Where style buys you graces….

The Italians have style, panache and finess and this allows them to get away with proverbial murder.

Take the very small espresso. A drink that is as critical to their very survival as tea is to the Brits, it is not the most manly of beverages but yet the gruffest of men turn this dainty beverage into a frat boy slammer.

At our local Gelateria we are welcomed with the same level of dread as the cafe at the top of the hill. Those working at the Gelateria, being more eloquent than Rufus, are not concerned about language barriers but rather the Herculean effort it will take to have orders placed. Apparently 25 minutes is the standard amount of time required for four boys to settle on one flavor each before we can take our customary seat at the long table in the back. The very back. Out of site. Out of mind. There, four gelatos, one espressina fredo (don’t challenge the spelling) and one large bottle of fizzy water are consumed with a fever and attention that is rarely seen.

On one such occasion I heard the door of the café open and in strolled four boisterous lads, each well over six feet, looking like they were ready to down a few pints. With chests puffed they march up to the bar and ordered four itsie-bitsie-teenie-weenie espressos. The dichotomy of these massive human beings ordering a drink in a toy sized cup did not go unnoticed. As the drinks were poured four massive hands came out and with pinky fingers standing to attention they took their first delicate sip.
Somehow what should have looked ridiculous was as imposing as shots of tequila.

I would never be able to make  Emma Bridgwater look this rebellious!

While Italians do swim in a pool of style and charisma they have some questionable choices of clothing, but when the pool is deep and you can swim who cares! We are all guilty of bad clothing. Take the take top. A small amount of cloth that is rarely washed and under which is an alleged six pack and out of which protrude alleged defined arms; the result of a dedicated gym goer….. or moonshine distiller. The Italian counter part in contrast chooses the speedo which in interchangeable with running shorts, though he would never dream of actually running. Now, the problem with many small items of clothing is that they are not good for holding one’s wallet and iPhone. To overcome this indisposition the Italians proudly carry their man’s bag.  Some carry an option that is slung on a diagonal across the shoulder while others, in an attempt to avoid tan lines, choose what looks suspiciously like a re-used camera bag that is strapped to their hip and then lashed around their upper thigh as if they are ready for war. It is not uncommon to see the door to the cafe swing open and there with light beaming down upon him and the sound track of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly playing a bronzed shirtless man will enter the room and with the swagger of Clint Eastwood saddle up to the bar to order his macho espresso….with his man’s bag strapped to the hip. If there is a female at the bar she will inevitable swivel on her stool, eye his pouch and swoon. No sunburned Brit could pull this off and for sure no German or Dutch has ever triumphed.

Espressos can be enjoyed everywhere and anywhere and the quality is never in question even at highway rest stops. While driving to Siena from Puglia we found that these rest stops were far more than a place to empty bladders and fill tanks. Here one can buy snacks, souvenirs, toys, and in fact do most of your grocery shopping. If, however, it is stifling hot and your nerves are frayed from near fatal crashes you may be inclined to trade the afternoon espresso for a long cold Peroni.  Indeed these rest stops welcome you with a full bar ready to help you unwind. It is quite normal to see a couple of old timers leaning casually against the bar blowing off the heads of a couple of cold ones. This doesn’t in anyway seem to be a conflict of interest to road or personal safety and beers are consumed at a slow and leisurely pace. If, after your beer, you suddenly realize that you are fresh out of hair gel, condoms and cream for your herpes, don’t panic, the rest stop has you covered. It is truly full service and only plausible in Italy.

With confidence and grace, the Italians prove you can get away with anything.