As a matter of expediency, I take the same route to school everyday. By now one would assume I was intimately familiar with the neighborhood, and yet it never fails to surprise me. Walking home today, for example, I saw something that I had never noticed before.
I was stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. The scene was familiar. Lots of concrete, a few rogue leaves blowing in the wind, cars, scooters and bikes all whizzing past rows and rows of post-war apartment blocks (sorry to ruin your romanticized image of Italy). The ground level of the apartment buildings are all taken up by shops, their names prominently displayed on canopies. I glanced across the intersection I was at. The apartment building looked better suited to mid-century Miami than medieval Bologna, and a large, cosmic mural screamed nineties. I looked away. The light was still red. I looked back. White letters spelled out "Macelleria" on a navy blue background. There was a butchery inside, fine, nothing to get excited about. I stifled a yawn. "Equina" the letters went on. "Hmm," I thought. That's unusual signage. There are macellerias and trattorias and lavaseccos and tabacchis on every corner, but equina? What could that be?
A large window display explained it. There, next to the entryway, was a life-size photo of the backside of a zebra. "Macelleria Equina" is a horse butchery.
Steak, anyone?
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