The Runaway Cook

Why is it that every place in italy seems to have different plugs? I mean I purchased this big, heavy converter from Amazon.com that claimed to work for plugs across Italy and Germany, but apparently Italy as many shapes and sizes of outlets as they do kinds of pasta.

So my friends,  this evening I am out looking for a converter plug. I have left my hostel in Salerno (yes I'm back in Salerno but actually visiting this town rather that getting out as fast as possible) and am walking between skinny brick alleys crayoned dark on the edges by vespa fumes and dirt. The sunlight skips through the hanging laundry, open shutters, and little mettle balconies. I need a general store but, it's late tonight and many of the stores or closing or closed in the main square. To top that off it's the weekend tomorrow and many stores will be closed, so it's now or never.

After about 20 minutes of meandering, I happened upon this small square with a grocery store, deli, general store and a couple white tents in the center. Steam is rising underneath the pale canopies, creating a foggy haze around the lamps. Th salty aroma is flooding this small piazza and people take gray paper cones filled with crisp fish, skin still gleaming beneath the crunchy film of batter.

Behind these steaming tents are several very steep steps leading to the cramped doorway leading to a room filled with little boxes and bottles smooshed together on shelves that line every wall. I scan the shelves looking for anything that resembles a plug or a cord, but see nothing.  

The hefty, 5-ft, older woman  heads my direction and says "prego" (welcome) then asks me what I want. I can't understand her and ask if she speaks english. She says no and we try to sign to each other which really doesn't work. She gets louder, as if yelling in Italian will somehow help me understand her. I am about to leave when she makes me to follow her out to the stoop. She stands there next to me and hollers will all her might does anyone speak English? and continues hollering "English" over and over. I am mortified and everyone in this small pizza, including the people frying the fish, are all staring at me on this pedestal of old steps.

Just when I think, "God what is going to happen next?" an older gentleman  peeks out from the grocer's canopy. He motions me over and I step over the line of tile that marks the boarder of the piazza from the inside of his 7'x15' shop. flats of fruit and shelves of juice and water make me think there's probably not a plug here either.  I speak with the old man, whose kind eyes reassure my thoroughly embarrassed self and he explains that all the stores selling that item are closed and will be closed tomorrow.

My eyes let out the whimper that I make inside me. He smiles, and tells me to wait right there. He leaves to the back room and I decide to buy some peaches, oranges, and water while I wait.  Finally he comes back and in his hards are a few black converter plugs. he says he didn't know which plug was american so he just grabbed all he had hoping one would work. I am in awe at his sweetness. He indeed found an american plug. When I ask him how much I owe him. He wont take a cent. I insist but he also insists.

"When are you leaving Salerno?"
"Tuesday."
"Then just bring it back before you go. (Very big smile)"

Although some of them yell, curse at me in a foreign language, and scoff at my American tendencies and accent, there are some that make me shed tears from their kindness. But, I love them all anyway!

However, I have a feeling that the little, old man from Salerno will always have a special place in my heart.

Original photo from:http://www.landbigfish.com/images/recipes/BEER-BATTER-FRIED_SARDINES.jpg