I don’t know exactly how to put my feelings into words right now. I’m a little bit anxious, enormously elated, somewhat full but not yet content. I don’t think there’s a single word to sum it up. It’s almost too much for one person to handle. Today is the day the new gelateria opens her doors, and for her inauguration, the owners are giving away free icecream. Yes. Stop what you are doing. This is actually happening. I literally can’t even.

It’s no surprise that Italians take gelato very seriously. They take every food very seriously. If I had given them a lukewarm response following the devouring of said icecream, I may have been knifed. But that’s not to say they don’t have every right to be proud. Pasta, lasagna, risotto. Pizza for Christ sake! The world is a better place with their iconic dishes. God I’m getting hungry just writing this. 

I have a love/hate relationship with food. I love food but I hate what some of those foods do to me. Kinda similar to the way I feel about Kanye to be honest. My mother raised my sisters and I to expect that if certain tasks weren’t completed, there would be no reward. So if we didn’t eat everything on our plate, there would be no desert. There would be no icecream. Oh the horror. And these weren’t baby sized meals either. My mother grew up on a farm, ergo, we were brought up with an appetite that would enable us to shear sheep, lasso cattle and whatever else farm people do (clearly that’s where our childhood similarities end). In fact, I’m still convinced that had we remained in the USA, instead of moving to Australia, we would have made a killing touring county fairs as competitive eaters. Think of the money! Think of the food! Hell my sister is the 2013 women’s minced pie eating champion (an annual competition from my work Christmas party that we take VERY seriously) and she wasn’t even supposed to be competing, she was the caterer! My point being that we are ridiculously passionate when it comes to food. So free food, in any situation, is a bit of a big deal. And free icecream? Shut. The front. Door.

Back to today’s opening. The word had spread a week ago that this was happening. I thought I had prepared myself. There was a slight problem though. I wasn’t sure where this palace of gelato was. I walked around a couple of days ago and couldn’t find my Mecca. That’s okay, I assured myself, this was Italy. The signs won’t be up until the last minute. I had another look yesterday. I saw zilch. I started to worry. This morning, on our way to the park, I dragged a 6 year old around the town and still found nothing. I was devastated. Maybe tomorrow, I told my dejected self. I was understandably upset.                              By this afternoon, the pain had dulled to a slow ache. I consoled myself with a brisk espresso on our second journey to the park. The wind was picking up, we were getting cold, I called the child in for our voyage home. The day was a disappointment. But as I rounded a corner and turned onto an alley way, that locals have unwisely turned into a passageway for cars, I saw it. It was as if God had parted the clouds and gifted his child a miracle she had been praying for devoutly. There was the gelateria. There was the free icecream. And there was barely even a line.

At time of writing I have feasted on two double scoop coppetta’s. Walnut and tiramisu, and pistachio and white chocolate. I’m considering a third trip. It would be unjust of me not to squeeze every bit out of this glorious opportunity. Maybe a cheeky bacio and caffè. The possibilities are endless, as is my inevitable stomach ache. The day has been saved.