Dear Pistacchio Gelato,
Upon meeting you fifteen days ago on a boiling Roman steam bath of an afternoon, I knew I’d stumbled into a serious romance. There you were, so softly whipped, vividly green and begging to be scooped. Who was I to deny you?
After my first taste, I my entire understanding of you and your other gelato tub-mates in Bar Latteria Gelateria was intensified. Your distant cousin twice removed, artificial American “gelato” puts your name to shame. And for that I am so sorry. How could I have been so ignorant?! Look at you! A beauty unlike any frozen sweet has even show me. A smooth and delicate flavor, with punches of your tiny specks of iridescent green little nuts.
I’ll admit I’ve cheated and ducked into other gelaterias around the Eternal City. Maybe I was sickly trying to build a new romance with another flavor. Maybe I was just overheated in the midday humidity. Who’s to say? Truth be told, I’ve searched and I’ve found no other like you.
I’ll be back soon. I promise.