Friends who come to stay with us in Italy often wonder, after a week of sensational and gluttonous eating, how all Italians aren’t hideously overweight. We did too until we realised there is a knack to eating like a local. By way of intro, here’s what we’ve learned about the famous Italian three hour lunch…
The first important thing is not to eat breakfast. Most Italians don’t anyway, unless you count a couple of strong espressos and a stale nutella-ed wafer. If you have been up since the crack of dawn and eaten nothing by the time it gets to 12.30, you are ravenous.
This explains the antipasti – usually a simple and – crucially – immediate, plate of local speciality meats and cheeses. It is something delicious but not over-calorific to quell the panic of a stomach which hasn’t been fed since what feels like Roman times – though more accurately is the night before. With crisis averted, it’s then time to move on to the ‘primo’ (ie what foreigners refer to as the ‘pasta course’). This is your carb course. It is the Yorkshire pudding of Italy, whose job it is to put some fullness in the belly. In content terms it could mean pasta, risotto, orzo or even a thick pulse soup. The key thing to bear in mind here is sharing. Only foreigners will go into a restaurant and order a primo each – and each one different (imagine the havoc in the kitchen, each separate pasta pot, each separate sauce pot – expect raised eyebrows from your waiter). Italians, by contrast, will generally agree on a single choice for the whole table and then order, for example, ‘cinque in otto’ – 5 portions to share between eight people.
With the primo finished, there is rarely ‘hunger’ in any true sense, but the body still has a desire for other types of food – protein and fibre in particular. Here’s where your ‘secondo’ comes in – a few simple lamb chops, grilled over open flames, or a piece of chicken in a simple olive and tomato sauce. The simple flavours are delivered by the meat rather than created by the additions of the chef. Obviously to follow and to complete the nutritional family, something vegetable-ish is called for. Again this is generally very simple, a plate of braised chicory or some simply roasted herby potatoes.
All of this is being washed down with water which (as in America but still irritatingly often not in England), is brought as a matter of course. And naturally a small jug of local cheap wine (the cost is usually about equal to the cost of the water; if it’s not, you’re probably getting tourist rates).
The stomach has been filled and rounded. But there is still just a corner for a touch of something sweet, a piece of fruit or a small dessert. And with that, you’re done, balanced and not bloated and pretty textbook in terms of a beautifully balanced diet.
All that remains is the tiniest espresso (never, ever a cappuccino – of all the sins we foreigners commit in the eyes of Italians, this is the most incomprehensible, insulting even). The espresso cuts through all this food and wine with just enough of a jolt to propel you back into what is left of the day.
Buon appetito.
Friends who come to stay with us in Italy often wonder, after a week of sensational and gluttonous eating, how all Italians aren’t hideously overweight. We did too until we realised there is a knack to eating like a local. By way of intro, here’s what we’ve learned about the famous Italian three hour lunch…
The first important thing is not to eat breakfast. Most Italians don’t anyway, unless you count a couple of strong espressos and a stale nutella-ed wafer. If you have been up since the crack of dawn and eaten nothing by the time it gets to 12.30, you are ravenous.
This explains the antipasti – usually a simple and – crucially – immediate, plate of local speciality meats and cheeses. It is something delicious but not over-calorific to quell the panic of a stomach which hasn’t been fed since what feels like Roman times – though more accurately is the night before. With crisis averted, it’s then time to move on to the ‘primo’ (ie what foreigners refer to as the ‘pasta course’). This is your carb course. It is the Yorkshire pudding of Italy, whose job it is to put some fullness in the belly. In content terms it could mean pasta, risotto, orzo or even a thick pulse soup. The key thing to bear in mind here is sharing. Only foreigners will go into a restaurant and order a primo each – and each one different (imagine the havoc in the kitchen, each separate pasta pot, each separate sauce pot – expect raised eyebrows from your waiter). Italians, by contrast, will generally agree on a single choice for the whole table and then order, for example, ‘cinque in otto’ – 5 portions to share between eight people.
With the primo finished, there is rarely ‘hunger’ in any true sense, but the body still has a desire for other types of food – protein and fibre in particular. Here’s where your ‘secondo’ comes in – a few simple lamb chops, grilled over open flames, or a piece of chicken in a simple olive and tomato sauce. The simple flavours are delivered by the meat rather than created by the additions of the chef. Obviously to follow and to complete the nutritional family, something vegetable-ish is called for. Again this is generally very simple, a plate of braised chicory or some simply roasted herby potatoes.
All of this is being washed down with water which (as in America but still irritatingly often not in England), is brought as a matter of course. And naturally a small jug of local cheap wine (the cost is usually about equal to the cost of the water; if it’s not, you’re probably getting tourist rates).
The stomach has been filled and rounded. But there is still just a corner for a touch of something sweet, a piece of fruit or a small dessert. And with that, you’re done, balanced and not bloated and pretty textbook in terms of a beautifully balanced diet.
All that remains is the tiniest espresso (never, ever a cappuccino – of all the sins we foreigners commit in the eyes of Italians, this is the most incomprehensible, insulting even). The espresso cuts through all this food and wine with just enough of a jolt to propel you back into what is left of the day.
Buon appetito.
I must have been Italian in another life because this is my preferred way to eat. I just wish the US restaraunts would do more to encourage their customers to eat this way. The individual portions here are so out of control and people, as a whole, here don’t know how to eat properly.
Great post and blog.