"Pizza Bianca"
After the Colosseum, our guide recommended a section of town nearby with delicious restaurants. She said something about a "buffet" and our hearts were set on finding it.
We couldn't.
Six miles into our day, with only one meal and a granola bar in our tummies, we patiently searched google maps for nearby buffets and located one less than a mile away!
Encouraged, we struck out, tired but optimistic at the promise of endless food. Less than a mile later, we ... struck out when we found the restaurant was closed.
We bit back our tears and turned to google. Google found us a nearby "buffetti" and that was good enough. It was even in the direction of our hotel.
Our pace slowing with every step, our appetite growing steadily out of control, we dragged ourselves down street after street. We made wrong turns, we stumbled deliriously, we nearly gave up hope.
Finally, we made it. We turned the corner to see the neon lights of heavenly glory: "Buffetti." But as we neared the doors, our hopes and dreams of having full bellies were dashed to pieces. "Buffetti" was a book store. And I normally love book stores.
Our spirits crushed, our stomachs rumbling angrily, we turned to the nearest open bakery. It had food and, at this point, that was our only requirement. In our exhaustion, we still remembered one recommended Roman food: pizza bianca. We mumbled it to the clerk who sliced big pieces and charged us $3.64. We were ecstatic. We were saved.
We were slap-happy.
The pizza bianca was delivered. In a stunned, exhausted, ravenous silence, we observed the meal we'd walked miles for. Pizza bianca ... "white pizza."
.....IT WAS BREAD.
We turned to each other, faces full of disappointment and regret, the sheer ridiculousness of our predicament sinking in ... and we laughed.
We were starving, so we ate our "pizza bianca," gathered ourselves, and hearded towards our hotel. We picked up some yummy looking pastries to make ourselves feel better. They were all pretty good, but there was one we were especially excited for, a big chocolate ball with sprinkles. We saved it for last, sitting in our hotel room at last, eight miles and six monuments checked off. We bit into it and discovered...
It was bread too.
(We googled "buffetti" later... it means "flips" in English)
Because welcome to the English language.
We couldn't.
Six miles into our day, with only one meal and a granola bar in our tummies, we patiently searched google maps for nearby buffets and located one less than a mile away!
Encouraged, we struck out, tired but optimistic at the promise of endless food. Less than a mile later, we ... struck out when we found the restaurant was closed.
We bit back our tears and turned to google. Google found us a nearby "buffetti" and that was good enough. It was even in the direction of our hotel.
Our pace slowing with every step, our appetite growing steadily out of control, we dragged ourselves down street after street. We made wrong turns, we stumbled deliriously, we nearly gave up hope.
Finally, we made it. We turned the corner to see the neon lights of heavenly glory: "Buffetti." But as we neared the doors, our hopes and dreams of having full bellies were dashed to pieces. "Buffetti" was a book store. And I normally love book stores.
Our spirits crushed, our stomachs rumbling angrily, we turned to the nearest open bakery. It had food and, at this point, that was our only requirement. In our exhaustion, we still remembered one recommended Roman food: pizza bianca. We mumbled it to the clerk who sliced big pieces and charged us $3.64. We were ecstatic. We were saved.
We were slap-happy.
The pizza bianca was delivered. In a stunned, exhausted, ravenous silence, we observed the meal we'd walked miles for. Pizza bianca ... "white pizza."
We turned to each other, faces full of disappointment and regret, the sheer ridiculousness of our predicament sinking in ... and we laughed.
It was bread too.
(We googled "buffetti" later... it means "flips" in English)
Because welcome to the English language.
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