Domestic God: Be a coffee king

Towards the end of a most enjoyable dinner with Hugh Grant, eight or so years ago, a waiter came over to our table to take our post-prandial beverage orders. I asked for an espresso, while poor Hughie grimaced for a good minute, seemingly wracked by indecision.

Finally, he ordered a simple black coffee, but when the waiter had gone, Hugh, still visibly upset, posed a vital question. 'Have you ever not ordered a cappuccino after a meal because you know it's naff, even though you really, really wanted one?' he asked. I nodded, but really I had no idea what he was talking about.

You see, well-travelled Hugh was aware of international coffee protocol long before I was. He knew that cappuccino was strictly a breakfast drink, while dinner should be followed only by espresso and that anything else was simply the behaviour of Gareth Hunt and the ignorant Gold Blend classes. Ever since that dinner with Hughie, I have become a bit of a coffee pedant myself.

An ardent Italophile, I squirm when people order cappuccino after dinner, and I smack their hands when they attempt to use brown sugar (don't ask me why - I just know the Italians never use brown in coffee). I can't bear the revved-up, oversized, over-frothed, overpriced, insubstantial, babyishly flavoured confections served up by Starbucks. And don't even get me started on 'instant' drinkers.

Cappuccino, specifically, has become increasingly bastardised, served up in lurid variations that have no counterparts in Italy. It is worth noting that in Italy a cappuccino is simply a cappuccino - there is no such thing as small, regular, or, indeed 'grande'.

Of course, I've never actually bothered to make a proper cup of coffee myself. A tablespoon of Waitrose freeze-dried in a Bodum cafetiere is about as far as I am prepared to go, but any man desiring Domestic God status should, I believe, be able to serve an authentic Milanese breakfast beverage in bed to his loved one, so off I went to Carluccio's in St Christopher's Place, a humming coffee Mecca, to learn to how to become a complete and utter barista.

Ground coffee should be kept in an airtight container but definitely not in the fridge. Which means I've been doing something wrong for around, ooh, ten years now.

2 I yanked a handle and cup thing off the machine and delivered a shot (exactly 7g) of Carluccio's Neopolitan (full of 'body and kick', Mike told me) into its chrome-plated bowl. Then I gave it a good 'tamping' (pressing down) to compact the measure. This ensures the water is forced through the coffee, rather than just dripping through.

3 Next, I was instructed to 'bless' my coffee shot, which meant passing the flat of my hand over the top of the bowl to remove any excess powder and ensure a tight fit on the machine. Optimum water pressure is vital here.

4 Clamping the handle and bowl to the Gaggia (whose design is virtually unchanged since 1946, you know), I took a white cup and saucer from the heated tray on top of the apparatus, pumped the appropriate button on my dashboard and watched the black, treacly coffee spewing elegantly and aromatically from the dual spouts.

The sexy Gaggia took exactly 30 seconds to shoot its two-and-a-half-fluid-ounce load. Moving fast now, I took a generously filled metal jug of full-fat milk (too little will overheat too quickly) and plunged my spluttering steam wand into its white waters, just below the surface, holding the flat of my spare hand steadily under the jug to feel for heat. (Thermometers, as used by Starbucks and co, for this bit of the process, are totally unnecessary, I am told.)