I only eat crust in Italy

Food consumption in Rome is practically unconscious.

It's not because it's provided for us and we eat it, thankful to be fed in a strange living complex. We are actually given what we in the orphanage like to call 'food stamps' in which we are to budget our meals for the week around supermarket groceries or various restaurants that accept them. They are actually vouchers and if not used correctly, you run out in three hours.

We have all been using them very wisely at the pizza restaurant that is literally across the street appropriately named Mondo.

If I ate it any more than I do, I would be a grande come il monda.

The place's full name is actually Monda Arancina;
literally "Rice Ball World."
I also have no idea who took this photo
but the credit is obviously not mine

All in all, I think I've done a pretty good job limiting the amount of pizza I actually consume during the week. I mean, I can't always resist a quick and balanced meal; starch, vegetable, and dairy all layered out between adorably labeled slices of carry-out paper.

When you go in the restaurant, it is even more unlikely that you'll be able to resist. The long slabs of pizza with outrageous combinations of toppings (the only egg I've seen in Italy was on a slice one day) that they cut to whichever size you want with little scissors.

It's like an art museum. And the intrigue doesn't stop with the pizza. It continues with the rice balls (le arancinas), mozzerella corozza that would put mozzerella sticks anywhere to shame, and donuts as big as my head that I've somehow, to date, resisted.

I love New York pizza as much as I assume I will love my future children. But this pizza... is so good, I can't leave any specifically weighed and paid for ounce unconsumed.

And I also don't want to waste a cent of my cherished and scant meal voucher.