If I could choose one packaged food item for which I’d risk a session of interrogation and/or man-handling by U.S. Customs in Newark Airport, it’d be La Vieja Fabrica diet marmalade. I know, that’s a pretty violent process to put myself through for a measly jar of sticky jam. But the contents of this glass container are far more addicting than they may appear.

Every morning for the past 4 months, my Spanish mother-figure has been serving me a continental breakfast of tea and toast. (Side note: We call these homestay mothers “señoras”. I could not, for the life of me, understand why every time I referred to this woman as “my señora” in conversation with a Spaniard, he or she would erupt in a fit of giggles. I was later informed that “señora” is also a term for wife. Unbeknownst to me, I have been married to a 73-year-old, barrel-chested grandmother for nearly half a year.) Sorry for the tangent – back to the food.

I’ve been offered an array of jams and marmalades to spread across the breakfast toast, but my favorite by far has been the sugar-free La Vieja Fabrica brand in peach flavor. While some of the other options have been excessively sweet, runny, or pulpy, this brand boasts the perfect tanginess and consistency. I usually run in the opposite direction from any food product labeled “diet” or “sugar-free”, but the absence of sugar brings out the peach’s natural sour flavor. The texture is a bit sticky and wobbly, like a Jell-O Jiggler, and is speckled with pieces of diced peach. I became so obsessed with this orange goo that I bought myself an extra jar to stash in my room for late-night study snacks.

Unfortunately, my time with this peach marmalade will soon come to an end as I am flying back to the States on May 10. We’re advised not to bring any food items with us, but maybe I’ll be able to jimmy-rig a jar or two past Customs. I figure they’ll probably be preoccupied by something fleshier than a peach – like my new Spanish spouse.

In my mind, nothing says Italian cuisine like a pudgy mama dropping a bowl of hearty carbonara or Ossobuco before me with an emphatic “prego!”. As it turns out, I did not encounter my food dream sequence in Rome or in Florence this past spring break (especially the part about the plump woman delivering my food).

If there were as many traditional and delicious restaurants as there were tourists queuing up to see the Colosseum, it would be much easier to find some good eatin’ in Rome. The majority of restaurants in the city’s center are havens for photo-snapping travelers. Translation: overpriced eateries that aim to mimic the watered-down versions of Italian cooking which tourists are served at home.

Admittedly, I become pretty cranky and unmanageable without a keg-sized barrel of food floating through my stomach at all times. For a more concrete image, envision Jabba the Hut following a strict vegan regimen. Desperate for food after a morning of sightseeing and aware of my food-related mood swings, I grabbed a table at one of said tourist-catered restaurants to refuel the tank. The pizza and pasta served appeared frozen, like the Ellio’s pies you used to shove in the toaster for a quick after-school snack.

Luckily, my trusty travel guide highlighted some neighborhoods off-the-beaten-path where I was able to enjoy much better food (as well as become much more pleasant toward those who were around me). Testaccio was one of these residential, nearly tourist-free zones. For lunch, I ordered fetuccine in a porcini cream sauce and tiramisu for dessert. While both dishes were tasty and a solid step up from the other options in the city, I still had not found a great home-cooked, unique Italian meal. The pasta was a bit soupy, and while the tiramisu was light and creamy, it was missing the sharp flavor provided by espresso and liquor. As bad as it sounds, I began to wonder if Mario and Tony in the States just do it better.

Then came my food savior — Florence. In this city, there was a much more favorable ratio of family-owned eateries to canned pasta-peddlers. Trattoria Mario, a bustling, old-world kitchen, is a prime example of no-frills authenticity in both food and atmosphere.

It’s no wonder the lunch hour crowd swarms outside Mario’s magazine acclaim-plastered doors every day. Its simple food and environment have been well-preserved since the restaurant’s opening in 1953. Menu options include Tuscan staples such as ribollita, a porridge-like stew of beans and sliced bread, ravioli al ragu, and a large selection of grilled meat dishes all the size of my head. (And believe you me, that’s pretty sizeable.) The floor is cramped with long wooden tables often shared by complete strangers, similar to the setup of a middle school cafeteria. Adjacent to the dining area, chefs prepare meat and pasta dishes as waitresses shout food orders to them in sing-songy Italian.

Polenta al forno was my favorite meal there. Hell, it was the best thing I’d had in all of Italy. The polenta was sliced and covered with a creamy tomato and meat sauce . It was equally delicious in texture and in flavor, a bit chewy and slightly tangy. This meat sauce differed from the one atop ravioli al ragu, which was lighter on the tomato and a bit more generous with the meat and freshly grated pecorino. The consistency of the polenta’s sauce was smoother and creamier, which seeped into the cornmeal like water into a sponge.

This restaurant was much closer to the simple, authentic food I dreamed of pre-departure. As cute as she may be, I’d kick that apron-clad nonna to the side in a heartbeat to make way for the delicious food and endearingly boisterous crowd at Trattoria Mario.

