Italian Indulgences
As the plane accelerated down the runway on its way to take-off for Genoa, Italy, the only thing stuck in my mind was the results I ‘Googled’ about the city before traveling. The culinary specialty of the city of Genoa, known is Genova to Italians, is pesto. Pesto, which is a mixture of basil, garlic, and olive oil, is one of my all time favorite additions to any pasta, sandwich, or salad. My trip to Italy would in no way, shape, or form be the beginning of my ‘diet’ and ‘eating healthy’ phase. I knew that most Italian cities are revolved around food, but the amount of bread, cheese, and pasta that I was about to consume during this 10-day expedition was incomprehensible. As a pure bred Italian, I knew that staying with my friend Jaclyn’s Italian family meant not only getting in touch with my roots, but getting in touch with endless courses of food.
As we exited the plane and collected our baggage, we entered the small one terminal airport in Genoa to wait for Jaclyn’s cousins to pick us up from the airport. It had been almost 10 years since Jaclyn last saw them so she was worried she might not recognize them and vice versa. I assured her not to worry because it is kind of hard to forget her bright red banana curly hair. Sure enough, moments later a short Italian man with glasses – Paulo – and a slightly taller one with aviators tucked in his button down – Maximiliano – approaches us and yelled out “JACLYN” in a cheerful Italian accent. After some cheek kisses and introductions, the next five questions were: Have you eaten? Are you hungry? When was the last meal you had? Did they feed you on the plane? Do you want to have some dinner? Truthfully, we were both very hungry and accepted their offer for dinner.
Although Paolo and Maximiliano were fluent in their English expressions regarding food, the car ride to the restaurant at the beach club was a little more painful because some of their English was scattered and hard to understand. Once we arrived to the restaurant at around midnight, everyone was greeted with a glass of white wine and a large basket of bread.
“What do you like eat? Meat? Seafood? Pasta? What you like?”
Personally, my taste buds are quite extensive and I enjoy most foods, but since we were dining on the sea with the sound of crashing waves in the background, Jaclyn and I agreed on seafood. When we expressed our decision for the meal, we figured we’d each be given one dish of whatever the catch of the day was and call it a night. This, however, was not the case. The amount of different seafood dishes that were delivered to the table that night was too high to keep count of. The waitress first brought several dishes to the table that I recognized. These dishes included Seafood Paella, Mussels, Clams, Calamari, and Salmon. To say I was full after these dishes was an understatement. Even though each dish was served family style, if I didn’t put a significant amount on my dish, it was almost seen as an insult.
“Try this! It’s good! Eat this! Try that one!”
I let out a sigh, sat back in my chair, and rested my hands on my stomach thinking the food had stopped coming. I was wrong. Seconds later the waitress returned with about 8 more steaming dishes. This time I didn’t recognize all of the dishes. Some were served in clamshells, others I was informed were octopus or maybe even fish eggs. Needless to say, my willingness to try things really came in handy. Each dish ended up being tastier than the one before it, even if it was in fact some unknown seafood that I don’t regularly consume. After a few bites of dessert, it was finally acceptable to be stuffed.
Welcome to Italy, I thought.
How my stomach would handle 10 days of overeating, I was unsure of. The test would come two days later for our next extravagant meal. Since our first Italian dinner experience was enjoyed at a restaurant, it was time for a real cultural encounter by dining in an Italian home. Christina, Jaclyn’s older cousin, was kind enough to have us over for dinner. My stereotype of typical home cooked Italian meals was confirmed after this meal.
After a little attempted small talk in forced English with Christina’s husband, daughter, and Jaclyn’s cousin Paulo, it was time to sit for dinner. After the dinner a few nights earlier, my stomach was a little more prepared to stretch out and I felt completely ready to conquer the food that was about to be placed in front of me.
