PREGO

Prego

The Italians say this word like it means everything. Are you ready? Hello. Goodbye. Here. Of course. And I want to say it with them. I am all of the above: here, leaving, arriving, and would love to try everything. 

We landed in Florence at 9 am, eyes stinging from the flights and stomach (at least mine) for something I could call "food". And if there is anything I remember about the last time I was here in Europe was that Italy knew how to do food. I am not taking credit for making a joke about how Italians wouldn't be caught dead doing a low carb diet. But I will take credit for pointing out the reason why Italian women are sexy is because while they wear heels they eat with a fury I can only assume must translate to the bedroom somehow. Women who eat are sexy. They have a confidence in themselves that no woman who orders salad with dressing on the side ever will. 

After a few hours of wandering to get used to the city we passed by a small trattoria with outdoor seating and not one discernible word of spoken English. I immediately wanted to eat there. Word to all travelers: traveling is unfamiliar, it is harsh, and at times inhospitable, but the most important thing to remember is that is the point. Learn to get out of your comfort zone, try a few phrases of the language, and don't eat at places with an "English" menu. The food won't be as good or as authentic. Have some guts, point your finger at something you don't know and maybe you'll be pleasantly surprised.

After ordering a Campari and soda and  "agua con gas" I opted for prosciutto and meand a vegetable and bread soup. When my food arrived in front of me I wanted to kiss the waiter, I refrained and began to eat only what I can describe as some of the best food man can make. Prosciutto is a favorite of mine: fat, salt, and flavor, that's really all it is. Good prosciutto can take a while to make. GREAT prosciutto can take what seems like ages. In this day and age of instant gratification I always find the things I am most drawn to, the things I appreciate most, are those things that take time. We as people have gotten used to getting things faster these days, wether it be information, news, fashion, or food. Just because something is faster does not make it better. Walking around the uffizi gallery today I had to ask myself "why doesn't anyone make monumental sculptures like this anymore?" the answer is that people just don't have the time. Or they tell themselves they don't, either way. I couldn't imagine someone in this day and age taking 12-26 years to finish a marble sculpture. Do you know how many seasons of greys anatomy they would have to catch up on?? 

When I take a bite of prosciutto wrapped around ripe cantaloupe everything stops for a second. I blink a few seconds longer than normal and am transformed to the first time I ever had this particular combination of food. 2006 was the first time I came to Europe. My mother and I travelled for weeks on the train after graduating college in an attempt to see the art work I had been studying in art school for the past 4 years. I assumed I would just end up seeing some great art, I never really expected that my ideas on food would change as well. 

When I tell people I grew up in Connecticut I often get an eyebrow raise or further inquiry as to what part of the state I lived in. This is often followed with a funny quip of "no, not THAT part of Connecticut." We didn't have a pool, a summer home, a tennis court or a 3 car garage. Hell we didn't even have running water. What we did have was a lot of animals, a lot of stacked wood and three Yugos that didn't run. (If you don't know what a Yugo is I wouldn't be surprised, From what used to be called Yugoslavia, it's a car they stopped making in the 80's or something that was about the size of a lare dog)

With the fact I didn't have a heated pool, a butler, or even basic necessities of a home, I also didn't get a lot of gourmet food. There was no such thing as a local produce market in the town I grew up in. No place to buy fresh homemade pasta, no truffle oil, no saffron, no wine store. The only chef people in my town knew about was boyardee.

When I landed in Europe in 2006 I knew I would forever be changed. I just didn't expect food to have such a big role. One day after visiting the palace of Versailles I realized my blood sugar was dipping into the very dangerous "hangry" zone. I needed food and fast. I happened on the first place off a side street and stepped into a small cafe serving food and wine. I pointed, and trusted someone would bring me something non-poisonous and tasty. What they brought me was a small fort made of perfectly shaped pieces of melon with tissue paper thin slices of Proscuitto circling the structure. Inside was arugula dressed in olive oil, salt and pepper. I wasn't quite sure how to start eating, but I grabbed a bit of everything to create one bite and started to eat.

It was one of the first times I understood that flavor can be more than sustenance and nostalgia. Up until then when I was hungry, I ate. When I ate a particular meal I was reminded of a place, or a family member. This was different. I suddenly became aware there was a single flower in the vase next to me, there was a smudge on the handwritten chalkboard outside, there were more bubbles in the water glass in front of me, then the one my mother had. I suddenly paid closer attention then I ever had during a meal. Things seemed more beautiful, and in many ways it was because they were.