Italy - A Gastronomical Adventure Not Soon To Be Forgotten

Special Note 1: This is perhaps the most random and weaving of my blogs this far. If you are thouroughly confused by it, I apologize. If you are thoroughly amused, then you will have good luck for this coming year.

Special Note 2: This one is so packed with photos, that it goes onto page 2. Don't miss out.


On the way to Rome, I sat beside two older ladies who mostly kept to themselves while I read my book. When I put it down, they quickly took the opportunity to offer me a custard filled tart. As you've no doubt gathered by this point, sweets are the kryptonite of my steely will power. I quickly refused to refuse and instead accepted, wide eyed and whole heartedly. It could have been poisoned, but I couldn't give a damn in the slightest. As it turned out, the tart was not poisoned, and the ladies began to ask questions of me. There English was limited, and my Italian, well, grossly retarded, mostly limited to catch phases such as "Buonjourno Principesse," and "Mi scuizi" and a variety of pasta dishes. But then they we realized that we each had enough Spanish to piece together fragments of an enlightened conversation. Learning to speak a foreign language fluently is the best idea I have not yet been wise enough to undertake.

Rome is its own story. It has managed, and mind you I decided this after only a single afternoon in the ancient capital, to propel itself into the paramount position in my mind as the greatest and best city in Europe. It has achieved 'most favored city status'. Look into my eyes and you'll easily see one and one make two, two and one make three. It was destiny. Sure it's a matter of opinion, but there's something truly special about Roma, and the Romans. Most large cities come with the necessary evil of the "I'm too good for you" arrogance, but not Rome. The amazing thing is that people in Rome seem as though they don't realize that they live in a massive city with more right to boast than most. But I'm certainly not going to be the one to let them in on this well kept secret.

*They laugh more than others I have come across, and have a delightful sense of fashion. They will, it seems, buy anything with a high pricetag on it. I saw one girl wearing what looked like a T-shirt with a rabbit pelt sewn onto the front of it...literally. This is why the Chinese have not been fully successful in taking over the Italian market; they haven't figured out that the key to success is jack UP the price.

*They are more playfully oriented. I saw a kid who was so interested in playing with the pigeons, that he began eathing the bread lying on the piss stained square....much to the horror of his mother who ran over and wrestled it free of his mouth; he was dismayed by this aweful turn of events and showed his displeasure most volumnously.

*The women are beautiful, the food is delicious, perhaps a little too much - I've eaten more Pizza than a person really should and I fear that I may end up looking like Pizza the Hut. There's this one pizza shop that is really cheap and so good I would kill for the pizza. Okay, well perhaps not kill, but commit a lesser crime like jay walking (which is actually just called crossing the street here in Rome - more on that later)

*The wine flows like the salmon of capistrana. They have this sweet set up in Florence, and I'm sure everywhere else too, that you can bring in your empties, and they'll just fill up your bottle with wine and recork it for you. What a brilliant idea I say.

*The coffee. Oh the humanity! The coffee here in Italy has destroyed the world of coffee for me. It brings a new meaning to caffine baseline. I could not live here, or I might end up like Guy de Maupassant, who, according to Alan Eaton, whom I hold to be a reliable source, had a death that was induced by no less than the menace of espresso. After trying to kill himself more than a year earlier, Guy had become so obsessed with coffee that he was drinking volumes that number into the tens of cups a day, then because he could not get enough of a high, began eating the grounds. He died of a 'sploded heart. Perhaps the only coffee induced suicide in history.

Perhaps the only great thing that doesn't come from Italy is Chuck Norris. If you are not aware of this site yet, Chuck Norris will be sent to your home to unleash his fists of fury upon you. I tell you if Rome had Chuck Norris, Rome would not have been sacked. My personal favorite:

There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of creatures Chuck Norris has allowed to live.

Of course, I did some sight seeing. It would be far beyond tragedy to miss the wonders of Rome, even for those hell bent on a culinary and gastronomic avenue. Rome is chalk full of history, spanning thousands of years, each building upon others before them. One of the highlights is the Roman forum. It is astounding to behold, but when I arrived to walk up the sacred road into the heart of the forum, wonder and excitement were absent. In its place was shock and awe, a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was as if returning from a great party to find your the charred remains of what was once your house smouldering at your feet. I couldn't quite explain it, it did not make sense within the context of my life. Other ruins did not have such an impact. Perhaps in a previous life, in all its glory it held some importance to me. Who can know these things. If you hold an interest in life after death and past lives, let me recommend to you, Journey of Souls by Michael Newton.

I've forked out for tours of the Vatican and the Coliseum, as well as having walked many many kilometers in this picturesque city. The excitement of seeing new and exciting things has propelled me forward even when to full to continue. At one point the tour guide complained that Rome just had TOO much art, they couldn't look after it all. One must simply respond: "Well then, learn to share your toys, child." Fortunately there are great people like Jen who are charged with making sure others do look after the restoration and preservation of those altogether too many treasures.

Most of those treasures were built thanks to war booty. Alan (who is making frequent appearances in this blog) points out that war is for idiots. Not out of a staunch anti war position, but think about it. Now, not only do you have to fund the war, but you can't take their stuff, and you have to rebuild everything you broke. You are a stupid man Mr. Bush.

Rome is a wonderful walking city once you get over the fact that the famous saying that all roads lead to Rome holds a specific truth. It's not so much Rome's gravitas, but perhaps its gravity that pulls you into the center. Your directional instincts lead you to make choices that do not get you where you want to go; instead they lead you to the cultural center of the city. It's only later that you learn to deny your instincts and find a damn map that despite what common sense tells you, leads you to where you must go.

