"Hog"ging Like a Florentine!

chillibreeze writer — Maya Das

Need an editable PowerPoint map of Italy

“When in Rome, do as the Romans do” is an aphorism much preached, but seldom practiced. But if you're in Florence, you simply have no choice! You have necessarily to be a Florentine, particularly in your choice of cuisine. That’s what I learnt, much to my embarrassment, during my recent visit to that otherwise enchanting city of everything-that-is-so-eyeful. A chance encounter with an old-time native whetted my appetite for Tuscany food, which he said was something out of this world. “If you have not had Tuscany food, you have not tasted the actual Firenze.”

Florentine cuisine, I was told, developed out of a tradition of peasant eating rather than rarefied high cooking. Since the origin was of humble lineage, I assumed the cost would be well within my budget. That, perhaps, was my first mistake. Then, being the land of Florence Nightingale, I presumed that the inhabitants too would have an egalitarian attitude. That also was also not to be.

The restaurant I finally landed in was the toast of Florence for its pork and beef specialties. True to its description, the place was teeming with what we describe as the movers and shakers of Florence. Everything about the restaurant boasted of their signature dish – pork. And it was everywhere; symbolic pigs stuck out of the pages of the menu and the surface of the cutlery. Not even the décor was spared! The ceiling was a mix of suspended thighs and trunks - preserves of their four-legged specialty. The walls too were adorned with other pickled versions of the pig’s anatomy. The masterstroke, however, was a fully stuffed and sewn pig sitting pretty at the cash counter. The owners probably took the ‘piggy bank’ concept a little too seriously. “Whatever happened to good old flowers and paintings?” I wondered.

I squirmed as the stiff waiters maneuvered plates of steak and stuffed hogs to connoisseurs. Half the dishes in the menu were unpronounceable and far from familiar. I ordered what seemed exotic and fervently hoped it would taste as good as it sounded. Finally when the food was brought I couldn’t tell one dish from the other. Nothing looked or tasted good and what was worse.... the ambience did little to help.

None of it would go down and my stomach craved for food. I decided to venture into known territory – good ol' vegetarian food. The steward came and I promptly rattled “ Something vegetarian, no tomatoes and not sweet.” He looked offended and rushed in only to rush out with his aide. Thinking he didn’t follow me, I repeated my order taking care to speak slowly. Angry words flew across the room and a loud ‘Antonio, here!’ followed. Antonio, the manager materialized promptly to take stock of the situation. The three then went on to jabber in Italian, interspersed with angry glances. By now there was a small gathering and I had disdainful looks thrown my way by the upper crust.

Seeing my flushed and confused face, an Englishman finally came to my rescue and said “Seems like you have ordered what they feed the pigs. They are wondering how to get it to the table as it would put off the other guests!”

“Put off other guests? You mean the harmless veggies will do something the suspended anatomy did not?” I protested. Our momentary saviour hushed me up saying, ‘It is disrespectful and insulting to ask for vegetarian in a place like this. So I suggest you just eat what is there on your table.” He wasn’t done yet “Oh! Don’t forget the tip. Its customary to pay 25% here.” “What?!?! 25% to eat in a butcher’s shop!” I yelled. “You don’t want to embarrass yourself further, do you, Miss?” he muttered and left.

Not wanting to disrupt the peaceful Indo-Italian gastronomy ties, I meekly gobbled the food and made a quick exit. The only satiated being that night was the sewn smiling pig at the counter that gained a few more pounds... oops! Liras!

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—About our writer: 'Every creation has a story' is what Maya believes in and this is what makes her a keen observer of people and her surroundings. Maya as her name suggests is a dreamer who loves to read and write. When she is not doing either she dreams of winning a Booker Prize!

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