Taking a break from playing Italian

I have started getting my first American cravings. Chipotle, for example, and Bagel Me. Even if they did have those things here (which they definitely don’t) I would be determined to hold out. I fully believe that in order to get the most out of this experience I must eat, sleep, breath, and live like the Italians do. And that unfortunately eliminates Mexican food and “take-away” smoothies.

However. The pinnacle of American sports is tonight, the Superbowl, bringing with it too many reminders of home that I am not strong enough to resist. After a long day in Lucca, my defenses are down and…I give in and get a Cheeseburger at McDonalds. And french fries. And a chocolate milkshake. (It was no In N Out ladies and gentlemen, but it was exactly what I needed.)

Since I have already relapsed into my American ways, I figure I might as well continue. I go home and get ready for the Superbowl, which is to begin at 12:30 a.m. my time. Since I don’t have any American sports apparel here I wear my purple “I <3 Florence” T-shirt. (haha)

Apparently we missed the memo and didn’t prepay for spots at the few places playing the game here, so everywhere we go is packed. Astor has room, but the last time I went there I had to sneak out with a coat over my head, hidden between my friends, so Georgio wouldn’t catch me leaving. (Maybe I left that out of my post, but it turns out I need to be a little less friendly after all.)

Eventually, we get to a place called The Club House and I finally just lie and say we have reservations. One perk of the language barrier is they don’t ask questions and simply guide us straight to the best table in the house, which is right in the middle and conveniently set for 8. So we spread out in our little haven amidst an overcrowded bar and order our first round, happy as clams.

(“Virginia”, according to the placemat, was scheduled to come for this table three hours ago. Sorry Virginia, I think, as I sneak the placemat into my bag, cleverly hiding the evidence. Lost your chance, girl.)

I make it all the way to half time, snacking on fried chicken and rooting for the Packers. But The Black Eyed Pea’s performance marks the end of my endurance (it was 3 a.m. by this time) and Sophia and I finally drag our tired butts home.

Between the chocolate festival, Dantes, our Italian Pub, biking in Lucca, McDonalds, and football- It had been a long night, long day, even longer weekend. I am sooooo ready for bed.

I would also like to note that it was very gratifying to relax into my American ways for just one night. I can start playing Italian again tomorrow :)