Cornettos, Cornettos, Cornettos!

Well, having already touched on and analyzed the espresso, I thought I'd move onto the other half of the typical Italian breakfast, the cornetto. The word cornetto translates to what we call a croissant, and I'll tell you, I was thrilled to be given the license to eat one or more a day. Cornettos in Italy mostly aren't as light or flaky as some of the better ones I've had at places such as Pain Perdu here in Toronto or in some of the better boulangeries in Montreal, so I suppose less butter is used and the dough and cold butter are folded over into one another less in the process of making it. At good pasticcerias (pastry or cake shops) the variety of cornettos was often astounding. I didn't take any pictures within pasticcerias for fear of looking like a tourist (as if The Mixmaster's backpack and my map didn't give us away), but they often contained long, gleaming glass cases filled with every type of pastry imaginable: little tartlets fill with custard and topped with fresh fruit, these cunning little shell-like things that appeared to be filled with custard, and cakes, cakes, cakes.

On the average day in Rome, The Mixmaster would sleep in a little and take her time getting dressed, while I would shower more quickly and pop down to Squisito for my morning cappuccino. Then I would walk over to the corner of Via Merulana and Via dei Statuto where there was a lovely pasticceria (if I bought our cornettos from there, they were about 30 euro cents cheaper than if I got them from Squisito, and the selection was much better; we paid about 80 euro cents or about 1.50$ per cornetto). I went to the slightly stern woman at the cash, paid for our cornettos, then went and served myself at the counter. They were apricot jam-filled, custard-filled, chocolate-filled wonders, they were topped with apple slices or powdered sugar or chocolate crumbs; I'm getting nostalgic just thinking about it. The Mixmaster and I would eat our lovely pastries on the train to Pompei, or in a piazza as a mid morning snack, or in our hotel room, while we planned our day's excursions.
One little caveat: er, after several days of indulgence in white flour pasta and white flour cornettos, the average health conscious North American might wish that they had packed their psyllium husk along with their Gravol and Pepto Bismol. Apparently I hadn't been thinking! Because I didn't know what sort of help I'd get at the local pharmacia if I went in and said, "Mi scusi signore, vorrei Metamucil, per favore" (excuse me sir, I'd like Metamucil, please)!