Trattoria Mario
Via Rossina, 2R
Florence, Italy
055.218.550

Price Rating: $-$$

I’ve realized that the number of posts I’ve written this past month and a half has been quite low. Scratch that — it’s been non-existent. Consequently, I’ve decided to make a wholehearted effort at hopping back on the food wagon (meals-on-wheels style).

La Casa de las Tostas, a rustic taberna complete with exposed brick walls and small wooden tables, has propelled me to start writing again. When it comes to most activities, especially eating, I consider myself a true creature of habit. Once I encounter a dish I really enjoy, I feel compelled, as if by some arbitrary contract, to order that same meal whenever I return to the restaurant. At La Casa de las Tostas, however, my monotonous eating habits are flipped upside down as I continue to order something new every time. (I know, quite the daredevil.)

Not only has each tosta I’ve tried been tasty and interesting, but also guilt-free from my wallet’s standpoint. Every single one of those meat, vegetable, fish, or cheese blanketed pieces of toasted bread run for 6.75 Euro a pop. My American (a.k.a. heifer-minded) sensibilities originally led me into thinking that a piece of toast would barely suffice as an appetizer. But the tostas are pretty generous — just one (plus your choice of wine or beer) functions as that night’s dinner.

I’ve gone three times so far and have sampled two Italian-inspired tostas — one topped with sliced tomatoes, a light drizzle of pesto, and grated parmesan cheese, and the other was the same, except the tomatoes were substituted for Carpaccio and arugula. I’ve also had a tosta covered with melted goat cheese and sweet caramelized onions and another with small grilled shrimp over a spread of mayonnaise and garlic. Other topping choices range from cod, tuna, steak, or fried eggs and ham. After scarfing down ham sandwich after ham sandwich in Spain, this more sophisticated open-faced concoction has been a refreshing change.

La Casa de las Tostas
Calle Argumosa, 29
28012 Madrid
915.270.842

Price Rating: $

Seeking a spicy and curried respite from the myriad of ham and chorizo-wielding restaurants which line Madrid’s steets, my friends and I decided to sample the city’s Indian fare this past Friday night. We ambled along Calle de Lavapiés, where we were soon submerged in a sea of prix fixe menus and endearingly zealous restaurant doormen attempting to lure customers with their trilingual charm. (Quite reminiscent of New York City’s E. 6th St.) It seems that the colorful, sometimes hokey experience which accompanies dining at an Indian restaurant is not geographically-dependent.

Keeping in mind the unfortunate combination of our current unemployment and the plummeting value of the U.S. dollar, we chose the location that touted the cheapest and most extensive menu. The restaurant’s terracotta-tiled walls and ample lighting were more characteristic of a small family-style restaurant than an ethnic hole-in-the-wall. A variety of typical Indian dishes were available, from matar paneer to chicken vindaloo. I chose chicken tikka along with nan and basmati rice. Poppadoms were placed before us, yet they were studded with fennel rather than spicy lentils. The flatbreads were crispy, yet I prefer the lentils over fennel.

My dish’s entrance was quite theatrical — it sizzled and popped ominously from what constituted the stomach of a cow-shaped, cast-iron plate. The carrots, caramelized onions, cilantro, and lemon provided flavor that was somewhat lacking from the dry pieces of chicken. Overall, I’d say the dish’s visual debut had outshone its gustatory performance.

The rest of my group loved their dishes; chicken vindaloo, lamb saag, and palak paneer. Everyone equally enjoyed the price — the tab totaled a whopping 32 euros for four people. For a price that reasonable, I would definitely return with another group of hungry students and order a different dish.

Last night, my friends and I wanted to find a cheap meal before scoping out the bar scene in Madrid’s East Village, Malasaña. We chose Bar Casa do Compañeiro, a bar and family-style restaurant with a large selection of bocadillos (sandwiches), tapas, and raciones (larger portions of tapas) at impossibly cheap prices.

Unlike the States, in Spain one should not judge a restaurant by its crowd — or in this case, a lack there of. The joint was empty, except for the seemingly infinite number of family members who continued to emerge from the kitchen. At first, this struck me as something quite peculiar. The restaurant looked more like the family’s living room than a dining establishment. However, as the night progressed, my perception regarding the atmosphere changed as I realized that the family’s (at times) chaotic presence complimented the restaurant’s unpretentious food and decor.

I ordered a tortilla española, a cake-like wedge of eggs stuffed with potatoes. My friends ordered croquetas and a bocadillo de calamares. Croquetas are a cardiologist’s nightmare — a rich concoction of creamy bechamel, cheese, and diced pieces of ham encased by a crispy breaded coating. The bocadillo de calamares, or fried calamari sandwich, was enormous and simple. It consisted of lightly fried rings of chewy squid between what seemed like an entire loaf of bread. Since the food was definitely on the heavier side, the small-to-medium portion size was more than enough. Each meal was equally delicious and inexpensive — my meal, which also included bread and a caña, or a small beer, tallied a mere 5,40 euros.

Bar Casa do Compañeiro
Calle de San Vicente Ferrer 44
Madrid, Spain
91.521.57.02

Price Rating: $