What kind of a fourth generation Italian girl would I be if I didn’t talk about all of the amazing food I’ve consumed in Italy? I’ve been having the most amazing meals at this place called Mensa. Three course meals complete with all kinds of pasta with homemade pomodoro sauce and fresh parmesan, pan seared fish, veal, chicken paillard and sides of tossed salad, steamed vegetables and potatoes only to be finished with a glass of red wine and a side of cheese and fresh fruit. And to top it off (and be a total American), it serves the best pizza margherita I’ve ever eaten.
Here’s the part where I tell you that Mensa means cafeteria in Italian—and yes, the aforementioned establishment is my university cafeteria.
Now back in the U.S. my cafeteria, lovingly referred to as the caf, isn’t necessarily a place where dreams are made. However, I always find something to eat and I never go hungry, so I really can’t complain—but let’s just say as soon as I’m able to get off the meal plan, I’ll jump at the opportunity. Sure the staff is lovely, there’s a variety of food and you can always count on the salad bar, the cereal counter and the soft serve ice cream machine; but I’ll be honest, the food isn’t stellar.
When I found out I would be on the meal plan at my university in Milan I really didn’t expect much. I figured the food would be fine and if it wasn’t, hey, there’d always be cereal. Little did I know “mensa” would be on par with some of the best Zagat rated Italian restaurants in New York. In Italy, one would say mensa is a place “dove si mangia bene,” a place where one can eat well…very well.
Unfortunately, mensa was not quite as easy to navigate as your average American cafeteria. Unlike my buffet style cafeteria in the U.S., where you can take whatever you want and have as much as you want, there are three meal options at mensa. There is the primo piatto, which comes with the first course dish, a side and a dessert, the second piatto which comes with the second course dish and a dessert and the completa which comes with the first and second course dishes, a side and a dessert. All options come with bread, fruit or cheese and a drink. Did I mention the drink options include red or white wine and Heineken?
My first time at mensa was intimidating to say the least. I was completely flustered by the influx of native Italian speakers and, after 8 years of Italian classes, blanked on all of my food vocabulary. So I went with the pizza margherita. Of course, the pizza chef started speaking to me in Spanish, making me even more flustered than I already was. Apparently it was obvious I was a foreigner and since the chef only knew Italian and Spanish, he picked me to be Spanish.
By day two I was confident enough in my food vocabulary to order a real meal. I decided I would bypass the first course pasta dish and go for some chicken paillard, a side salad and a peach. It was the closest I could come up with to resemble my usual lunches at home. I was perfectly content with my decisions until I reached the pay counter to swipe my card. After two minutes of being scolded in Italian (which is not as glamorous as it sounds) and responding with lots of “che” and “non capisco” (what? I don’t understand), I was allowed to go sit down with my meal, but only after the attendant sighed and rolled her eyes at me. This whole mensa thing was turning out to be a lot more stressful than I imagined.
So in a desperate attempt to master the ways of the Italian cafeteria, my friend and I spent our whole time at lunch staring at everyone else’s lunch trays. And in return, everyone stared at ours. Only everyone stared at our trays in horror and contempt—leave it to the Americans to come to Italy and order salad and chicken for lunch, only the most important meal of the Italian day.
After days of studying Italian student’s trays and walking into the cafeteria with a pit in my stomach, kind of like I was taking the SAT’s every afternoon, I mastered the rules of mensa. Apparently on my first day, I ordered the second course dish and a side, which falls into neither the primo piatto category nor the secondo piatto category. I tried to explain to them that they could just charge me for the completa then, seeing as I did not want the pasta, but they wouldn’t have it. So to avoid further confrontation with the mensa staff (and my irrational fear of the cashier) I just order the completa every time. Even if you don’t want every course, you just have to put it on your plate.
Now that I can waltz in like a real Italian student, who knows the rules and knows how to order politely, I really enjoy my meals at mensa. The food is, like I said, on par with fine dining in the U.S., and I get to practice living like an Italian—3 course lunch and all. I also get to watch what all of the other Italian students eat. Then I sulk in the corner and curse them for being able to mindlessly eat a week’s worth of carbs in one sitting. Until I learn their secret, I’m sticking with the side salad. Baby steps.
You can catch up on the rest of my Italian journey here:
Che Sara Sara
In The Land of George Clooney
Wine Over Water