A fair few historic cafes have survived in Europe, and predictably, they tend to be victims of their own success. Erstwhile hotbeds of creativity have been transformed into two-faced tourist traps, where tired travellers are liberated from vast sums of money for mediocre cakes and snooty service. In terms of pedigree, Rome's Caffe Greco is as illustrious as they come: Goethe, Byron, Keats and Mickiewicz are just a few of the scribes to have furrowed or unfurrowed their brows here. And yes, the cafe often does feel like a museum. But the balance is tipped by the glorious troop of elderly, tail-coated waiters. These gentle souls waft around with such a sublimely melancholic air that you start to believe that they are not actually living mortals, but ghosts, condemned to serve the tables for eternity by some mischievous sorcerer. To top it all, the cakes here are genuinely superb, as verified by the crowds of locals who pile in to the front-of-house patisserie each day for sugar-fuelled kicks.

4.5 / 5

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