A thank you, Italía, for closing down restaurants for lunch..

America, the land of the free… to eat at whatever time of day convenient for you. 

Within the first few days in these walls, I felt restricted. 
My stomach felt restricted. 

It seemed like locals only ate one croissant and an adorable shot of coffee and still had enough energy for hours, while I ate the same and was hangry for hours. 

It seemed like just when I was hungry for lunch anywhere between noon and 2, that every restaurant closed just to punish me for not knowing how to cook my own meals, without a microwave or Kraft Mac n' Cheese anywhere in sight. 

My initial frustrations of this two-hour time frame of closed down stores slowly
shifted.  I finally got over my stomach’s feeling of isolation against anyone who had learned how to cook any sort of substantial meal and went to the grocery store. 

My typical (once a week) shopping routine consists of anything processed, quick, and large enough to make portions for a few days. 

The plastic, blue hi-lo shopping carts at the local Emmepiú seemed like they were crafted just to boycott my habitual grocery shopping routine.  Not only did I have to buy completely fresh ingredients, but I quickly discovered these do not stay fresh for long. 

One Sunday for dinner, I proudly made my own noodles cooked just right and topped it off with some tomato sauce we’d gotten the first week.  Upon opening the sauce, it was lined with a furry, white surprise.  Incredibly desperate because all stores near me were closed after about 2pm, I wiped off the fuzzy wads with a paper towel and still used it. 

Disgusting.  Desperate. 
Probably really unsanitary too, I know. 
But I mean when in Rome right? (Or a tiny-walled in city near it, I guess)