Tuscan Food Dream


In the middle of the night,

I find myself back in Italy,

In the market of my hometown,

Surrounded by flavors all around.

I am in a food sanctuary;

In front of me is a luring vision:

Prosciutto, “finocchiona” (the king of salami),

Mortadella, pecorino,

Parmigiano and mozzarella.


I have the irresistible urge

To make myself a panino,

With warm Tuscan bread

Made fresh by the baker,

Who woke up early in the morning

To combine with his hands

Not just flour, yeast and water,

But also, his fervid passion and love

For creating savory food

To rock me all day long.


Eating after midnight,

In the dark of my room,

May seem like an unfair transgression

To my already exhausted stomach,

Mistreated and abused,

Condemned without parole

To obey my gluttony,

My avid desire for grabbing

Funky, tasty, delicious food.


But then again,

This is just a dream;

I can eat all I want

Without ruining my figure.

I can gain a few extra pounds,

Without feeling guilty for my liver,

That is working overtime,

Mixing and matching enzymes,

Digesting unnecessary calories.



Dreaming of eating

At the corner of Via Cavour,

Downtown in busy Florence,

It’s frankly just my brain,

In the mood to play

A melancholic sensation

That comes and goes,

While I am sleeping,

With one eye open and one closed.


However, one day (indeed, very soon)

When I go visit my hometown,

I will have that panino

That I think is called “torpido.”

I will breathe in and out … out and in.

Then I will take a bite,

Crunching slowly into the bread,

Tasting each ingredient,

Thanking everybody who,

With devoted gusto,

Made the art of eating

Stimulating for the appetite,

Indulging for the body,

And enjoyable for the mind …


Pardon, one more thing …

Don’t forget that glass of Tuscan wine!

Thank you and Buon Appetito!




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