Cups and saucers rattle as the employee of the coffee shop shoves steaming mugs of freshly brewed espresso on the counter. Flaky croissants filled with custard and topped with chocolate line the bakery display window, tempting the passers-by with their sinful perfection.
Things are different in Rome, Italy, in ways that a Midwesterner would never think of, swapping fries for farfalle and Coke for a glass of bold, rich Chianti.

First, breakfast. A croissant and cup of cappuccino are the norm, a far cry from my usual bowl of Corn Flakes or scrambled eggs. Pastries and coffee go hand-in-hand in Italy even though such a sugary breakfast goes against my healthy-start ideal. In Italy, breakfast is not the most important meal of the day.

Luckily, Italians believe in good food and eat it often. This is where the famed Italian fare that Americans know and love comes into play, although it’s nothing like the spaghetti and meatballs I’ve gotten from home. If you really want to go there, spaghetti and meatballs isn’t even authentic Italian — meat and pasta are rarely served together in the same dish.

The key to Italian cuisine is the freshness of ingredients.

Although that may not come as a surprise, there is much more to the idea of freshness of food than the average American would expect.

Buy in bulk? Think again.

Italians shop at individual, smaller stores, each with their own specialty: the fishmonger, the butcher, the baker, the vegetable stand and even the wine maker. Fish are kept on ice whole — heads, eyes and all. Oranges still have their stems and leaves, and vegetables are bigger and sweeter than any I’ve had in America. Even better, they’re cheap.

Although it takes longer to shop, the concept of “get in and get out” that’s so ingrained in American culture is not an issue in Italy. The pace of life is slow, which initially frustrated me. Everything is late: the buses, my meal orders and even some of my classes (actually, no complaints there).

After a few rounds with the bus schedule and a couple deep breaths, I realized that being late is half the point in Italy. Even as a laid-back Midwesterner, I was still traveling at warp speed. In Italy, there is no recipe for success — only for the perfect marinara.

Though the weather echoes a perfect spring day to Americans this time of year, native Romans bundle up in this commonly considered chilly weather, scarves, gloves and all.

To warm themselves up, Romans differ from their American counterparts by not turning up the thermostat or fixing a quick cup of powdered hot chocolate (which, incidentally, I can’t find anywhere). Instead, regular stops to the caffè for a cup of cappuccino are the norm.

Contrary to the typical Starbucks run, with drinks flavored with sugar and artificial flavors, real Italian cappuccino is made with strong, fresh espresso coffee, steamed whole milk and is preferred with a healthy dose of granulated sugar added by the customer.

I’ll shamefully admit my prior addiction to the beloved vanilla latte, and my first experience with a traditional café latte was anything but divine. It was too strong, too foamy and there didn’t seem to be enough of it since they were served in such tiny cups.

Two weeks later, I’m hooked. I finally understand why Europeans scorn the American java scene. The creamy texture of steamed whole milk tops smooth, dark coffee that’s strong but never bitter. Espresso is freshly ground every morning in the caffè and is made to order: no whipped cream or non-fat-soy-lattes-extra-dry exist on these menus.

As the daylight starts to disappear, wine becomes the beverage of choice. Vino of every color, body and region is omnipresent in Rome and is consumed for dignified pleasure rather than to enter into a state of deliberate debauchery.

The Italians have a saying, mangi bene, which means eat well. This rule is hardly a chore to live by, and it gave me the perfect opportunity to discover new dishes, rediscover better versions of old ones and have an increasingly inverse relationship between my filling stomach and thinning wallet.

Of course, when in Rome …