A Pie in the Eye

Since I was told by a Neapolitan to eat only seafood or pizza here, today was pizza day.

My first stop was the local museum where artifacts dating back to the 4th and 5th centuries b.c. were on display in three small rooms, some not even behind glass.

Etruscan and Roman vases, jewelry, funerary jugs, bowls and such were dug up nearby, thereby proving just how long the area of Vico Equense had been inhabited.

The Renaissance got nothing on this part of Italy.

After the audio tour by a woman in a clipped British accent, I went wandering the streets again, stopping to buy fruit (a couple of the shopkeepers are starting to recognize me now) and to change dollars to Euros, a process that had the teller recounting the money no less than four times).

Up near the piazza where the old men sit and talk  about the women who walk by, I was thrilled to come upon a poster advertising live music Friday night and made a note of where and when.

I am long overdue for more than gypsy subway buskers.

As I strolled the streets, all of a sudden it began to rain and I took cover under a construction overhang to wait it out.

It was actually quite pleasant; I had a view of the garden of a villa across the street and watched as the tropical pants were soaked and greener looking by the time the shower stopped.

Eventually, I came upon Pizzzaeria di Franco and ducked in to find two women having espressos and waiting  it out.

Caffeine was of no interest to me but lunch was and the pizza looked good.

Choosing a slice of ham and corn pizza, I took a chance on the unlikely sounding combo only to be quite satisfied with the combination of flavors.

Sweet corn and the ubiquitous salty ham were a match made in heaven.

On the walls were old black and white photos, presumably of Franco and his son (?) grandson (?) rolling out dough and shaping pies.

By the time I left, the streets were barely wet and the Italian sun was back out in force.

Everyone here tells you that the sun always shines in Italy and they are not far off.

Strolling back to the hotel along the road that follows the bay, a man came up behind me and inquired what language I spoke, Italian, French or English.

When I admitted to English, he responded, "I hope to dream you when I go to sleep tonight."

I probably made a mistake thanking him, because his answer was "Fantastico!"

At this point, I had the sense to walk away.

I had visiting to do in the evening and while attending the sick, the rain returned in force.

Waiting it out meant that by the time I hit the streets, they were deserted.

Apparently in Vico, weather determines restaurant hours and by 10ish, my choices were few.

I found a welcoming open door at Wembley, an unlikely British place with a few customers escaping the rain and not much more going on.

When I inquired about food, I was instructed to go downstairs where I found not another person.

There was a vaulted ceiling made of stones, an old black and white photo of Merchisson Castle School class of 1888 through 1889, some vintage cameras and a sign for the British Ladies Open 1929.

Besides the absence of intelligent life, it hardly seemed like my kind of place.

Just as I turned to leave, a server came down, eager to serve.

I wound up ordering a sausage and broccoli pizza, which, when it arrived, turned out to be sausage and broccoli rabe, fine with me.

I ate maybe a third of the good sized pie before throwing in the towel, much to my the amazement of my server.

Explaining that I was full, he left me alone with my pie as if to give me time to finish it off.

But apparently what he had done was alert the kitchen because moments later two of the cooks arrived to find out what I did not like about my pie.

Ever try to assure pizza makers that you have just reached your threshold for food?

I have and they do not believe you.

After much Italian and English back and forth, we settled for me taking two leftover containers home so no one would have hurt feelings.

Oh, and by the way?

Fantastico as it was, I have had enough pizza for a while.

Let us just say that I hope to dream seafood when I go to sleep tonight.