An Italian in Prague – Prague, Czech Republic

An Italian in Prague
Prague, Czech Republic

As an Italian working in an English-speaking school smack in the center of things (to be more precise – Staromestske Namesti, Old-Town Square), I set out with typical Roman zeal, ready to observe, criticize, research and occasionally, forgive.

The first thing I tore into was clothes! The shapeless garments displayed in Czech boutiques were enough to give me a vast idea of what was to come. A quick survey of different clothing stores left me with a smug, superior sense of satisfaction. I felt what most Italians must feel when visiting other countries – an acute lack of quality!

When in Rome, I do not dare step into the Armani and Gucci stores by the Spanish Steps. My budget can’t afford the tip of a Hermes scarf. But the regular stores give me what I want – quality!

I wasn’t lost to the dreamy fascination that envelopes all newcomers to the third eternal city – Prague (third to Jerusalem and Rome). I walked along bridges and cobblestones, climbed hills and explored alleys and fell in love with Prague.

At Bohemia Bagel, my emails seemed part of an advertising campaign. Prague is stunning! Come visit! You will not regret it!

True Italians don’t give in so easily.

After butchering the Czech clothing fashion, I explored the culinary side of the city, and my response to this second survey was a big, “Aha, I knew it!” Greasy meat, fried cheese, cement-settling knaidlach – definitely a far cry from my light, but fulfilling diet. I could literally live for a week on what the locals consume in a day. But I needed olive oil! Fresh basil! Pasta Barilla, Rio Mare tuna fish, romaine lettuce. A quick taste of Karlovy Vary sourced bottled water set me on a new assignment to get San Benedetto water, or, at least, San Pellegrino!

After school, I wandered around the city, dodging packed Karlova Street and walked up Husva towards Tesco. There it was – La Vecchia Bottega Italiana! I walked in and stepped right out. This store held a vast range of Italian and west-European products, from sauces and canned goods to stainless steel frying pans and wooden cutting boards. It was a virtual paradise for tourists and Italian-style cooks and way out of my price range.

Then, salvation! A good friend and fellow expatriate (alas, not Italian) mentioned an Italian store on Hastalska Street, right around the corner from my flat. I called my friend the next evening, to thank her for having scored. I now held her in high esteem. She had shown me the key to survival in this food-oblivious town!

In that store, I found reasonably-priced Rio Mare tuna fish and immediately felt blessed. Yes, Italians eat tuna in olive oil, but they do not get fat on it, unlike the Americans who crave tuna in water, a tasteless and fat free (?) substitute for the “real” thing. I exited the little, friendly bottega with bags full of Santal orange and tomato juice, a bottle of Bertolli extra-virgin olive oil, a few packages of spaghetti (not Barilla, but it will do), olives in salamoia water, San Benedetto heavenly water and a bit of precious information – go to Fruits de France for fresh basil and rucola salad!

Fruits de France held a vast variety of exotic (for Prague) fruits, cheeses, wines and so on. Prices were sky high, but basil is a basic necessity which I badly needed for cooking pasta sauce and soups and dressing tomato salads. And rucola, a bitter tasting green, dressed only with freshly-squeezed lemon juice was a luxury I had to concede myself, a relief after the Italian product searching campaign.

I was happy. I was eating quality, wearing quality, and I even managed to teach my students some Italian songs and phrases.

Italy is in me. It will never leave me. Right now, I’m in New York, starting my search campaign from scratch.

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