One for the Road

 

Friday, February 24, 2012 – One for the Road

Yes, it’s finally here – our departure day.  But before we make our official exit from St. Pete, there’s one last stop we have to make, which means one last opportunity for me to get lost!  And that’s exactly what I did this morning trying to find Mazzaro’s Italian Market on 22^nd Avenue North.  Elliott was not an enthusiastic supporter of the plan, but there was no way I was leaving St. Pete without picking up one for the road – a genuine Italian sandwich, that is, and some Italian pastry to go with it.  Otherwise, we’d be faced with the fine dining choices of the Auto Train Station in Sanford, Florida. 

As expected, I took a few wrong turns.  Also as expected, Elliott didn’t say much, but he kept looking at his watch, fearful that this detour would jeopardize our chances of being the first to check in for the Auto Train.  He may have considered this a ridiculous escapade, but I was confident and insistent that this was a necessary stop.  Eventually, I located the store.  As soon as I stepped out of the car, I started to swoon as the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted across the parking lot.  As I went into hyper-foodie mode, Elliott slipped into the persona of a petulant child.  Ignoring his pout, I rushed from one section of the store to another, exclaiming in delight as I spied wines, cheese, fresh pasta, olive oil, and all sorts of goodies.  If we’d had more time, I would have stopped at the coffee bar for a cappucino.  Actually, I would have spent the entire day in this foodie shrine.  But since we were on a schedule and I didn’t want Elliott to become overwrought, I found the deli counter and ordered our sandwiches (roast beef on rye with nothing for Elliott; mozzarella and tomatoes with “the works” for me).  Then I moved purposefully to the bakery, thinking a couple of biscotti would go well with our after-dinner coffee on the train.  I was about to rush to the checkout when I spied the sfogliatelle.  I called out to Elliott, who was several steps ahead of me, eager to escape.  Within mere seconds, I had two of the prized pastries in a paper bag.  If you’re not familiar with these Italian delicacies, you must seek them out.  The paper-thin sheets of dough are shaped like leaves of an open book.  Between them, at the spine of the book, is a creamy ricotta filling.  Biting into one is sheer ecstasy.  My mini sfogliatelle lasted only until I got to the parking lot. 

Then it was back onto the road, 275 North across the Bay, exit onto 4E and good-bye, Tampa.  We just cruised along the highway for the next two hours (aside from the usual crawl in the vicinity of the theme park exits).  Three weeks ago, Florida had seemed like a foreign country, but it didn’t anymore.  Much to Elliott’s relief, we got to Sanford shortly after 12 noon on Friday.  Shortly after the train pulled out of the station, I reminded him to try his sfogliatelle.  I probably could have eaten it myself and he wouldn’t have cared.  But I love him, even if he doesn’t share my mania for food.  Amazingly, Amtrak arrived in Lorton 90 minutes ahead of schedule this morning and we were back in our house in Fairfax before 10:00 a.m.