Roma, dear

We’ll leave for the holidays on Monday. We love that forbidden feeling. So today a nice Saturday out in Rome, playing the tourist and indulging in self-indulgence.

The most perfect cappuccino with a fantastic cornetto. The fall/winter fashion in the magazines. A nice breeze, a kissing sun. The perfect pizza bianca con mozzarella, fiori di zucca e alici and a tall glass of that magic bar-made iced tea that you still find in some cafés, not sugary, with a spoon of lemon granita. Bliss! And windows adorned of pervenche-blue plumbago next to the Pantheon. Hmmm…I’m enjoying the savor of the city. And Rome is doing her best to make us stay.

And then, after a nice walk – zac! The disappointing moment arrives. A small event epitomizing many of the things we hate in Italy. This one:

This time round I paid and said nothing. Because this will be the last time. It’s not worth complaining anymore.

Only ten days ago I would have argued with the café owner. I price things for a living and I cannot stand when people make a fool of me.

An affogato al caffé is an ice-cream ball drowned in a cup of espresso. Now, the price of a cono with one ice cream ball is about 2 euro. The price of an espresso at the counter ranges from 0.80 euro to 1.30 euro (at Caffé Greco – but Vitti is no historic café). Now someone explain me why at the counter for an espresso and one ice cream ball – no extra labor-intensive value added – I should pay 5 euro instead of something in the region of 2.80 – 3.30 eur.

You’ll have to do without me, belli miei. Go screw someone else…may your quick bucks be the last.

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