We’re in Parma, Italy. Today started out great. The sun was shining when we left Bellagio. We drove to Parma via the Autostrada without any problems. Then it started to rain. Then, as described last time, when we reached the Parma exit, we took a wrong turn that took us way off course. Driving in central Parma was chaotic. We were famished. All we wanted to do was to stop and have some lunch in Parma.
We parked the car and went on foot in search for something to eat. We spotted a few tables and umbrellas on the sidewalk, half-way down a narrow street. Was it really a restaurant? And if so, was it open for lunch? It was hard to tell.
Is it a Restaurant? Maybe?
There were a couple of bushes in planters, a small chalkboard with some writing on it, and an open door. It didn’t look like the entrance to a restaurant, though. It looked more like the entrance to someone’s apartment. We didn’t see anyone around, so we decided to sit down at one of the tables.
Pretty soon a young guy came out. He looked surprised to see us, and he was very apologetic for not coming out sooner. He said he was very busy. Busy doing what, we didn’t know. We were the only two people in sight.
He handed us menus and said he’d be right back with some water. In less than a minute, he was back with water. He also brought placemats, silverware, plates, bread in a little basket, olive oil, napkins – all in one trip.
Working quickly, he laid everything out to make a nice table setting. We ordered some vino and he dashed back inside. Things were looking up.
When he came out next time, it was starting to sprinkle. We were fine, but the young waiter insisted on moving us to a more protected table. He moved the whole thing that he’d just set up — placemats, silverware, plates, bread in the little basket, olive oil, napkins, and water – over to the next table, which was completely covered by an umbrella. The whole operation took him all of five seconds. He’d done this a few times.
Time to get Comfortable
It had been quite a day so far, with the hassle on the Autostrada and then in town, trying to find a street that wasn’t in a restricted zone. Not to mention trying not to hit any cars, motor scooters, bicyclists, or pedestrians.
Now it felt great just to sit back and relax. But before getting too comfortable, we knew the young fellow would be back soon to take our order. The day’s special was written on the small chalk board by the door. It said…
Per Oggi – (For Today)
Penne con melanzane (Penne pasta with eggplant,
a funghetto e pomodori mushrooms, and tomatoes.
1 Bicchiere di vino One glass of wine
1 caffe One coffee)
10.00 Euro
It’s hard to go wrong ordering the special of the day. I went with the penne. My Better Half ordered a pasta dish that had “gamberi” in it. She thought this would be tasty because I had explained to her that “gamberi” were little shrimp, which she likes.
Frazzled
I’m going to say now that I must have been a little frazzled from the day’s activities thus far. I had been thinking that a “gamba” is a shrimp. Therefore, “gamberi” would almost certainly mean “little shrimp.” Makes sense, eh?
Except that “gamba” doesn’t mean “shrimp.” It means “leg.” And I knew that. It’s an easy word to learn because “gamba” sounds like “gam,” a slang term for “leg.” Easy to remember and easy to pronounce. A gamba is a leg. “Bracci” are arms. Your head is your “testa.” Etc. Easy. But for some reason, I was thinking that “gamba” was the word for “shrimp.”
(“Gambas” on menus in Mexico means “prawns,” but we’re in Italy, so that’s not much of an excuse).
The real word for shrimp is “gamberetto.” (Plural = gamberetti). And I knew that, but somehow that bit of information was not in a part of my brain that was connected to anything else. So it never occurred to me that if a gamberetto is a shrimp, a “gamba” is probably a bigger version of a shrimp.
Where is Everybody?
It was so relaxing, sitting there on the sidewalk, under an umbrella, sipping vino. It was strange, though. We’d discovered that Parma is a bustling town. But the little street we were on was deserted.
And here we were, sitting here on the sidewalk in front of a non-descript door that supposedly led to a restaurant. It would have been reassuring if there were some other people out here, having lunch. Maybe a window where we could see people happily eating inside. A sign saying “Ristorante” would have been nice.
On the other hand, we were out of the car. We were sitting down, sipping vino, and the guy taking care of us seemed to know what he was doing. Things could be worse.
To be continued…
