Slow down and eat the gelato
By Kelly McLendon
Three weeks ago, I traveled to Florence, Italy, for a delicious and relaxing week. I figured that seven days of good food, afternoon naps with no chance of phone calls waking me up and strolling with no rush would rejuvenate my spirits.
And it did, to be fairly honest. I wined and dined and found myself sleeping in past the 9 a.m. church bells outside of my hotel room window. (That would have never happened at home).
In Florence, there were no alarm clocks. There were no ringing cell phones or an urgency to get into the office. I didn’t feel stressed and I didn’t feel like I needed to go for a rigorous run after my twice-daily gelato breaks.
On my first day in the city, jet-lagged and in an Oscar-the-Grouch mood, I set out with the intention of finding food. I wanted to go from point A to point B, meaning I wanted to get a bowl of pasta, or a plate of risotto, scarf it down and head back to my hotel to sleep the night away. Mind you, it was only 7 p.m. Italian time. Locals don’t even eat dinner there that early. And there I was, ready to go to sleep.
My travel companion asked me why I was in such a terrible mood and if it would trouble me to just slow down, enjoy our walk and decide on a place that had something I really wanted to eat, not just something that was going to be a quick “fix.”
“Plus, you’re going to want dessert,” he said. “I just know it.”
I rolled my eyes and followed him down the winding street. After walking through half the city in uncomfortable shoes (let me just complain some more now . . . ), we settled on a restaurant with white tablecloths and candles lit at the table.
We sat down and the hostess brought us menus.
As we tried to decipher them, I became more and more irritated. Not at the menu, but at myself. I have a habit of turning into the meanest, cruelest person ever when I am hungry.
Turning the tables
When the waitress came back to the table, I eagerly ordered white beans in olive oil and a bowl of peas with bacon. Once I placed the order, she brought out a basket of bread and some cheese. I dug into the bread basket full force, but once I realized I was going to gorge myself on the stuff before my meal, I put down the container of cheese and stopped.
I thought, “why am I rushing?”
After spending years in school with short lunch breaks, I had gotten so accustomed to eating quickly. Lunch breaks where I only had fifteen minutes to scarf down food had taught me nothing but bad things. They weren’t breaks, they were stress fests.
Nobody can be expected to eat in fifteen minutes. I learned in Italy that meals are long celebrations and it’s not abnormal to be sitting at dinner for two or more hours. If the food is delicious, the company is fun and the conversation is lively, this isn’t a problem.
Time to savour
My beans and peas were soon brought out. I relished the taste of the peas. I even closed my eyes when I chewed them. It was like I had never tasted better peas before. I savoured my meal that evening and during the walk back to the hotel, stopped for gelato.
Gelato is another one of those things in Italy that will just urge you to slow down. The lines were long, and picking the flavour combinations is an art form. Figuring out if you want hazelnut on one side of the cone and pistachio on the other certainly takes a few valid moments of thought.
I ordered a menta gelato cone (mint flavored). My friend ordered pistachio. When he got the camera out to take a picture of me with my treat, I tried his gelato.
“Hey!” he said. “I didn’t say you could have mine, too!”
I laughed and let him take the picture. I was having fun and even if I stole some of his cone, he didn’t care that much.
The final test
Over the next few days, I learned to accept what my thoughts and my body were telling me I needed. When I was hungry, I ate. When I was tired, I napped. I didn’t rush to go to dinner and I didn’t rush to wake up. I gave my body time.
I suppose now, back at home, it’s accurate to say that’s exactly what my body ordered: Time. Time to just be. I get stressed and I rush through life most of the time and a few months ago, I found myself in a rut. I didn’t feel like doing anything most days. On my trip, I left the rut (and all of my anxious, stressed-out baggage) at my hotel door.
Because of an observant friend and a city where nothing is rushed, I learned to slow down and take a break.
From now on, I’ll slow down.
I’ll slow down and always, always stop for gelato.
