Melita pastry shop | Venice: I am not making this up

I am working on a longer post — several, in fact — but meanwhile nibble these few morsels.

This is the apotheosis of Easter eggs in Venice, everything displayed in the glorious window of Drogheria Mascari at the Rialto Market. Most smaller pastry and chocolate shops offer some variety of eggs, as do all the supermarkets. Size, variety, glamor (cost, too, of course) all come into play when you’re deciding on the essence of Easter delectation. The price also reflects, to a certain extent, the value of the little doodad hidden inside. Did I mention they’re hollow? They are. Busting them open, shards of chocolate flying across the table, livens up the post-lunch torpor.

This year our intrepid neighborhood pastry wizard underwent some important experience. A challenge? A request from somebody’s grandchild? A way of telling the public he just isn’t going to be forced to spend his remaining years turning out mere eggs or bells or any other chocolate cliche’? Behold the chocolate rat! I suppose he could have done an ascending dove, or a gamboling lamb, or a hundred little marzipan chicks, if he’d wanted to stretch his skills. But I clearly have underestimated this man, whom I have seen smile exactly once over the past 20 years. Stand by for news from the Melita pastry shop, where something epochal is underway. (Notice the horizontal line dividing the egg into equal halves. That’s the seam by which the egg is closed around the “surprises,” or tiny gifts, inside the oval.)

The sheet of chocolate supporting the creature deserves admiration, though I can’t conjure a reason for the little silver nubbins. I honestly thought it was a beaver, at first glance. The Easter Beaver would be an animal that deserves more consideration, in my view. But a rat is also good. For Venice, maybe even better.

This is the menu outside the Ristorante Giorgione on via Garibaldi. The prices are toward the high end — not excessive, but not bargains, either. It would appear, though, that no money was allocated in the budget for the display menu. I have never seen a menu in this condition. Unless it was created for the Biennale, thereby qualifying itself as a work of art, I have no idea how something like this could ever have been (A) made and (B) displayed and (C) displayed every single day. If there were any way one could bring to the owner’s attention how exceptionally bizarre this creation is, I might try it. But the owner obviously thinks this is fine.

Nothing to do with food, but this glimpse touches the same nerve as the Giorgione menu, along with everything else that just somehow doesn’t work for me. My brain says, “They needed a window, they made a window, everybody’s happy.” My eye says “Noooooo…”. The new resident above the former Negozio di Legnami (lumber store) didn’t bother removing its lovely frescoed sign. That would have cost money. Just slice out what you don’t need and on we go. Sharp-eyed readers will realize that this isn’t in Venice; we came upon it in Bassano del Grappa, a lovely town a mere hour away that I highly recommend.

little glimpses