Hope on the Motorway

On the way to Umbria on Friday we stopped near Terni for gas, air in the tires and for me, an espresso. We stopped at an Agip, one of thousands in Italy.

This one was better than most in offering a beautifully landscaped island of three cypresses.

And there were two recycling bins for patrons’ use, not common features at Agip, where aesthetics and environmental sophistication normally leave a little something to be desired.

Like many motorway service stations, this one had a bar (advertised here as “Pizzeria-Ristorante-Birreria”).

Into it I ventured for an espresso, my eyes and sensibilities blinkered, since the gastronomic standard at bars along Italian secondary roads and autostrade is dispiriting. I joined a large group of others as I stepped up  to the bar counter. My first surprise ? An outstanding (and not simply good) espresso.

“A drop of milk — hot or or cold — to go with it ?” said the bar man, below.

“Brown sugar or white ?”

I looked around.

Through the door streamed a group of paunched truckers, well dressed businessmen in jackets and ties, single men and families. All drew close to the long rows of stainless steel platters and pans or studied the handwritten menus, written out on two blackboards.

Patrons fell silent, as they considered their options.

I looked too.

The standard fare at rosticcerie/bars along Italian secondary roads and autostrade is by and large preservative-laced, prepackaged sandwiches; commercially packaged snack foods; dry rolls with inferior, scanty fillings and previously frozen pastries and pizza. Which is why I have not eaten anything in any of them for years. When I was a little girl, the autostrada AutoGrill were a pleasure, with jolly families piling out of the family Fiat and ordering large meals served by real waiters who brought both a menu and a wine list to you — and, if you were lucky, the thrill of a table on the covered bridge that spanned all the way across the A1 autostrada. More typical now is a depressing motorway convenience store chain called “On the Run” with the English language subtitle “Fast, Fresh Friendly”. And where offerings are an affront to the palate and to the country.

Enter Andrea, who made my coffee : a dynamic, seemingly ever-smiling Umbrian who has an equally entrepreneurial friend, a cook at a locally-famous restaurant in nearby Orte. Andrea bought and manages this motorway eatery, and put his friend the cook in the kitchen.

When Andrea saw me photographing a succulent farro salad, he left his espresso machine to ask me what I thought of his motorway restaurant.  I told him that I had never seen anything like it. He beamed, saying la sfida era di offrire un ristorante di alto livello su una strada nazionale (“the challenge was to offer a restaurant of a high level along a national road”). And so he has. Four middle-aged women in aprons bustled in the kitchen, fully visible through large glass windows. Serving platters were constantly emptied, removed and replaced.