Ciao, raggazi! After years of anticipation and two weeks and change of competition (from the triumph and heartbreak, looking at you, Quad God), the Olympic Games are wrapping up here in Milan. It’s a city that has been both totally taken over by the spectacle (right down to the display of the Olympic rings at the city’s Malpensa Airport), while at the same time staying totally unbothered by it.
Restaurants here are not overflowing, Sunday mornings have still been sleepy, and traffic is pretty normal. Even the area around the city’s iconic Duomo has been relatively quiet. I’ve also been here on warm summer days and have seen double the crowds. I’ve already filed a report from here for Appetito on the beginning of the games (where I was lucky enough to see the jaw-dropping opening ceremony). Since then, I’ve been dutifully continuing to explore and eat my way around the city. Someone’s gotta do it.
Most mornings have been dreary here, with only occasional sunshine breaking out during the day. That doesn’t deter me from shuffling out of where I’m staying by the Centrale Station area and exploring. On this particular Monday, I make my way towards the city center and pass through Giardini Indro Montanelli, a massive park in the northeast corner of the circle that makes up the heart of Milan. The park was named after the famed Italian journalist Indo Montantelli who went against Mussolini's leadership and narrowly evaded death by firing squad. (Not exactly a walk in the park for old Indo.)
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I walk through the park on paths of dirt and gravel. At the corner of the park, an outdoor cafe and bar catches my eye: Chiosco di Via Marina. The sun is hiding, but it's teeming with locals. Ordering was unique: Customers go up to a small booth and choose from a glass case filled with prepared dishes with a variety of combinations. Some have Chicken Milanese with vegetables, for example; other plates pair the same Milanese with mashed potatoes. I opt for the Milanese with zucchini and cubed potatoes. I sit down and realize that the dish is then heated up in a microwave and served to the table. In the United States, I’d be turned off. A microwave? I’m in Italy after all, so who cares? I’m eating in a park afterall. While the Milanese was anything but crispy, the vegetables were delicious. As I’m paying, I notice a swirling tub of ciccolata calda, their hot chocolate, served in a little cup. I sip the thick and bittersweet concoction: a long way from the watering Swiss Miss variety back home.
As I’m paying, I notice a swirling tub of ciccolata calda, their hot chocolate, served in a little cup. I sip the thick and bittersweet concoction: a long way from the watering Swiss Miss variety back home.
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During my stay in Milan, I wanted to make the most of the many companies and organizations who are hosting special activations timed to the games. With that in mind, on another day, I made my way to Casa Airbnb, which rented out the sprawling Garden Senato: an event space that turned into a hangout for locals to lounge around and watch the games on a range of TVs.
At night they serve spritzes, but since it’s the morning, I order an espresso and cornetto from the counter and chat with Dave Stephenson, the company’s Chief Business Officer. “Airbnb is all about actually feeling the community you’re in,” Stephenson told me in between sips of espresso from paper cups. “We’re a technology company that wants you to spend less time on your phone,”.
Said ethos makes sense since Airbnb is known for their ‘experiences,’ which here in Italy are beloved and include everything from foodie tours to pasta-making lessons with a nonna. Stephenson also shouted out a truffle hunt in Tuscany he went on in 2017. “Food is one thing that gives you a magical sense about a place,” Stephenson added.
Since I’m typically in Italy during the summer, I’ve been attracted to winter specialties. One of them is roasted chestnuts, and as I depart Casa Airbnb and walk down the city’s famed Via Monte Napoleone (which is crowded with fancy stores), I see a vendor roasting them in the form of Italian Marroni, which are just like chestnuts but more sought-after since they're easier to peel. I order a small bag, and I am handed two, which I assume is a mistake. Turns out they were attached to each other: one filled with chestnuts; the other waiting for the shells. Now that’s Italian ingenuity.
In a restaurant by the Duomo called Cuoro di Parma. (Or, Heart of Parma, named for the Italian city south of Milan in Emilia-Romagna), I devour another dish perfect for the colder Italian months: a warm and hearty pork loin tossed with roasted pumpkins, chestnuts and sweet and soft caramelized onions. I’ve never heard of that combination before, but here it totally makes sense and has me dreaming of autumn again. Naturally, I washed it down with a Campari spritz.
That night, I ordered another interesting combination: pear and chocolate, in the form of a slice of pie at the 1931-era Caffè Panzera, built in tandem with Milan’s aforementioned Central Station. Inside the slice, is a soft piece of pear, surrounded by a sort-of chocolate pudding, which I scarf down out of its paper container.
Surprisingly, one of the best things I ate in Italy was eggplant parm I brought home from a supermarket. That’s right. While the packaged and cooked food in American supermarkets are not known for being anything special, the prepared containers here in Italy are actually incredible. The eggplant was sliced melt-in-your mouth thin, swimming in a luscious sauce and fresh, soft cheese. Dave from Airbnb was right: food really does give you a magical sense of a place, no matter where you find it: even if it’s the supermarket.
