Unordinary

A few steps away from Arezzo's monastery-turned-college dormitory sits an unassuming pastry shop: Pasticceria F. Illi Bruschi. You may miss it if not for the comforting smell of bread that wafts into the otherwise stinky street. The shop sits usually empty, save for a few loyal patrons I've seen in the window on my morning walks. 

Brush up on your Italian. With no paper menu and no knowledge of the Italian language to ask, I pleadingly pointed to a croissant shaped like a bear claw donut, drizzled with a white frosting of an unknown flavor. I stumbled through the entire ordering and checkout process, learning along the way that affirme means "sign here" and not "click the green button.” 

I slumped into a chair and began to pick at my pastry. Nothing about this town feels like home, but there was something in either the unnamed treat or eclectic decor that comforted me. The croissant was quite ordinary. In fact, it was a little dry, perhaps from sitting out since 7 a.m. But the frosting, later in my journey revealed to be lemon, was reminiscent of the glaze of a Starbucks lemon loaf. 

That's probably quite sacrilegious for many Italians, but it was nice to me. The mismatched chairs and antiques felt like sitting in my grandma's home. No music was heard, only the sounds of the cars that passed by. It was cozy. 

This pastry in no way altered my brain chemistry. Maybe I simply made the wrong choice at the wrong time. But sometimes, food doesn't need to change your life. Sometimes all you need is a reminder of home.

​