After a brief wait in Florence when Raquel offended the
locals, we boarded our train and made it to Margherra, a town just outside
Venice. We marched thirty minutes, much further than our AirBnB host had
promised past buildings with overgrown lawns that had
fresh laundry drying on the line. Exhausted and annoyed we arrived to find the
cutest AirBnB host the world has ever seen.
She showed us around her place, explained how the busses
worked and asked if we were hungry. When we told her we were going to try to go
into Venice that night, she gasped.
“But it is 9:30, the busses stop running at midnight, and
you look so very tired and hungry.”
Well, maybe we should just eat instead.
“Yes, that is good. Come with me I will take you to a
restaurant. It is good.”
So, dressed only in her pajamas and slippers, so led us
around a corner, past a prostitute skillfully jiggling her wares and to the best
meal we’ve eaten in Italy. But of course we didn’t know that yet. All we knew
about Italian food was that it is overpriced and designed to look good on a
menu. Taste is unimportant because most people will never return. We had
decided days before to eat only while standing up. They may ruin a plate of
pasta, but it seems against the Italian nature to serve lousy bread or salami.
Yet here we were, about to sit down at a restaurant, throw our money away
because we were hungry and tired and out of options.
“It is good, sit down,” our host said, and was gone.
We briefly debated setting out for somewhere else, but seeing
as the only other human activity was prostitutes, we decided to go ahead and eat
there. We sat down and the waitress began to chatter away in Italian. She
obviously recognized me look of bewilderment for she focused her verbiage on
Raquel.
“Yadda-yadda-yadda antipasti?”
“Uh…” Raquel replied.
“Yadda-yadda-yadda primeri
spaghetti?”
“Si?”
“Vino?”
"Si!"
Even I know
that one.
The waitress vanished and Raquel turned pale.
“I have no idea what we just ordered.”
I shrugged. I was hungry enough to eat a horse. How bad
could it be?
Twenty minutes later the waitress set before us an enormous silver
platter piled high with crawfish, shrimp, mussels, clams,
scallops, fish and ricotta cheese, all smothered in tomato sauce on top of
spaghetti. it looked amazing, like something Poseidon would have for dinner. It
was the most surprising and exciting dish she could have possibly brought us. I
was already excited we had this visual feast instead of something like lasagna,
where the flavor hides beneath the noodles.
We dug in. The Crawfish were brain-slurpingly good, the
shrimp and scallops the perfect texture but the mussels… my gods the mussels.
They were succulent and tender and went amazingly well with the tomato sauce. The
clams became repositiroes for the ricotta. Each bite was half shellfish have
tomato infused cheese. We washed it all down with half a liter of white wine
and followed it with tiramisu.
It was utterly divine, or to quote the babe, “That meal
was stupid good. Do you think she just saw that we didn’t understand anything
and decided to blow our minds?”
I think so, and I think that’s the advantage of escaping the
tourist destinations, with their monuments and overpriced everything. To go to
Margherra was to see a piece of Italy not in the guidebooks, and to eat at a
restaurant that needs people to eat there more than once. If you visit Italy I
highly advise seeking out a small town that no one's ever heard of just to eat,
and while in the big cities, stick to the street food and cheap bottles of wine from the cold
drinks shops.
If you liked this story come visit Florence with us!
If you liked this story come visit Florence with us!
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