Around the corner from our apartment is a small, unmarked shop, identifiable only by a cardboard sign hung from one of the doors when the shop is open. The sign says: “Pollo” along with a few other words I haven’t yet translated. When the owner is in, the characteristic curtain of hanging beads marks the entrance, which leads to a dark space filled with a meat case, several wood stumps for sitting on, usually a large box of eggs and often a customer or relative chatting with the owner, Patrizia.
Patrizia sells chicken: whole or cut up, minced or kebabed, in pate, for pasta, and occasionally rabbit or turkey breast and of course, eggs. That’s it. She talks as fast as any Italian I’ve met and she has taken us in as her “Americani amici.” She’s met all our visitors, sold us servings of just about everything she has (whether we intended to buy it or not). She greets us on the street with kisses, she asks about our children, and she has taught us the difference in taste between frozen supermarket chicken and fresh chicken that she cuts quickly and perfectly to give us the choicest part of whatever we need. Her eggs are often gathered the same morning we buy them and sometimes, as in the photo above, every single egg she sells us has a double yolk. They make the best (American) breakfast you can imagine, are wonderful in carbonara and even in egg salad sandwiches. She’s on Via Carlucci in San Pellegrino in Viterbo…open mornings and afternoons.