I’ve lately been experiencing a resurgence in my Italophiliacity. It’s in my blood, it’s in my bones. The allure of the culture, the sounds, the smells, ebbs and flows. Right now it’s flowing.
Fever dreams of traffic racing at a standstill beneath a golden orb. Roadblocks outsmarted by deathwish-bound drivers jockeying for parking, gleaming marble sculptures of maidens, monsters and heroes bursting forth from plumes of aqueduct water. The etiquette and ritual of impeccably (and occasionally outlandishly) dressed denizens, moving at one and a quarter speed, except after a meal of deep-fried delicacies and gelato, when they melt into their outfits. And of course – the almighty overseer watching it all- The Almighty Catholic church.
It’s not Italy. Not exactly. It’s Rome. And you can’t have Rome (nor feverdreams of same) without its most famous monuments. Colosseums, fountains, popes.
And if these monuments are made out of fucking pizza?
Well, you pretty much just put Rome on a thousandwordsworth novelty keychain, stamped it ad alta velocità and sent it by wavelength to my subconscious.
Mamma Mia non possso creder!! Prudence Staite – tu sei com’e un dio con la forza creare Roma nella mia mente. Grazie! E’ semplice, sublime, e troppo perfetto
Grazie anche a Webecoist, chi mi ha mostrato questo cosa incredibile – le sculture de pizza dough! Che magnifico!
500 pizzas worth of pizza dough – you couldn’t have sacrificed yourself for a more noble cause.
Unfortunately, in real-life, Pope Bendict XVI is a controversy-mongering clod. But made out of pizza he’s dee-licious.