It’s been like 8 years (whoa!) since I’ve written one of these posts. Back then, I wrote Thirty Minutes of Rome Randomness. I’m older now, so it takes me longer. So here I give you: one week of Rome randomness.
I caught this one in the S. Paolo metro stop the other day. I dunno, folks. I mean, I suppose it’s entirely possible that a parking lot has been set up adjacent to the elevators. I mean, right? This is Rome. City where it would seem pretty much anything is possible. But, … hmmm. My money is on the fact that there is just something off about having a parking sign in front of the elevators. (Not to mention the fact that there actually ARE elevators! Wow! Accessibility in a metro stop!) Yeah, yeah, I hear you. You’re saying that the little bicycle part of that sign got covered up by some sticker. Fine. I’ll give you that. But frankly, it’s not like there was a bike rack or anything. That’s just outside the station. So. Explain that to me, please?
Well, now, lookie what we’ve got here! Some sort of chimney-like barbeque grill contraption. Yes, folks. These are pretty common in Italian “giardini” (read: backyards) or, if you’re lucky enough to have a big balcony, I’ve seen them also set up on apartment balconies (some people have balconies as long as their entire apartments.) So, ok. Fair enough, right? But, come closer. Have a look at that sign.
This ain’t any ol’ BBQ, folks! OH, no! This here’s a CATHOLIC barbeque. Shall I insert some smart-alecky one-liner that somehow brings in the Pope and/or the hot priest of the month calendar? Yeah, no. Let’s just say your sausage will be both raked over the coals and simultaneously blessed.
Question, though: what on earth will you drink at your grill-fest? Why, MGD, of course!
This one wins this week’s “Are You Fucking Kidding Me?” award. (I’m really rooting for it to become a new internet acronym. Start using it. We’ll have a revolution on our hands. Next time you tweet, be like: #AYFKM!!?? The punctuation is obligatory. But I digress.)
No, seriously, people. Where did I take this shot? Eataly. Now, I’ve been a bit of an underdog champion for Eataly. But this just sort of makes all that blow back up in my face. Because, well… let’s just hop on over to Eataly’s website and do a little poking around for some sort of mission statement or something, so we can hold it up for all to see and try to get some sarcastic public shame-festing going on.
Oh, hell, before we even search, let’s just attack them on their tagline: “Alti Cibi.” A.k.a. “high foods,” alluding to foods of above-average quality, I suppose. Yes, that’s Miller Genuine Draft, for sure. Champion of all backyard barbeques across the land. Of America.
Well, on their site the link to download the press kit is broken. Nice. Plus, they misspelled refrigerators. I notice b.s. like that. I get the point here. They want to offer a wide variety of beers, I guess from around the world. Ok, fine. If you’re going to do that, at least have the dignity to select artisanal beers. But: boh. I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to forgive them for offering MGD. I mean, if you’re going to go there, Eataly, then hell. Just put 6 packs of plastic-ringed Pabst, no?
I meant this:
Or, actually, just put what my WWII vet grandpa used to have perenially glued to his hand at all family functions: a golden can of Miller High Life. A.k.a. “The Champagne of Beers.” Photographic supporting evidence, you say? Happy to oblige.
Does anyone even remember these? Do they still sell this? I mean, come on, Eataly. Get your shit together.
Fine, and I’ll go there, finally. Yes. They are *kinda sorta* like the McDonald’s of Italian cuisine. Reason being? Well, come on now. Just look:
Is it just me, or do those look like french fry fryers? I mean, I should know. That was my first job at age 16. Fry cook.
But no! Them there’s is pasta boilers. Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re saying: But Shelley, so what? All Italian restaurants use bollitori. I know that. I just liked the visual impact of a massive pasta boiler bank. It gives the impression I needed. And, hey, you: stop criticizing! This blog was free to get into, it’s not like you paid a cover charge or something. Chill!
O.K. Last one, from Brek Cafe. Ahem, wait. We need musical accompaniment to fully experience this. Cue James Brown, please.
Ok, now we can do this:
It’s like: “Oh, Brek. I see what you were trying to do there.” And then, there’s a sort of semi-epic fail. I mean, it’s not epic, by any means. You can tell they meant well. I guess they just didn’t really get that we don’t say the word “food” like “foot.” Or something. Mah!
Oh, love you Rome, love you love you love you truly truly true la la…