Lately my schedule has been so hectic that I find myself getting hopelessly behind with everything, including my web columns. The fact that this one is again so late has nothing to do with procrastination, or even the fact that the holiday season is getting so close I can feel its hot breath on the back of my neck. It's just that every time I've found myself with an available hour which I could use to go out in search of espresso, another massive avalanche of fate comes rolling along to derail my plans, and I never make it into the station.

But last week I was feeling so guilty about being so behind that I was determined to succeed. On Friday, having 3 full hours available in Sheffield City Centre to complete a mere 6 errands, I promised myself I would fit in a caffeine adventure.

My destination was a shop a friend had told me about, Hidden Records. Apparently not only did this record shop serve espresso, but the drinks were made by reportedly the best barista in the city. When I found the shop, located just opposite the Peace Gardens, the door was locked and there was a knee-deep pile of dust-covered post on the floor. Ah, well, so it did have the best barista...

I moved on through Fargate and down Norfolk Row to the Twenty Two A cafe, but it had just closed for the day. As I was trudging dejectedly toward Surrey Street, heading toward the Winter Gardens and the central library -- my final stop for the day -- I passed a window which announced loudly, in painted script, CAPPUCCINO TO GO. The window belonged to one of those old city-style Italian restaurants that you never consider frequenting because nobody you know has ever said a word about it. Until now I, and probably my entire circle of Sheffield friends, had been content to live our lives completely oblivious of Mama's and Leonie's.

So that's why I decided to give it a try.

As I entered I was greeted with the expected smell of pasta and pizza. Since the few tables in the downstairs room were occupied with late afternoon diners I sat at the marble counter and ordered a cappuccino, which the waitress produced promptly, so promptly that I failed to catch her sprinkling it with chocolate. Ah well, I thought as I scraped the chocolaty foam off, at least it's Italian. It wasn't the greatest cappuccino I've had in Sheffield but it was perfectly enjoyable and quite old-world Continental to boot. It filled the bill, it did, and it came accompanied by a refreshingly unexpected non-trendy environment. And in my ubiquitous black beret, red lipstick and nails, and new black coat with the thick black fake fur collar I felt appropriately dressed.

I have no idea what Mama's and Leonie's food is like -- or even who Mama and Leonie are, and if they're in fact related -- but the smells wafting through their restaurant are nice. And it does feel classically, unpretentiously Italian. Perhaps I'll stop in again for another cappuccino, maybe while I'm doing -- or failing miserably at doing -- my Christmas/Chanukah/Solstice shopping.