Tonight, after a rainy day (more on that later) filled with finals and packing preparations (preparations, not actual packing or any real productivity) I went to pick up what I'd been looking forward to all day: 2 pizzas from the Oltrarno's (and possibly the world's) best pizza restaurant: GUSTAPIZZA.
I am not sure whether I have raved about this restaurant in entries past, but even if I have, I will again. No amount of praise could ever fully do it justice. Gustapizza serves the Holy Grail of pizzas: their "Calabrese" is absolutely to die for. Mozzarrella, tomato sauce, and basil, topped off with salame piccante (which is basically pepperoni, but throw out any preconceived notions you have of pepperoni). This is not the cold, squishy, Red #3-dyed pepperoni of Lunchable packages, nor is it the slightly more appetizing pepperoni typical of Pizza Hut or Domino's or even the comparatively exotic Vanelli's (Tupelo shoutout, y'all.) No. This salame piccante is otherworldly. Apparently "manna" is a real, edible thing and not just a biblical image (I found this out only recently, forgive me)... but if I didn't know any better now, I might say that the salame piccante tastes just as I imagine manna from heaven would. Most of the best Italian food, I've found, is simple and straightforward. In America we love oversaucing and "on the side"-ing and topping to an extreme (see: Supreme pizza). I realize there are definitely exceptions, yes. But overall Italy's food is just so simple. It's not that they eat any less. Far from it. Dinners out are consistently four courses and individual people eat whole pizzas on the reg. How funny that when I first got here I thought I'd simply made a linguistic mistake when I ordered margherita pizza and was shocked to see the waiter show up with an entire pizza just for me. Surely he must be laughing behind my back, I thought. Untrue.
But back to the glorious simplicity. One of the best meals I've had here was at a restaurant in a decidedly touristy area; this restaurant was called Il Grande Nuti, and they had a ton of choices on the menu-unlike most places here-but I ended up choosing spaghetti con pomodoro. AKA spaghetti noodles with tomato sauce. I added a little basil and oh. my. God. INCREDIBLE. Italians just know how to take something simple and cook it PERFECTLY rather than going on seasoning and spicing and saucing binges in an effort to impress or to be extravagant.
I'm getting way off topic. So I went to Gustapizza to pick up two pizzas, one for Franca and one for me. Franca had requested the Calabrese as well, but at the last minute I decided to be super-simple and get a margherita pizza (plain cheese pizza, although theirs does come with basil) because I had not yet tried Gusta's. (For the record, it was DIVINE. It was just Calabrese sans spicy salami, and it was a welcome break from that manna-like substance, seeing as I've probably consumed it MUCH more often than should ever be allowed for one individual). As I was checking out I remembered that I'd used up all my meal vouchers (before you laugh and point at Fatty Franny, ahem, we're in the final days here, and it's not as if I got meal vouchers for EVERY SINGLE MEAL of the month. Just defending myself). I also remembered that there was a meager 25 USD in my bank account-adequate airport money, but I shouldn't chance paying with my debit card here, considering that the total came to 14 euro (about 19ish dollars, and who knows how much the service charge would be for international use of my card? It changes with every vendor, restaurant, or ATM). I was skating too close to the edge. So I held up my blue "emergency Visa" (which has unfortunately in the past month functioned as my primary credit card...apologies to my parents, I think I owe you three limbs and my firstborn).
The familiar guy behind the counter raised an eyebrow and asked why I wasn't paying with my meal vouchers. He didn't look threatening, he was just wondering. He knew me as a student, but I'm not particularly special-people from our program frequent the place for obvious reasons. I told him that I'd run out early and waited for the Judgey Face. Instead I got a sympathetic looking frown and an explanation that he couldn't accept my credit card, but that it was all okay. Wait...was I getting these pizzas for free? "A domani!" he said with a smile. "Paghi a domani. O un'altra volta. You my friend, no worry, all okay!" He was explaining that I could come in and pay tomorrow. Or whenever, really. I wonder if he realized that the reason that I was out of meal vouchers was because the semester was ending and I was headed stateside within 36 hours of this interaction. AAANNNDD I had a total of 5 euro in cash, but I didn't want to make a "partial payment" because I'd planned to use the last tiny bit to climb up to the top of the dome of Santa Maria del Fiore tomorrow.
I felt bad. Even though I knew I could easily get away with never paying for this pizza, I would never want to do that to the fine people at Gusta because they serve the world's greatest pizza. And they're nice, with this whole interaction being Exhibit A. But yes, my current dilemma: HOW am I going to make 15 euro (MAKE, like, as in by doing some sort of work or performance art to get this money...not "scrape together." Make. "Scraping together" implies that I could somehow dig up fifteen euro from the chaos of my messy room. Nope. Not possible. I am aware of every cent within my wallet, the folds of my down comforter, my purse, and pants pockets. I've made sure of it)...by tomorrow at 1:00 P.M.? Here is my current dilemma.
I suppose I could ask a friend from my program to lend me some cash, but none of these friends live anywhere near me in the U.S., and we're leaving and I'm not getting any more money anytime soon. When would I pay them back? Would I really mail them a check for 14.00 in an envelope to Massachusetts? I'd like to think I would. But when you consider my combination of stinginess and forgetfulness and frequent "broke" status... the odds don't look too good.
This is really all very dramatic. I cannot pay for my food, plain and simple. I could plainly and simply get away with never paying for it. Or I could show up a few years down the road and say, 'hey, remember that rainy night when I didn't pay for two pizzas...?' But I truly couldn't live with myself if I didn't pay for the pleasure these pizzas brought me. (Yikes, sorry for the unintentional innuendo, but the pizza's SO GOOD that it makes you say unintentionally sexual-sounding things). Maybe they'll let me wash dishes. Suggestions welcome.
