A Bit of Grease

I would kill someone right now if I knew it would result in a greasy, hot, juicy piece of ground beef with crispy oil drenched fries on the side. Yes I said "kill." I am a woman with PMS and I am not afraid to use it.

I just got home and fried myself a tuna sandwich, but it just was not the same. I love Italian food and I love the fact that it is healthier than American, but sometimes you just need a big bowl of nachos smothered in chunks of meat from various unknown and possibly repulsive origins, topped with onions, fake aged moldy milk that in the States is known as cheese, a whopping dab of sour cream, all stuck together by dripping grease.

About a month ago when I had this same undying yearning, I went to a Danny Rock for a hamburger. It was good, it was healthy. But it was too good, too perfect. The beef did not have the fat that makes a burger stick together and ooze juice when you cut into it. Don’t get me wrong, I frequent that place all the time, but you cannot get proper American food in Italy. You just can’t. Maybe I am wrong and it exists, an American burger in Florence. Maybe that will be a future article — THE HUNT FOR RED BEEF!!!

But until then I am left with watching episodes of The Hills, drooling while toothpick blonds, whose every and only emotion results in a sunny California blinding white-tooth smile, nosh at the hottest restaurants in L.A., with their big fat glasses of water decorated by a lemon hanging on the side (I only watch it because MTV is one of the only Web site that allows people outside the U.S. to access episodes).

Of course there is an occasional person who asks me “what do you miss about the States?” It is then that I make the burger confession and it is then that they suggest McDonalds.

I had a date two days ago with a southern Italian and upon hearing that I missed hamburgers, he insisted on bringing me to the yellow-arches. In the States I would dump a man for this and thinking of that made me laugh while we were eating. He asked me why I thought it was funny to be brought to McDonalds on a date. I tried to explain but the answer got lost in translation.

No, Mickey D’s did not satisfy my craving. For one, it tastes different here; they may change the recipes for Italian tastes. Secondly, when I asked the cashier for a cheeseburger, she said that they did not have any made. Are you kidding? This is the difference in countries, Italians do not share the moto “customer first” with the States. I used to work at McDonalds and I would never, never, never tell someone “no.” I would rush the people working the grill to fill an order ASAP.

Lastly, McDonalds is much more expensive. Customers have to pay for mayonnaise and ketchup. Unbelievable. So here I am writing in my bed, wondering when. When will I be able to afford a ticket to return to the States and gorge myself on fast food?

Lead Photo: My last meal before boarding the plane to Italy.