At this stage in 2021, there are a lot of things that used to seem weird but are no longer the case. Yes, I’m talking about the ubiquitous face masks, the stickers on bus seats that say you can’t sit there, or the absolute disappearance of dining tables inside of eating establishments. I didn’t even bat an eye when I passed a restaurant all closed up with a sign that said, “We’re teleworking”. It’s how we’re still rolling right now. And I don’t really give any of it much of a thought.
Yesterday, however, I came up against a new brick wall of surprise. Much like a movie, pandemic life is a bit like watching a fantasy movie where you go in with a suspension of disbelief. You don’t criticize too much what is being portrayed in front of you. Like shopping malls with taped off sections encouraging people to stand a certain way. Like the interaction between live actor and cartoon in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. But even in a suspension of reality, I do find that there are limits.
Despite all of the restrictions, food continues to be a source of pride and quality reliability here in Italy. I’m talking about traditional Italian food. My favorite local pizza shop consistently sends me off with the most unpretentious yet delicious slices that I can warm up for supper. Even gelato has always been easily procured for takeaway in these freezer ready containers that are custom prepared and located only steps away from the pizzaiolo’s place. That’s the makings of a Friday night dinner after a long week of pandemicking.
But yesterday I was out of my own neighborhood to do some shopping in the area surrounding Vatican City. After a long day of moving about, the best idea in the world seemed to be stopping for some gelato. Just in time to ruin supper. And there is indeed a great shop that I knew of—one that fills the very bottom of your cone with either chocolate or pistachio cream. It’s the opposite of healthy but scores top marks in terms of raising one’s spirits.
Walking into the shop, there are the usual signs, “For takeaway only” and “Only XX people permitted inside at a time” and finally, “No congregating outside as per DPCM regulations”. Like I said in the beginning, these are now normal placards that everyone understands and more or less abides by accordingly.
Once it was our turn to enter the shop, I paid for the gelato before ordering (you always tell them how many flavors you want and then proceed to selecting your stuff). I don’t go out for gelato too often, and as such, I don’t like to deviate from what I really like. This usually involves chocolate and nocciole or hazelnuts. I skip the panna (whipped cream) on top because I don’t think there’s a sufficient psychological payoff to justify the extra bonus calories. But whatever the case, getting a gelato anywhere at any time is a great event.
The person preparing my cone with two flavors had just finished artfully placing the top layer of hazelnut gelato. She topped it off with a thin angle of waffle and I was anticipating her handing it to me. I had big plans to walk outside and move down the street in order to find a spot where it was okay-ish to lower my mask and enjoy. I would obey the rules and not congregate outside with my extremely perishable treat!
But what happened next is the thing I found to be too much. She prepared my ice cream cone to go. There was no discussion, this is now standard operating procedure. First, she placed too pieces of coaster-side paper around each side of the gelato section. They were now stuck together like some creation you’d find at MAXXI—one of Rome’s noted modern art museums. But that wasn’t all. Then, she proceeded to take a paper bag—the kind that might hold a brioche or cornetto—and she inverted it over the cone and covered the entire thing. It was like an ice cream cone had wanted to dress up like a ghost so that it could go out trick-or-treating.
She handed my bag of ice cream-atop-cone across the counter from me. I didn’t need to ask what was going on. I fully understand that these days, all food must be “to go”. Even tiny paper cups of coffee are insistently handed over with tiny plastic lids to discourage lingering. Never mind the fact that it is immediately removed and trashed so that you can spend your 15 seconds enjoying your coffee. It’s ridiculous but is indeed sold within the bounds of current regulations.
I already feel bad when I forget to bring a reusable bag to do my shopping. I try to do a better job of noting how much single-use plastic I interact with every day. I do tend to think that we’re screwing ourselves in terms of our consumption habits, but at least a bit of effort is more than worthwhile. And so this ice cream cone outfit. When she handed it to me, I thought about how they are doing this every day for every client. Perhaps it is keeping the doors of the business open—but this just seemed highly absurd.
When we walked out the exit (always one way in, one way out), right outside the door was a tall trash can. Of course, the receptacle was mostly filled and you can only guess what was inside. This was the business-provided trash that allows you to pause, unmask your ice cream cone and then peel away the protective beverage coasters. All of it goes into the trash, and then you start to eat your ice cream. Just like you always do in Rome (even if there is apparently a standing law that forbids outdoor food consumption).
I threw away the extraneous wrappings and moved to walk down the street. Careful to both protect my cone as well as avoid other people. We all know that these sorts of frozen victuals have a short shelf life. Even the thought of carefully holding my ice cream upright from within my bag until I got home was laughable. Instead of course, I lowered my face mask and started to eat. As expected, the hazelnut was delightful. So was the specific Modica chocolate (the shop offered at least three different versions of chocolate).
As I enjoyed my ice cream, I navigated around some tree stumps and even double-parked cars. I did not blink at the fact that there was an “scuola guida” or “driving school” car parked illegally near an intersection. But in jostling about I did manage to dip the top of my face mask in chocolate ice cream. A bit of a mess and no getting that out anytime soon. I rolled my eyes at my clumsiness while finishing my cone. Then, like a good enough global citizen, I placed my mask back on my face.
Due to the collision with my gelato, it now had a permanent odor of Sicilian chocolate. I’d be replacing my mask at the end of the day, but didn’t worry too much about the now very visible face advertisement that I’d just eaten ice cream. Instead, I just chalked it up to another part of life in the pandemic that no longer looks strange. I still can’t say the same about takeaway ice cream cones.