One day, after walking through the Coliseum, I stopped for a traditional Italian lunch, and revelled in the pace of it all. It took me two hours to dine, and even took the initiative to order orange-flavoured tiramisu. Some of you may be thinking, "but Cory, you loath orange in chocolate. You said that it was a bad joke that no one but you understood. Why would you order orange-flavoured tiramisu?"

Before I explain, let me just say that my distaste for orange-flavoured chocolate runs deep. It is like the mariana trench of culinary disdain. What is worse, if given a large box full of the entire cornucopia of chocolates, I will pick the one filled with orange. It is for me, my princess and the pea story (written by Danish legend Hans Christian Anderson, affectionately pronounced Ho See Annerson in Dansk). It's my bugbear. However, when I got my tiramisu I delved into it. What did I find? Did I like it? I'm not sure that I did like it, but I DIDN'T NOT like it. Herein lies the lesson of the universe: change is possible, or in the words of Ovid, arguably Rome's greatest poet:

All things change; nothing perishes.

Yet the irony lives on. When I got to Firenze (Florence), I bought what is arguably the best gelato anywhere. But lo and behold the flavor I picked was none other than orange flavoured chocolate. Again, I didn't not like it. What is one to do. As long as people don't start messing with my mom's chocolate cake, all is well in the world. Oh man I love the cake . Speaking of which, I was reading a Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson and in it he writes about the amazing, near impossibility of life:

It is rather as if all the ingredients in your kitchen somehow got together and baked themselves into a ckae - but a cake that could moreover divide when necessary to produce MORE cakes.

Whoever one day figures that out is a genius, unless they add orange; that would make them an evil genius.

There are strange and beautiful things abound in Rome. One such thing is the exciting world of illicit Indian salesmen. No, they're not selling Indians. I'm not sure what I'd do with one anyway; perhaps I could outsource my blog entries to him. Nevertheless. They begin trying to sell you things, and then for no apparent reason (which turns out to be much more apparent on further investigation) take off running as if a heard of frightened antelope who've spotted a lion in the grass. It turns out the lions are the police, and they are hungry for some slow Indian merchant to chew on...but they never actually chase them. Too much work; ciao.

Traffic is another curiosity. In Rome, people run all over the street whenever they damn well feel like it, and the cars, mostly stop for them, or at the very least swerve around them. In Florence, people mostly cross at the corners, and often wait for walky-man to say go. In Milan, they basically worship the walky-man...there is no crossing the walky-man...excuse the pun. I kind of like the Roman style, makes me feel adventurous. Although I kind of worry what this southbound pattern portends. I am forced to wonder, do the people in Napoli just run in front of cars without looking?

Florence itself is a lovely city. I was impressed by how many famous Florentines there were. I had a good time walking around. "Did you see the Efizi?"you are wont to ask. "No," I say. "Well, did you see the David?" To which I reply. "No," Then you rub your eyes in disbelief and ask, "then what did you do in Florence" and I will say, I was on a gastronomical adventure, eating everything in sight. I was really trying to help Jo out. She just kept feeding me. She says she's constantly mistaken for a Jew, which is baffling to me, but seriously, when she starts in on me:
eat, eat. Look at you. You're skin and bones. Who's going to marry you? it's easy to see why. I had an excellent time. It's easy to keep me happy. Keep me fed and watered and you're in good shape to have an easy going guest. Pizza in Florence is quite bad to tell you the truth, and overpriced, but the pasta is excellent. We went to this restaurant and I had a most excellent lasagna, and the place was awesome. It was filled with the most random selection of crap, like a garage sale that had evolved into a restaurant. We were served by the angriest gay man I've ever met. I always thought that character was a fictional one. No, he's real, and he lives in Florence.

Besides, not going and seeing all these things makes it certain that I have to return one day. Next time perhaps in a more romantical (defined by the Urban dictionary as: All romantic and shit ) capacity. Swoon.

One thing that stood out to me, and Jo warned me in advance, is that the Florentine women will not make eye-contact with you. If you make eye contact with a woman there, she's on vacation. It seems that the playful machismo in Roma turns to scary stocker machismo in Firenze. Jo explained to me that on a number of occasions she's been followed home simply for making that dreaded eye contact or returning a smile. Which is quite a feat; Jo lives on the strangest street anywhere. It takes twice as long walking to her house from the center as it is away from her house (seemingly at least). I thought it was just me, but when I mentioned it to Jo, she agreed wholeheartedly; later that evening here friend Michelle made an unprompted comment to the same effect. It is the incredible stretching street. So a stalker would have to be seriously dedicated. This is really a sad situation. Thanks for ruining for all us non-stocker types Florentinos. Get control of yourselves. Seriously.

I would have liked to have spent more time there. Florence was beautiful, and Jo has a great sense of humour that I enjoyed enormously. We listened to some more Stephen Lynch, she played for me two I have never heard: "Special Olympics" and one other I can't think of right now. But to takes its place, let me recommend to you one of my favorites, "ugly baby" and attach to it a personal story. This is one of my uncle's favorites. My dad you to say that newborn babies were the ungliest creatures on the planet, that is until I was born. <cue angel music and lighting> But as my uncle loves to point out: and you were just as ugly as all the rest. I'm still recovering from the emotional scars ;)

I only spent the evening in Milan, home of "Milano Red," which is a source of much hilarity and ridicule around Camille. It is also where I flew out the next day. I intended to meet Mara and Michele, but Mara was ill with the flu...she felt terrible, and honestly niether of us want the flu, so Michele and I hung out. He toured me around and we went for a "happy hour" which is a wicked deal. You get a drink and all you can eat Italian for €7,00. Awesome! So after an exhausting walk and excellent conversation I thanked him and crashed on the futon in preparation of my early morning flight out of Italy.

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