I fell in love four times last semester. My friends and I guzzled down pastas and curries and minced meats and pies while visiting museums and ancient ruins and palaces and clubs. But there were four particular meals that truly captured my heart…and my stomach.
Number One: Puppy Love
I arrived in Dublin, wide-eyed and clutching my money wallet close. This was my first trip outside of the United States.
The day after touching down in Ireland was gameday, Notre Dame versus Navy. The entire town was decked out for the Fighting Irish—you couldn’t turn a corner without seeing our school’s mascot stamped across some banner or painted on the cobblestone streets. As my friends and I raced from Dublin Castle through the Temple Bar area, following the thick crowds of green-clad ND fans, we decided to stop for a drink and a bite at Mulligan and Haines.
Enter the very first love of my European tour: Bangers and Mash. Two perfectly peppery and juicy sausages sat atop a mountain of fluffy, perfectly salted mashed potatoes. The entire plate was doused in onion gravy that swarmed the rim like a moat.
Since it was one of the first bites I’d ever taken in Europe, of course I fell in love. It was puppy love, after all—the kind of romantic affair that forms when you’re young and inexperienced. Sitting there in that Irish pub, surrounded by my friends and the dynamic tunes of live music, I thought I had it all. I thought I’d found my perfect pair, the one dish that would keep me satisfied.
But this was only my first week in Europe. Mulligan and Haines’ Bangers and Mash, much like a high-school-ex, was perfect for its time. But there are plenty of fish in the sea…and a lot of them taste great fried.
Number Two: Your Toxic Ex
The second time I fell in love was in Rome. Pizza Florida was a tiny hole in the wall, accurately named because it sat on Via Florida, and it served, well, pizza. My friend Caroline and I first stumbled upon it walking back from class, when we spotted a little Italian lady standing just outside. “I am from here,” she told us as she guzzled down a slice littered with peppers, “and this is the best pizza in Rome.”
The place wasn’t much bigger than a women’s dorm gym. It featured several different flavors of flat-crusted pizzas (Caroline and I ended up splitting one covered in caramelized onions and another slathered with pesto).
Pizza Florida was, perhaps, the best pizza in Rome. It was cheap and no-nonsense. But each slice was so deliciously slathered in cheese and sauces that I couldn’t help but feel bad about myself after.
Thus began our complicated situationship. I loved Pizza Florida but knew I couldn’t have it too often. It was without a doubt relationship of utilitarianism. I loved it, but at the end of the day, love just wasn’t enough.
Number Three: The Tinder Date
Listen, I never expected to fall in love in Germany. I never expected to eat an entire plate full of pickles. But things happen.
“The Tent” was a hippie filled, campfire-songs, no-judgement-zone kind of hostel in Munich, Germany. When my friend Jane and I first set out to find it, we walked circles around Kapuzinerhölzl park unsure what to expect. What we found was half an acre of tents, basketball hoops, and log cabins filled with young adults from across the world all smoking and drinking together.
Though we came for Oktoberfest, we spent the first night relaxing and dining on The Tent’s specialty: Pork sausages, potato salad, corn on the cob, and homemade pickles. Jane and I took one bite and stared up at each other with our eyebrows raised.
“This is amazing,” we both agreed.
It was different from the carbonaras and amatrcianas we’d been used to guzzling down. It had a diverse flavor profile; the pickles were sour but not too tart, the pork sausages were meaty and spicy, the potato salad had a unique bite to it, and the corn on the cob was roasted to perfection.
It’s a plate full of food I never would’ve expected to fall for, and it was honestly pretty weird that I ate an entire plate of pickles by myself. But like the random match on Tinder you end up spending an evening with, even though it might have been wrong for you, you just can’t stop thinking about it.
Number Four: One True Love
The singular food that will forever own my heart was in my homebase of Rome: the pistachio sfogliatella.
The first time I ordered this was on accident. I was checking out a little shop near my university called Café Trastevere and found myself eye to eye with piles upon piles of pastries, from cannolis to bambolinis. In broken Italian, I hesitatingly muttered, “Posso avere questo?” and pointed to what I thought was a pistachio croissant. But this sweet was different—it wasn’t made from soft and airy bread, but rather layers of crisp and flaky dough. It was molded into a curved cornucopia shape and piped full of bright green cream.
The first bite was somewhat underwhelming (all I got was a mouthful of crunchy pastry). But true love takes time. It isn’t as instant and deceptive as the other foods were. True love lasts.
When I reached the cream—which was the perfect marriage of nutty, silky, and sweet—I knew I was going to be coming back for more. Later, when I asked the owner what the treat was (“Cos'è questo?”) he explained that it was Italian for “lobster tail.” The next time I returned and fearfully asked for “one lobster, per favore,” I was met with ridiculing laughter. But the embarrassment truly was worth crunching down into that crispy pastry as a bit of pistachio cream dribbled down my chin. For true love, you’re willing to sacrifice your dignity.
