Busy Jack delivers coffee to customers.

Being a vegan in Italia means eating lots and lots of pasta and pizza ma senza formaggio. It seems crazy to most people (Americans and Italians included) that I would avoid the aged Italian mozarella and other cheeses, and it's often difficult to find a plate of food without it.

One of the cafes in Cagli only serves premade panini. I asked (very nicely I thought) if I could have one with solo pomodoro. "No," the woman behind the counter replied in one of the few words I understood at that point. They had one with pomodoro and mozarella, so I would order the Frustino and peel off the obvious unwanted item. Everyday for a week, she would ask me if I wanted it "calda." "Cold?" I asked the first day, as if either of us would guess that "calda" meant "hot." She nodded her head, and I watched her take my frustino into the kitchen to melt the formaggio all over my sandwich. Finding the word for "cold" would be my homework. The next day I had caught on, and quickly responded, "freddo, grazie."

After a few days of wasting precious cheese and eating a rather bland sandwich, I tried Caffe D'Italia. I tried my request for a panino with solo pomodoro and Jack responded confusedly. "Solo pomodoro?" he asked. "Si." I responded pleading, expecting a "no." He asked once more, "Solo pomodoro?" wondering if I really knew what I was asking for, and if I knew what I was passing up in terms of their selection of stinky cheeses and fine meats. "Si," I responded again, thinking perhaps he would come through for me. "Vorresti della lattuga?" he asked if I wanted lettuce! YES!!! "Si! Grazie!" He then shot me a smile as he glanced over to some customers at a nearby table mocking Americani in the nicest way possible. It's slightly better than the "vegan" tag I get at home :)

The customers shared a laugh with me, as Jack disappeared into the kitchen to make me my very own vegan panino on warm, crusty bread. My face turned a brighter shade amidst the smile at my victory. Getting someone to accommodate my unusual eating habits is hard. But when you throw in a language barrier, it becomes a much bigger obstacle. Jack had no more trouble undertanding me than if we spoke in the same tongue. We had a simple exchange of dialogue and I was so thankful to him for helping me!
Caffe D'Italia
The next day, I wandered in at lunchtime. I avoided the glance of the other bartender and looked to catch Jack's eye. He smiled when he saw me, shook his head, and jokingly said "nooooo." I grinned and replied "Per favore?" Of course he would. He disappeared into the kitchen and made me exactly what I wanted. And so it went for two more days, in which I was delighted to have found a sandwich I liked (and on incredible bread!) and a wonderful Cagliese who was trying to help a picky eater--an American picky eater.

Jack smiles as customers enter D'Italia. He jokes as I walk in, "no panino!" 		So, today I went back to Caffe d'Italia. And if Jack hadn't been helpful enough, he surprised me once again. I walked in at the usual time, and he seemed to have been expecting me. He motioned for me to come over to the bar. He brought me around to the refrigerated case of paninis, pulled out one of the shelves, and showed me in the back row, a panino made especially for me. Pomodoro e lattuga. "Grazie!!!" I wanted to just lavish thanks on him, but grazie was all I knew... how frustrating. So I went to the table, and before I took a bite of my prize, I pulled out my dictionary. I walked back in to Jack and fumbled, "tu migliore!" He looked at me a bit confused, so I repeated my terrible, patchwork Italian. He smiled and asked, "I am best?" "Si!" I replied. "Grazie," he smiled.