The journey from Italy to South Carolina is over. After two weeks spent hunting for a house, we’re in one and waiting for the deal to close. Everything is working out well so far, except…
There’s no caffe machiatto, no cheap and delicious red wine from the local sfusi dispensers, no grana padano cheese at the local Piggly Wiggly. Instead, we have grits, fried everything, and fruit flies hovering over the produce in the grocery store. (where, incidentally, nobody puts on those little plastic gloves to handle the b-nanners)
I grew up dumb and happy, eating American food, American style. I still love my country and its cuisine, but I’m having a little culture shock issue here.
Is America a culinary wasteland? I don’t really believe that. There are islands of greatness in the food landscape, even in South Carolina. The farmers’ markets scattered around the countryside are wonderful, and I’ve never tasted better tomatoes than what’s available here. We’ll adjust as we always have.
Right now, I’d be happy to get some furniture. And I miss my bicycle.
In three more days, I return to work. Then it’s a two-year race for the finish line to military retirement. I wonder where we’ll settle permanently. Or will we? Food will be a factor in deciding the right place to sink roots.