Meat Man and Other Food Goodies

I have been here for two weeks now, so I think it is an appropriate time to talk about the meat man. Anne and I live across the street from a kosher butcher, that operates Monday through Friday morning. It is a family business where I have seen six or seven men working behind the counter and one woman working the cash register. The first night that we decided to make chicken, Anne and I wandered over to the butcher shop, hoping that our broken Italian could help us obtain half a chicken breast, thinly sliced. When we first walked in there were three older men who were helping customers, one of which eventually took our order and listened with good grace to the American girls who were “butchering” his native tongue. As we went to pay, I decided to attempt to ask for some cooking guidance and asked the woman if she spoke any English. She politely told us no but there was someone in the shop who knew a little. Turning over her shoulder the woman yelled, “Angelo” and we heard from the back something that sounded like “Coming Mama”.

From the back room, in a spotless white apron, appeared a BEAUTIFUL young man. He came around the counter and smiled at the two of us, as we attempted not to gape. In careful English he asked us what we needed and we blundered through a few questions comprised of a smattering of our two languages. To make a long story short, Anne and I basically stumbled over ourselves trying to form the words to our sentences, and remember why we had entered the butcher shop in the first place. Needless to say, we have been back several times.

On our second visit, Angelo was the butcher who greeted us when we first entered. Among a chorus of “ciaos” and “boungiorno’s”, Angelo filled out our order for more chicken and practiced his English by asking us where we were from, did we like Rome, and how long were we going to be in Italy? Finally, he asked if either of us were Jewish. Anne, being a Christian, sadly shook her head no. I however, with a very large grin was overjoyed to confirm that I was in fact one of his “chosen people”. Apparently, every other male member of Angelo’s family had been listening to our conversation and all chimed in with exclamations of “Oh wonderful! A nice Jewish American girl!”. I am sorry to report that nothing could ever take place between Angelo and myself for several reasons including a large language barrier and the simple fact that, at this time, I am not single. However, my mother would be overjoyed if I brought home a nice Jewish boy.

Angelo is not the only tasty treat in Rome. The pizza here is amazing, along with the bread, olive oil, olives, wine, coffee, fresh herbs, and just about everything else. We have taken a liking to a little place that is along our walk on the way to school called Pizza Roma, which has three locations around Rome and one in Fort Lauderdale Florida (go figure). For 1.85 euros I sit down to a square piece of pizza and a bottle of water. Pizza is always cut from a large square pie in the exact amount that you desire, which is nice if you only want a little something when walking around town. Pizza normally has ham, cheese, olives, eggplant, potatoes, zucchini, mushrooms, more cheese, and a few items I have not yet managed to translate.

We walk enough that eating all these wonderful things really has no impact on our weight gain. It is thirty minutes to school every day, and at least thirty minutes everywhere else. While we attempt to take busses and trams around the city of Rome, it is truly more time effective to walk places, as the busses rarely show up on time, or go on a straight route from point a to points b, c, d, or e. They tend to pause at point J, smoke a cigarette, and proceed to point K. This is a rather difficult feat, as neither J nor K exist in the Italian alphabet. Therefore walking is what we do most.

Though more has transpired today regarding some interesting American girls on a bus that Joe, Anne, Kate and I could not help but overhear, I am going to make some gnocchi and sit down with a glass of wine. Ciao!