Part One: Eating Out
(Editor’s note: the section published here is part one of four due to the content’s length).

Florence, Italy: a foodie’s haven, a chef’s culinary dream, my worst nightmare. I am not a picky eater, I savor trying new things, I thrive in the kitchen when making new recipes. My favorite restaurant at home is a local Indian dive where I don’t even know what I’m eating half the time. However, I do have a few particularities. One of these is my distaste for tomatoes, a difficult particularity to have when studying abroad in Italy. I also believe ‘pesto’ to be God’s purpose for creating basil; this is where eating out in Florence can be a cultural barrier. In the United States the customer is always right. Always. The server must do what the customer wants, no questions asked. This is not the case here, as I learned one fateful evening when dining out with friends. All I wanted was ‘tortellini’ stuffed with ham and cheese. I was just an American girl wanting to eat Italian food, as simple as that. Then it happened. When it was my turn to order, I politely said, “I’d like ‘tortellini’ but can I please have ‘pesto’ instead of the tomato sauce? ‘Grazie’!” Did I say something wrong? Apparently, because the server stared at me like I had three and a half eyes. In a thick Italian accent, he explained why this was impossible, as ‘pesto’ would not complement the saltiness from the cheese and the flavor from the ham, and I could only have the tomato sauce with my ‘tortellini’ or I should have had to order something else. I (respectfully) tried to explain how I just could not bear to eat anything with tomatoes. He gave me an expressionless look and said gracefully (read: sarcastically), “As you wish, madam.” I had won! Ten minutes later, the server brought out our food. My dish was the last to be placed on the table. My ‘tortellini’ were not dressed with ‘pesto’, they were soaked with tomato sauce! I looked up, “The chef knows best.” I had not won, I had lost! Apparently, my little American-girl palate does not know what it likes, but the server and chef do.

In Italy, the customer is not always right. The server is, and he will not let you pair food with something, he knows, it will not taste good with. While this was a barrier at first and made it difficult to eat out, as I am not fond of one of the main ingredients in Italian food, I can happily say this is now a hurdle I leapt over with flying colors. I can now stomach tomatoes. I don’t necessarily enjoy their presence on my pasta, but I definitely don’t mind them. Once I realized tomatoes were not going to kill me, I went back to this restaurant and had the same server (who remembered me). I proudly ordered my ham and cheese ‘tortellini’ with tomato sauce. He made no expression that showed he was impressed; but when he brought out my dish, he also placed a piece of bread with ‘pesto’ on top next to my plate. He gave me a wink and walked away.

Norah McDonald (UVA)