Sunday, February 15


Aka bakery... it's easy to remember because it breaks down into pane (bread) and ufficio (office)... panificio.

I go to the same bakery everyday. It's on the way home from Punkone's school. There's another but it's bigger and faster. There's a man with a dog that camp out in front of mine. The dog was wearing a person's vest for awhile then one day he had on a propper dog coat. The bakery is on a stretch of the street that has a covered walkway, so it's probably a dry spot to sit if you haven't got anywhere else to go.

The bread is separated into bins along the wall behind the counter. There are bretzels (the b is right) and grissini too. On the counter are all the cookies and sweets, a few slices of pizza, some olive bread, donuts and croissants. They call the donuts krafen. The smell of cumin lingers.

Buona sera! With a smile. How nice, buona sera with a smile.

There are two different women who run the bakery, equally nice. They smile at my rough Italian, correct me if I ask, humor me when I need to rely on hand waving and pointing. Once in a while they add a pack of cookies or some sweet bread to my bag. They ask about the kids if they don't come in with me. They wish me a good Sunday on Friday, just in case they don't see me before then.

There are so many different varieties of bread, it's taken us more than a year and a half to decide what our regular favorite is. I just try a different one every time and note how fast it disappears. Well, it's all good, so we were on a rotation of sorts. Finally, I had a whole loaf of a bread that was light and dense at the same time, a light crunchy crust and Matteo said it was awesome. Bingo! Those are the words I need to hear.

So now I know what I want. I usually buy the whole loaf. Still haven't figured out the name of it. But it's always at the end, so I just ask for the bread at the end. That makes them smile and I'm not quite sure why. Sometimes fine, finito, can mean dead if you use it with the wrong verb. Maybe I'm saying something that sounds strange. They'd never tell me so.

I'll add a piece of the bread with cumin if the smell gets me to craving it.

There's a small cooler for eggs and butter, milk and yogurt. I grab a liter of milk while she's weighing the bread. I keep the change in my pocket for the guy at the corner who plays the accordion.

A fine life, this one. I mean yours too ;)


  1. It sounds like a very fine life indeed! I can fairly smell that bread!

  2. this post has made me so hungry! i'm off to find some bread.
    love wilwarin
    p.s. thanks for following my blog!

  3. Anonymous4:16 PM

    The one thing we are missing in the states is going to the market vendors each day. We pack our cars with loads of groceries at one time where it sits in the pantry waiting to be eaten or thrown away.

    I know I'd enjoy a daily visit to the nice bakery ladies.

  4. My husband gets up before I do and sometimes, when he's feeling extra nice, he goes to the bakery and buys fresh goodies for me.

    I am a bakery fan.

  5. How interesting it must be to learn and experience different ways of doing things. I always find travel humbling. Europe seems so much more civilized somehow, quieter, more relaxed in enjoying living. I was in Italy for two weeks two years ago. You're making me want to return. By the way, I think I had the best food I've ever eaten while we were there.

  6. We do NOT have a decent bakery in our neighborhood and your post just reminded me of how lovely one would be...


...and you may ask yourself, did I get here?