I love sweet things. Ice creams, chocolate, you name it. I—along with everyone else in my family, so I’m blaming genetics—have a major sweet tooth.
Which is why Florence, Italy provided a bit of a challenge for me. There were so many options: gelaterias as far as the eye could see! Affogato served in wine windows! Bakeries full of lovely treats!
But pistachios dominate Italian treats. And as someone deathly allergic to them, without the benefit of speaking the local language, this makes sweet shops a landmine.
My allergy isn’t a preference. I’ve written about my allergy before—specifically about how restaurants can do better when dealing with allergies. But it becomes so much harder to deal with abroad!
Everyone with allergies reacts differently—some reactions are minute, like sneezing or coughing. Some are the ones you see in movies like Monster-In-Law or Hitch: swollen lips, hives, puffiness.
I wish I had these reactions. My reactions are a lot less visual: my throat swells, cutting off my airways. My epi-pen gives me a shot of adrenaline that gives an ambulance 20–30 minutes to find me, and give me proper medicine. They then keep me in a hospital bed for observation for the next 4-5 hours.
I speak about it pretty clinically, but it’s really a nightmare. The feeling of my throat tightening, unable to breathe. The epi-pen giving me a shot medicine that forces my heart to beat like a hummingbird’s. The imminent threat of death—it all feels like a panic attack. And unlike a panic attack, where you can repeat to yourself I’m okay, this is all in my head, the only thought I’m thinking is I’m going to die. No, really—if the medicine wears off before the ambulance gets here, my airway will cut off. Should I call my parents and tell them I love them?
In short, I never ever want to have an allergy attack. This is especially when I’m travelling. I might not be able to communicate with a doctor because I don’t know the language. Insurance costs might be different. A hospital’s policy might dictate being signed out to someone’s care (how is this possible when solo travelling?). Not to mention it takes my nervous system a few days to reset after a near-death experience. To feel like myself again, I need rest, which can spoil holiday plans.
So in Florence, like anywhere, I wasn’t going to risk an allergy attack. There are some compromises I have to make. A “may contain” or “there’s nuts in the kitchen” isn’t always a dealbreaker if I’m assured that precautions can be taken by the chef. If I get even a whiff of the chef not taking allergies seriously, or if the waiter looks concerned, that’s not good. But most restaurants will have ways to keep the food safe, even if they use nuts in other dishes. They use different pots or pans, a nut-free grill, or substitute “may contain” ingredients.
This really broke down when it came to the sweet shops in Florence, though. Authentic, made-on-the-premises gelato should be a flex, but when I see a pistachio flavour I don’t even get in line. That means there’s pistachios in the kitchen, in the ice-cream maker, on the scooped spoons. The cross-contamination is everywhere when pistachios are a feature.
This is also true when pistachio pieces are sprinkled over croissants in shared bakery windows. When everything is touching in the display case, it’s easy to imagine a nut sticking to a non-nutty tart.
The one place I found, that I visited three times while in Florence, was the lemon sorbet stand. But even this wasn’t perfect; even though I was able to confirm that the scoop was used only for the lemon sorbet, that there were no nuts in the recipe, and that the lemon bowls were washed beforehand, there were still pistachio macrons available for purchase. Pistachios seem to be a staple of Italian desserts, wherever I went!
I couldn’t go hungry my whole trip, and eating out requires a level of risk, even when you take every precaution. But there are a few things that I can do to mitigate risk. If you’re travelling with an allergy, I suggest the following tips:
Translate this phrase, take a screengrab, and put it in a separate photo album in your phone.
I use Google translate to translate the following: I have a serious nut allergy, to cashews and pistachios. Please can you confirm there will be no cashews or pistachios in the food I’ve ordered?
This lets your server know two things: one, this is an allergy, and not a preference. And two, you need help navigating the menu.
I translated these sentences to Italian, and then—and this is important—I took a screengrab. Why? Because so much can go wrong using the internet abroad, and when you’re checking about allergies is not the time to lose connection, or accidentally click away from a website. A screengrab ensures that the words do not move.
Putting the photo in a separate album of your phone makes sure that it’s easy to get to. Let’s be real; if you’re on vacation, your “recent pics” folder will be full of new vacation pics. Putting it in a separate folder ensures that it’ll be quick and easy to access.
Chose what you want to eat before you speak to an employee.
Whether you’re in line at a deli or sitting at a restaurant, it’s a lot easier for people to help when you’re specific. There are certainly times where multiple things look good, and that’s okay! But the conversation, when you don’t speak the local language, should be I have an allergy; I’d like to order the seafood pasta; is this safe?
This phrasing is so much easier to deal with than, I have an allergy; can you walk me through everything on the menu and see what has nuts? It also means you can cut right to the problem-solving, if needed; you might hear that the pasta is fine, but you’ll need to substitute an ingredient. If the response is that the entire menu is fine, with no allergens on the premises, then knowing what you want to order will save time and not hold up the line or the waiter!
Don’t be afraid to ask for an allergen menu, request a manager, or simply leave
As someone who gets anxious, the thought of creating a spectacle by requesting a manager or walking out of a restaurant before I’ve ordered fills me with dread. But when it comes to a serious risk to my health, I have to push through that (I’d rather be fretting about looking rude than end up in a hospital!).
An allergen menu is a list of dishes, and the allergens that they may contain; I’ve found them really helpful for figuring out what I can and can’t eat quickly. If you’re feeling like your server isn’t taking you seriously, asking to speak to someone senior isn’t rude; it’s an attempt to connect with someone who might have a better understanding of how serious allergies are. And remember—you can always leave! If you don’t feel safe, and have paid for the food you’ve already consumed, you can always close your tab and find somewhere else you feel safer.
When I’m not getting taken seriously, I don’t get angry; I make a joke
This isn’t advice per se, but I thought I should include it anyhow.
I have a friend who also has nut allergies (different nuts, but same severity: life-threatening). When we eat together, he has no problem getting angry when waiters don’t take his requests seriously. He’s been known to raise his voice and get quite bullish when he’s met with apathy—as he should! Imagine if someone were willing to put your life in jeopardy because they couldn’t be bothered to take you seriously.
Truthfully, I get mad, too. I become frustrated and pissed off. If I’m paying for food, it feels like the least amount of effort to find out what’s in it. Especially if that thing could kill me.
But I’ve found—and I think it’s because I’m a woman, although it’s just a hunch—that when I get angry or upset, I’m dealt with as though I’m hysterical, or making a big deal over nothing. And that could potentially be dangerous, if staff stop taking me seriously altogether. (Or try to teach me a lesson—I’ve heard stories about people testing allergies to prove a point, with tragic results.)
So instead of getting mad, if I feel like a waiter isn’t taking me seriously, I say—with a smile and a giggle in my voice:
“If you kill me, I’m coming back to haunt you.”
…that usually does it. I’ve had glassy-eyed waiters snap to attention, a nervous chuckle turn into a more serious conversation (“wait, is it really that bad?”) and an almost-instant “Well I’m not sure—let me get my manager”.
If they still don’t take me seriously after that, I leave. Life’s too short!
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