We sat down at the table, decorated with a plastic tablecloth, and pushed our wooden chairs closer to initiate that we were ready to dig in. A variety of drinks were out on the table, including red wine, Fanta, water, and Coca Cola. Settling with water, I took a large gulp to clear my taste buds and prepare for the flavors that were about to come. First came the bread. This was no ordinary bread, however, it was a delicious loaf of fresh baked oily Focaccia. Unfortunately, growing up I have never been able to resist the bread at dinner. My impulses always overcome me and I devoured two pieces of the bread quickly, leaving oily stains on my fingers and napkin. I pinched myself for letting my hunger get to me because I knew in about 20 minutes, I’d have wished I left that room in my stomach for something I would be nearly forced to eat.
Next course: Salad. In the center of the table was a simple mixed green salad with onions and tomatoes. In addition to this salad, each person was served their own personal plate of Mozzarella, Tomato, and Basil salad with oil and vinegar drizzled over the fresh ingredients. I’ve tasted fresh Caprese salads at home, but the moist mozzarella and ripe tomatoes that I was indulging in were so delicious that my plate was wiped clean in a matter of two minutes. Within the same time period, everyone else’s dishes were clean as well. As the woman of the house, Christina was constantly up out of her seat clearing dishes and cleaning in preparation for the next course. When Jaclyn and I offered to help her, she immediately denied our request and enjoyed the role she most likely took on every day of her life.
A minute later, bowls of steaming pasta were all placed in front of us. I couldn’t help but notice the pasta maker on the kitchen counter that I later learned was in fact used to make all of the pasta they consume at home. The homemade pasta we were about to enjoy is exactly what I had been waiting for – Pesto Pasta! The colorful green and yellow cheese tortellini pasta was drizzled in delicious olive color pesto that smelled just as good as it tasted. The pasta was cooked just right and the flavor of the pasta went together perfectly with Genoa’s own pesto sauce.
Just starting to feel full, I knew I had to keep trucking. Drum roll for the next course that is truly everything that an Italian meal stands for: Prosciutto and Melon. The melon was cut in perfect crescent moon shaped slices projecting a crisp orange color of ripeness. A plate of thin slices of prosciutto was passed around, followed by the plate of melon. I have never actually attempted to eat this traditional course, so I was a little nervous and observed the others on how exactly they cut the melon and meat and put them together on the fork. The prosciutto was a little difficult to cut but once I got a decent sized piece, I forked it with a nice square of melon. My tongue was a little confused when experiencing the mixture of savory and fruity flavors. The textures of the meat and fruit are also quite different so it was an interesting chew. Although this wasn’t my favorite part of the meal, per se, I did my best to consume an acceptable amount. Making up the excuse that I was a vegetarian would not have helped either because how could you be a true Italian and not eat meat?
The meal was finally winding down and it was time for something… or some things sweet. The first dessert course was a bowl of cut up peaches drenched in sugar and sweet liquor. The crunchiness of the sugar and smoothness of the peaches was exactly what I needed to sweeten my stomach. Once the big bowl of fruit was devoured, it was clearly time for gelato. How could you not enjoy the creamy ice after a long Italian meal? Presented with four flavors, my palate decided on the two chocolaty flavors rather than the fruity flavors. Of course Christina tried to serve me the fruity flavors after the chocolaty ones, insisting I needed to try them all, but I politely refused and told her my stomach couldn’t handle any more.
After coffee, which in Italy is actually equivalent to a thimble full of espresso, I could hardly move. We sat around for a while at the table and my brain hurt from trying to comprehend all of the Italian phrases that were going back and forth. The night was aging and eventually Jaclyn and I said goodnight and headed back to where we were staying. On the car ride back, I was suffering a few stomach pains but all I could think about was how deliciously cultural our meal was.
Over the next week or so of our time in Italy, there were several other meals just as fully loaded. The wine, pasta, bread, and pizza may have made my pants and shirts a little tighter than usual for a while, but the experience of true Italian food is a weight that will stay.
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