A trip to the grocery store

We have been in Tuscany for almost a week now, and I may never want to leave. We have had plenty of time to relax and time to explore several of the small hill towns in the region. When we arrived last week the caretaker, Daniel, told us to go into Montalcino to the “Copa” to stock up on groceries. We were already stocked with bread, butter, jam, milk, orange juice, coffee, olive oil and wine (both red and white). We ate mostly at trattorias and ristorantes for the first couple of days so we really didn't need groceries. Finally the time came, though, when we needed to find the Copa. Now, at home, I don't think much about a trip to the store. I drive my very large vehicle on a very large road to a large store with an enormous parking lot, looking to park in one of the first 5 spots closest to the door. Not so when shopping in Italy.
Here, I digress briefly to talk about driving in Italy again. It's good to know what the road signs mean. I can tell you that a round, red sign with a white horizontal line means “don't drive here”. A round blue sign with a red slash through it means “no parking here, sometimes”. A round, blue sign with a red X on it means “no parking here, ever”. Stop signs look exactly as they do in the US, with the word STOP. We figure they put it in English, because we are the only ones that would actually stop anyway. On the way into Montalcino we pass many signs, often in a short distance that mean things like: there's going to be a bump, there is a steep drop-off and you could plummet to your death, a deer may jump out, and the suggested speed is 50 kph. This is hilarious because usually at this time we are doing around 120 kph. You think I exaggerate, but I don't. Now, once you get to one of these many small hill towns, you really have to pay attention to the signs. The roads are VERY narrow, and were never meant to be driven on. If you get on the wrong road, you can be squeezing through a neighborhood to find yourself on a dead end. Then you have to figure out how to get out. Roberto has masterfully gotten us out of a few of these situations, and has done a great job of driving down a one-way going the wrong way (not sure what that sign looks like). I have noticed that many of the cars here, if they are more than a couple of years old, have one or both side view mirrors missing or severely damaged, and have lots of dents.
So, back to the grocery adventure. We make it in to Montalcino and drive around for a while, not finding the “Copa”. Finally, we roll down the window and ask a local. He realizes immediately that verbal directions would do no good. He says “ Si, si si....” and pointing up, says “sopra, sopra, sopra”. We know that this means up, up, up. We go up the hill, turning every time you can go up more, and sure enough, we find the Coop (AKA, Copa).
I love the Coop. Of course there is no parking lot. One entrance and one exit with very small carts chained together at the door. If you want a cart, you have to pay 1 Euro. At first I thought this was bad, but realized after getting inside that if everyone had a cart, the place would be completely constipated. This is a SMALL store with a lot of food. No wide aisles, no cheap plastic crap. People come here to buy food and necessities and are pretty darn efficient about it. Until you drop 4 ridiculous Americans smack in the produce department, each with a basket (thank heavens no carts). Immediately the “oohing and ahing” begins. Oh, the tomatoes, the beans, etc. We realized that if we were ever going to make it through, we needed to divide up. Cinda, as chef, was responsible for produce and meat for the amazing dinner she would be cooking. Mo's large, handsome Romanesque nose led him directly to the wine section. My large, less handsome nose led me directly to the “wall o' meat”. This was right behind the “case o' cheese”. If we can only post one photo with this blog, I hope it is the wall o' meat. I found Roberto, who was on more of a random shopping mission, and had him join me. No way could I bear all of the responsibility here. The very young, very nice girl behind the counter was great. We would point and grunt at a particular meat, she would grab it, put it on the slicer, begin slicing and look at us questioningly. We would look at each other, look back at her and eventually one of us would say “stop”. After doing this with the coppa, prosciutto, salumi and a couple others it was time to move on to the cheese. In a similar fashion, we would point, she would grab, place a large knife on it, look at us for direction as to size and finally chop off a chunk. Fresh riccotta, fresh buffale mozzarella, pecorino, oh, my mouth is watering just thinking about it. We ended up with a basket full of meat and cheese, a basket of wine, a basket of produce and toilet paper. All the necessities of life in Toscana.
We were finally ready to check out. Cinda gave us her basket and went around to the other side to wait. I believe we had chosen the busiest time of day to do our shopping. The lines at each of the 2 check out counters were long. Mo & I jumped into line, ready to go, but where was Roberto? We have asked this question a couple of times before. I went to find Roberto, got his basket and rejoined Mo in line. Here, the more astute Italians bailed out of our line over to the next. The fellow right behind us seemed in a good mood, joking with the woman in front of us. Probably talking about us, but, oh well. Checking out started off well. We found that you have to bag your own groceries, and that locals all bring their own bags. We, however, had to get to the bags placed at the beginning of the line, moving everyone back as we did. More Italians bailing out of our line. After ringing up all of the meat, cheese, wine and toilet paper, the cashier, without saying a word, took our basket of produce and left the store. Cinda looked at us and asked “what's going on?”. We had no idea. What we learned was that we were supposed to have put each item in a bag, placed it on a scale, entered in a code for that particular item and placed the sticker on the bag. How were we to know? The cashier finally came back, finished ringing us up and handed me the Visa slip to sign. When the pen she gave me wouldn't work and I had to ask for another, I know she wanted to poke my eyes out with it. We finally left the store and heard an audible, collective sigh of relief from the folks in the store.
We made it home with the groceries and Cinda made an incredible meal for us. I fear it is time, once again, to go to the Coop. I am a little intimidated by the produce department, but I'm sure we'll do better this time. I'll let you know how it goes.