The Language of Gelato

2021 7th & 8th Grade Prose Winner

I did not speak the language, but I could eat the ice cream. I was nine years old when my family traveled to Venice for my parents’ tenth wedding anniversary. My mom had only one rule: you can stop anytime for gelato. As far as rules go, it certainly seemed like a good one to me.

We landed in Italy, and I immediately realized what a privilege it is to be able to understand the world around you. Immersed in announcements and signs in Italian, I could not recognize any of the words that I saw or heard. After dropping off our bags at the hotel, we wandered through the magical streets of Venice, so other worldly with their canal navigation. The old streets and piazzas rang with the lilt of Italian and its distinct rhythms. It is a language that bounces up and down, spoken with immense passion and hand gestures that are used in place of punctuation. As I tried to process this strange new place, clarity suddenly arrived in the form of a familiar sign: a brightly painted fuchsia ice cream cone, alerting us to the famous gelato we were looking for.

A gelateria takes many forms. Some are so small there is no actual interior space, just the simple ice cream display opening on to the street. Others are elaborate and formal, with chandeliers, wood paneled walls, and fancy tables with chairs covered in velvet. All share the same rainbow display of the different gelato, neatly arranged in rows of rectangular pots filled with the richly saturated color of each flavor, like a giant set of paints. The effect is mesmerizing, especially when you do not know the Italian names and have to guess based on the clue-giving hue. A whole new vocabulary was quickly acquired, words like stracciatella meaning chocolate chip, cioccolato al latte (milk chocolate), vaniglia (vanilla), cocco (coconut), and fragola (strawberry). The option of a coppa (cup) or cono (cone) was equally important. We stopped in many gelateria as we meandered each day and developed some connoisseurship of the different styles. We learned that the elaborately swirled displays signaled factory-made gelato, puffed up with chemicals, whereas the more tightly packed versions meant more artisanal ice cream, always better tasting. Unlike what you would expect, some of the best gelato comes from the smaller, less extravagant stands. Great artisanal gelato is both creamy and light in its consistency, and intense with flavor.

Gelateria interactions can be complicated and often involve first paying for a certain number of scoops at a cashier station, then getting a ticket that you give to the person serving the ice cream. Our first attempt at ordering gelato mainly consisted of pointing and asking questions stridently in English. There was a lot of confusion, but Italians are patient and friendly, so we smiled our way through it. As the week went on and we stopped more frequently, we became experts at ordering no matter what the set-up. When it was my turn to try alone, I knew exactly what we wanted and said, “Ciao, quattro coni di gelato per favore.” (Hello, four ice cream cones please.) I knew our favorite gusto (flavors) and even complimented the taste of the best gelato with enthusiasm, “Delizioso!”

Only now do I realize what my mother was doing with this strategy. The ice cream was like a welcoming ambassador. My mother understood the challenge of being in a foreign place with a language barrier and chose something that she knew we would want to participate in as our entry point. Her choice was an excellent one. Italians are proud of their gelato and excited to share it with visitors. They will let you try your awful Italian and not get annoyed when you point over and over at the same thing. Often they would try to speak English, comforting us that they knew as little of our language as we did of theirs. We laughed as we all made an effort, united in our humor and hunger. By the end of our stay, I had learned that by eating the ice cream, I felt like I spoke the language.