Here in Italy, the Americans are starving. The Italians eat rich sweets for breakfast, “brioche con marmalada e capppucino”. The croissants are flaky and sweet and the coffee is robust, but we miss our eggs and potatoes. “Asperatte,” they tell us. By noon, we’re too hungry to observe the Italian lunch hour. My newfound friends and I hop on the metro and ride from San Ambrosio to Cadorna, where we switch from the green line to the red and head towards il Duomo.
Yesterday, when we were lead by our community assistants, we politely ate the Italian amount. Today, we are greedy, hungry and armed with new Italian.
Posso
Prendo...
Luini’s is the best place for the cheesy tomato goodness known as panzerotti. In the heart of Milan's historic district, the place is always busy. Today is no exception, the line is already out the door. While others turn around and find other lunches, we've already learned that their's is the best, so we wait.
Here in the land where the customer is always wrong, the lady behind the counter is annoyed with my classmate's fumbling Italian. I practice the words in my head over and over. So far, I've never ordered for myself.
Posso avere due panzerotti normale perfavore.
I order for my friend and feel like a champion. We take our cheesy spoils and sit on the steps of a 500 year old church. I am too happy to be here.
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