Funghi!

This is a little (feminist) story about loyalty in Italy. 

I've been cheating on my fruit and veg guy. 

I mean, I still see him regularly because his stand is close by, but I've been going to another vender a little farther away, too.

It's mostly because of apples. I am an apple snob, and I can't help it. Some vendors carry the Pink Lady variety, and that is my favorite (no, I can't get Honey Crisp here). It's crisp and tart-sweet. My regular fruit and veg guy carries Fujis and some Granny Smiths, but they just don't do it for me

Enter Franca. 

I discovered her at Campo dei Fiori several months ago when everyone's business was completely dampened by Covid restrictions and the square that is usually so lively with tourists and locals shopping for fruit, veg, cheese, fish, and even some kitchenware was kind of dead. I spotted her Pink Lady apples and made a big purchase.  She is my apple supplier, but I usually pick up other items from her too. 

Franca and her daughter have a fairly comprehensive stand. It is comparable to most of the others at the Campo. They do like to specialize a bit in tomatoes that are not hothouse grown, so that customers who can't handle the extra fertilizers used for those varieties still have something to purchase. I like the way they pre-bundle herbs that you can just select out of a large basket. But otherwise, their goods are more or less like anyone else's. 

The real differences?  First, it's a solely female-run business, and I'm all about supporting that. Second, Franca is old. I have no idea how old, but she is really up there. And let's not forget that Italians are some long-lived people. She has grasped my hand in greeting and her grip is FIERCE. Hand her a heavy bag of apples that you have selected and she hobbles over to you but then handles the bag weight like a champion bowler. There are no chairs under her tent. She stands from some outrageously early hour in the morning until around 2pm six days a week, greeting customers and upselling like a fiend. If you have no self-control or ability to refuse this woman, she will sell you everything she has. And you will have tasted much of it before it went into your bag, because she does not ask if you want to try something. She simply takes your hand and puts that fig or grape or whatever in it. "Mangi," she commands, pointing with a bony finger. Her daughter tries to rein her in a bit, but it's a pretty futile gesture. 

All year long she wears her Roma football team flash in one way or another, on a knitted cap, pins on her face mask, a neck scarf. She is loyal. 

She is a force of nature. 

Her business card tells you that you can get her goods delivered to your door, which was definitely a thing during the height of the pandemic. But the service still exists now. During hotter weather, I was grateful for the option, although I only used it once.  

Yesterday, in the (blessedly) cooler temperatures ushered in by October, I approached her stand and she greeted me warmly, sliding empty paper bags to my waiting hands, encouraging me to fill them. I got my apples and clementines and a few other items and then asked: 'Hai funghi?' (Do you have mushrooms?) 

It is the season for them, both chanterelles and porcini. 

No, was the answer. Tomorrow, yes. 

And before I knew it, I was being asked to dictate a quantity (I asked for 6 porcinis, as they can be about the size of a 12 oz. soda can, which is big enough!) and a time for delivery of said mushrooms.  

Would you like for me to pay ahead? I asked, expecting to put some kind of money down on the venture. 

"Oh no, cara," that idea was waived away. You'll pay next time. 

And here are two of the six, with a 12 oz. soda can for scale. 

When the delivery guy - probably Bangladeshi, as they commonly hold service positions everywhere here - handed me the bag this morning, I first thought that there had been a mistake. It was way heavier than I expected. I honestly expected to look inside and find cantaloupes. Instead, there are 6 monstrous porcini mushrooms. 

I can't ever be certain, of course, but I strongly suspect that she gave me some of her best selections of the day. Had I known that they would be this scale, I would have asked for three. Aside from the new (and admittedly, fun) puzzle over what to do with so much bounty, I also know that I'll probably pay a pretty price for those hefty mushrooms. Next time. 

And that is completely fine by me.