Everyone knows Venice to be one of the most
romantic cities in existence, with its picturesque canals and its breath-taking gondolas.
And it is. I know so from my visit there a few years ago. But I remember it not
for its canals. Or for its gondolas. Or for the little bridges you have to duck
for while on a gondola. Or for its beautiful churches. I remember it for its
fridge magnets and for the pizzas.
About the fridge magnets, perhaps another time.
But for now, more about the pizzas. Perhaps this makes sense, since I was
in the land of pizzas and pastas and ravioli. But what really made it memorable
was that the pizza I ate was pretty strange by most standards.
Now, since I was a child, I have had a very
strange taste in food. My mother tells me that when all other parents told their
kids to eat spinach so that they would be like Popeye, it was hard to make me
stop. I hate the pizzas that are sold in Mumbai. I love vegetables, including Brussels
sprouts and broccoli. A large salad with an ice tea makes a good meal for me. I
like the taste of mustard. And I love bitter gourd. So yeah, I have a strange taste
in food.
But I was thankful for it when I went to Venice.
After a leisurely gondola ride and a pretty relaxing trip on the
town-bus/water-taxi type contraptions, we walked around, admiring the quaint
little place and searching for lunch. We spent into one of the many
not-so-different traditional Italian food places around town, hoping for quality
vegetarian food. I went through the menu, through a list of the regular pizza fare-
pepperoni, chicken, margherita, tomato basil, and more.
Then I stumbled upon something that seemed
pretty novel and awesome, at least to me. A spinach and cheese pizza! I was
pretty excited, actually, and when it came and I bit into its cheesy,
crisp-leafy goodness, my life was changed forever. I have never ever looked at pizzas
the same way, ever again!
