Alonso & Asera
Asera
Hey Alonso, I’ve been chasing the story of how that tiny latte foam flower in this city’s cafés came to be—have you ever stopped mid‑sip to wonder where that little art came from?
Alonso
Yeah, I’ve definitely paused mid‑sip, staring at that delicate flower and wondering how someone turns foam into art—maybe it’s just skill and a steady hand, or maybe there’s a secret history in those little cafés, a whispered tradition from a barista who learned the trick in a tiny corner of Rome or a bustling Hong Kong street. I love tracing that thread, chasing the origin of a single cup, because every little detail tells a story about a place, a culture, and the people who pour their heart into the latte. Have you heard any legends about it?
Asera
I’ve caught a few whispers, like a barista in a Parisian bistro who swears the first foam‑flower was a doodle from a bored student who had no time to study—so he made it out of the milk and everyone thought it was a secret sign that class was over. Then there’s the legend in a Tokyo tea house where the latte‑flower is a tiny shrine to the “scent of morning”; they say the first one was made when the owner’s cat knocked over the milk jug, and the foam caught the shape of a whiskers‑like swirl. Every place adds its own spice—so the history is less about one trick and more about how each cup is a tiny, living postcard.