COFFEE BEANS & BASEBALL / BUY ME SOME ESPRESSO SHOTS AND CRACKER JACKS

Everyone’s favorite dugout espresso machine is back in business. And business is booming. 

 Italy created a stir at the 2023 World Baseball Classic when it housed a Nespresso machine in the dugout. With a little caffeine in their system, the Italians played inspired baseball, advancing out of group play for just the second time in team history. 

 To no one’s surprise, Team Italy brought back its espresso machine as a part of another vast coffee spread in the dugout and clubhouse for the 2026 WBC. 

 “In Italy, we drink coffee about 20 times a day,” Italy manager Francisco Cervelli (pictured above) said during WBC tourney play following his team’s 8-0 victory over Brazil. “It’s a tradition. You’re walking down the road. You see a coffee spot, get some coffee. Then you chitchat, and then keep walking and do the same thing all over and over again. That’s how Italy is.” 

Hit a homer take a shot of espresso

 Cervelli, who became the manager of the Italian national team in January 2025, wasn’t a part of the 2023 WBC. Still, he’s well acquainted with the espresso machine, having managed Italy at the 2025 European Baseball Championship. “It goes everywhere with us,” Cervelli said. “It’s something normal. We got it on the bus. We’ve had it in the dugout, everywhere.” And now it’s a celebration, too. 

THE PUBLIC HOUSE REVIEW / ONE COOL PLACE WHERE YOU DON'T WANT TO GET BOMBED

 

Ukraine's Pink Freud – A Cocktail in a War Zone 

GUEST BLOG / By Holden DeMayo, PillartoPost.org Saloon Editor--In the Podil district of Kyiv, down a modest courtyard on Nyzhnii Val Street, there is a bar that sounds like a joke and drinks like a confession: Pink Freud. The name alone hints at the mood inside. Part psychoanalysis, part Pink Floyd mischief, and entirely a place for people who believe that good conversation improves with a glass in hand. 

Pink Freud opened in the early 2010s and quickly became one of Kyiv’s signature cocktail haunts. The entrance is marked by playful portraits of Sigmund Freud painted in pink, guiding visitors through an archway into a courtyard bar hidden from the street. Inside, bartenders practice the art of mixology with almost scientific enthusiasm, arranging their cocktails along flavor axes from sweet to bitter and from light to strong. The effect is part laboratory, part salon, where young musicians, artists, and night owls gather beneath strings of lights and the soft hum of conversation. 

 In peacetime Kyiv, Pink Freud was simply “cool.” Locals packed the courtyard on summer nights, tourists discovered it by accident, and the city’s creative class treated it as a kind of informal clubhouse. Spread across several cozy rooms and an open courtyard, it developed a loyal following and a reputation as one of the city’s most beloved cocktail bars. 

 Then came war. 

Kyiv today is a capital that lives with air-raid sirens and blackout schedules. Yet places like Pink Freud have taken on a deeper meaning. The bar’s lights still come on in the evening when conditions allow, serving cocktails to soldiers on leave, journalists, volunteers, and citizens determined to keep a fragment of normal life alive. In a city under threat, a bar stool and a good drink become small acts of cultural resistance. 

The history of public houses is full of wartime chapters. London had them during the Blitz. Sarajevo had them during its siege. Kyiv has them now. Pink Freud stands as one of those places where the human instinct to gather, laugh, and argue over drinks proves stubbornly stronger than fear. 

In a courtyard behind an old building in Podil, Freud’s pink portrait still watches over the door. The diagnosis, it seems, is simple. Civilization survives because people refuse to stop meeting for a drink.