Tuscan Gourmand

There is no Italian dressing in Italy.  For that matter there doesn’t seem to be any salad dressing at all, or at least we haven’t found it. 

We have been trying to eat sensibly, not going out every night for dinner or eating salad for lunch most days, but at the supermarket there is nothing resembling salad dressing, so Shelley has improvised with oil and vinegar, salt and pepper, and parmesan cheese, a combination that tastes remarkably like—Italian dressing.

Not as shocking, there’s also nothing in Tuscany that resembles Wendy’s Tuscan Chicken Sandwich.

Bread is a staple of every meal in Italy, and for good reason.  It’s uniformly excellent.  Shelley bought some foccacia at a pasticceria, a bake shop, and I could have made a meal of it alone.  My mother-in-law and I used to joke that we both liked a little bread with our butter, but I am learning to go without.

I’ve had pizza a couple of times, and love the thin, crisp crust.  The other night I had spaghetti with Luccan meatballs, and it was good, although I couldn’t identify the meat.

Shelley’s a big fan of the salami, while I’m more a prosciutto man.  The first time we went to the supermarket, we bought a kind of hard cheese that was delicious.  It turned out to be goat cheese.

 

My sense of direction continues to be challenged by Lucca.  We are able to get around and find our way, but the layout of the city is both charming and illogical.  What seems to be an alley may very well open up into a bustling piazza, and a street that seems to parallel another street doesn’t. 

Yesterday we went out for a walk.  I wanted to go to the bus station to ask about buses for a day trip we may take later in the week, and we knew we were close, but when we cut through a parking lot we end up in the middle of an abandoned factory and had to retrace our steps.  On our way home we wanted to stop for a beer, and I had identified a place that came with good recommendations online.  I knew exactly what street it was on, the street was on the map, and yet we couldn’t find the street even though we were exactly where the map said it was.  Our desire to find a beer won out over our desire to find that street.

I am impressed with Shelley’s knowledge of Lucca and its streets.  She goes out for a walk most mornings while I am writing, and she has a pretty good sense of where things are, but this morning she couldn’t find the bar from yesterday either.  She obviously looks knowledgeable, because the other day a tourist asked her for directions.