I followed the graffiti covered trains heading south through the windswept suburbs. Clouds heaped themselves in the sky but the city warmth persisted. I came now upon a new part of Athens. The Acropolis could no longer be seen, but this place had a flavour of its own. A monumental statue headed up a large plaza that was lined on all sides by snazzy restaurants and bars.
It was for the love of pasta that I came here. I was searching for a place I’d only recently heard about: Mailo’s. A fast-food pasta chain dotted throughout Greece.
The first thing you have to decide on when going to Mailo’s, is what kind of pasta you’re going to choose. You get the option of 3: rigatoni, campanelle and casarecce.
I chose Campanelle – the flower-shaped one.
Then you get to choose your sauce. There’s a brilliant variety, from cheese and spinach to beef ragu. But one instantly stood out for me: TRUFFLE AND PORCINI. I still feel burned after not getting that truffle lasagne in Rome. Oh boy, did I make up for it today. They cooked the pasta fresh and fried up the sauce right in front of me. Then they put it into a large pot – a portion as big as you’d get in most restaurants – if not bigger. My eyes bulged with glee.
I rushed a hundred yards down the road, threw myself onto a bench and prised the lid from my pasta pot. The smell was exquisite. I stuck in my plastic fork and took a bite.
Rome crumbled forever in my mind. The final nail drilled itself into the coffin and I buried the eternal city under a couple pounds worth of fast-food pasta. But how contradictory it is to call it fast-food, because while it was served fast, the pasta was clearly cooked fresh. It had a proper bite to it; brilliantly chewy. The sauce so rich and heavy, rivaled that of a top-notch restaurant. There was so much of it that once I’d swallowed the last piece of pasta, the bottom of the pot still pooled with delicious sauce, so I tipped it all down my throat, drinking it like some heavenly drug. How the hell had I got this for only 7.80? Why don’t they have this place in the U.K? It’s a fucking miracle of fast food. I savoured every bite. It’s not just Rome… Italian restaurants everywhere are dead to me.
When I returned from my pasta retreat, still stupefied with pleasure, Steve the Australian had gone, and a new guy was asleep in his bed. Looks like he finally worked up the motivation to go to Thessaloniki like he said he would. Speaking of which, my motivation is in the bin. I’ve been spending way too much time walking about by myself and not enough socialising. Took me a whole day just to eat some pasta. What’s especially getting to me is the fact I haven’t spent more time talking to locals. That’s supposed to be what I’m here for… or a major part of it at least.
What am I going to do tomorrow? I have no idea. I have no plans and I’m not making any.
