin crema. Aside from the coffee, the patio rocks. And, if you spend any time on College Street, you will eventually wind up at Il Gato Nero, because… it's just there. The name recognition alone triggers a Pavlovian response: must ... have ... coffee ... now.