Many tourists may venture to Italy in search of rolling Tuscan hills spotted with olive groves, cypresses and ancient ruins, or perhaps for great Renaissance works of art, but I came in search of a good meal-the kind of meal that takes three hours to eat, and three hours of napping to digest.

Let's start with breakfast, considered by most Americans (including my third-grade teacher), to be the most important meal of the day. In Italy, breakfast consists of your favorite coffee drink served by the local Barista. In Rome, it was the bushy-mustachioed man, who single-handedly manned a coffee bar in the University district on via dei Volsci. My first day there, I timidly ordered a cappuccino. What I received was like no other cappuccino I have ever tasted before or since. This caffeine-charged beverage, supposedly named for the Capuchin monks' costume of brown robes and white cowls, a good cup of cappuccino requires the right amount of frothy milk. Too much and we're talking latte; too little and it's not worth it. The foam also must hold; halfway through drinking, it can't be dissolving into the black espresso. I could have stood a spoon straight up in this foam, but instead I luxuriously sipped, swishing this elixir of the gods in my mouth and tasting hints of the original shell on the divine coffee bean. Needless to say, I accomplished an incredible amount of sight-seeing that day. You'll find that, by late morning, Italians become unusually cranky (you would too if all you had for breakfast was a cappuccino and possibly a pastry), but then, this is why lunch is the most important meal of an Italian's day.

Lunch. It used to conjure up images of my elementary school's cafeteria where, sloppy joe's were a thrilling meal, but now, I know what was originally intended by that seemingly insignificant meal. Many Italians still take the infamous three-hour lunch break, and now I know why it is necessary. Florence taught me the meaning of lunch, specifically Café Zaza near the Piazza San Marco. For less than $20, two people can get a primi piatti, a secondi piatti and a carafe of wine. And for no money, those same two people can stumble awkwardly, full and slightly drunk, back to their lodgings to fall soundly asleep. Don't miss the Tuscan specialty Ribollita, a typical peasant dish which usually means it is prepared from all the leftovers in the fridge and cooked until its mush. This Tuscan mush, however, is truly the ultimate comfort food. Made with vegetables and bread, this soup requires fresh olive oil to drizzle on as dressing, inviting you to wish for cold winter days and a roaring fire. I stupidly ordered that as my primi piatti and was quite full when my secondi piatti arrived: fresh fried chicken with a zesty tomato sauce for dipping. Vegetarians read on, omnivores, listen up; I have never been that carnivorous but these chicken strips made every salivary gland in my mouth water; so succulent that as I write this, my stomach growls at the thought of them. I have tried to replicate them in my own kitchen, but to this day I have been unsuccessful. And, gasp, don't forget the wine! It is extremely difficult to go wrong with the house red or white. Back home, a bottle of it would most likely cost at least $10 or more, so drink up because it's less than $5!

After waking from the wine-induced nap, you'll begin to feel the tingles of the oncoming famishment your body will soon experience. Hold back though, Italians don't usually start dinner until 7:30pm or later. If you're like me and become dangerous when the blood sugar begins to dip, there is always a gelato stand ready to serve. Don't be shy, there is another one around the corner, so you can always sample as many flavors as you want without embarrassing yourself. I recommend the fruit flavors.

Dinner is usually a less lavish meal than the three-hour lunch earlier in the day. If you find yourself wandering cobblestone streets in search of the "perfect" restaurant, risking your blood sugar each minute, stop and do the sensible thing before you lash out at your travel companions: eat at any restaurant filled with locals. My first dinner in Italy was pizza ordered from the Carpe Diem take-out on via dei Sabelli, directly across from our pension in Rome. This small and dingy pizzeria was filled with locals, so despite its appearances, I concluded they must make good pizza, and I wasn't wrong. This was a pizza that I will never forget. Absent of tomato sauce, it made up for it with a thin, crispy crust and a thick layer of mushrooms so delectable (tasting of the most virginal olive oil, and pungent salts taken from the Mediterranean sea no doubt) that I ate it with my bare hands, in one sitting, not caring about the savory juices trickling down my chin. That night I dreamt I was tossing pizza crusts deliriously until they became so large that I was enveloped in fresh dough.

Ceridwyn Gipson, an enthusiastic traveler, loves to immerse herself in another culture through the native cuisine, believing that the heart of a country lies within the stomach. You can find her online right here!

Find a hotel in Rome by clicking here or click here to search for a place to stay in the rest of Italy. Bon appetit!