I was lucky enough to have lived during the period when many US cities were still a bundle of ethnic neighborhoods and coffee houses were THE place. In the Turkish neighborhood you found coffee so thick and sweet you ladled it, instead of pouring it. In the Italian neighborhood you found ornate steam espresso machines, glistening on the back counter and reflected in the shining mirror. In the Polish neighborhood you often found fruit syrups to add to your coffee, cherry or orange or raspberry or...

Jim