During a two week trip to Italy, the biggest eye-opening gastronomical experience was the Italian highway rest stops, and more specifically, the Italian “Autogrill.”

American rest stops are to Italian Autogrills what White Castle is to a Michelin Star restaurant.

At first, I was horrified when my supposed foodie friend suggested we get a sandwich at the Autogrill. I knew we both desperately needed to eat after an overnight flight and with four hours of driving ahead of us. But how could my first meal in Italy be at a rest stop? I was assured that Italian rest stops were different while I sulked, mumbling my displeasure in  made up Italian.

But when I walked in! I felt like a 1980 Soviet refugee walking into a NYC grocery store for the first time. Paninis with prosciutto and mozzarella, flaky croissants filled with smooth cream, and top quality espresso (for 1 Euro!). I stopped in my tracks and stared — and then got really angry. I felt like storming into the US Embassy and yelling, “You mean people actually live like this while I’ve been brainwashed to think that an Auntie Ann’s pretzel bite was haute roadside cuisine?!” I was planning a sit-in ala the Woolworth’s counter when I got back to the US, but then I got distracted by…

So much yummy chocolate.  I get excited when I find a non-Hershey’s chocolate bar at an American rest stop, but in Italy you are greeted with with Milka, Lindt, and Toblerone bars the size of a small toddler. But there’s so much more than just great chocolate to buy because…

Autogrills are culinary road maps for regional cuisine. Don’t know difference between the different regional foods? No worries! Just check out the grocery items for sale at the Autogrill. Pick up salami in Tuscany, risotto rice in Lombardy, and pesto in Liguria. Our equivalent is the local off-brand Haribo gummy bears for sale (not in Italy: They sell only the real Haribo — you don’t want to piss off German tourists). And if you regret not grabbing that special dried pasta, don’t worry: You’ll have another chance really soon because…

Autogrills are prolific and efficient. You’ll pass one every 15-20 miles, and because they know how excited you are to go to the Autogrill (!!!), you’re updated every 2 miles about how far away the next one is. Sure, they’re smaller than the typical megalith rest stop in America, but because you pass so many of them, they aren’t crowded with a thousand people who have all been holding their pee for the last 100 miles. And small is efficient: I’ve taken longer walking across the parking lot of an American rest stop then it’s taken me to pee and have an espresso at the counter at an Autogrill. And with that extra time…

You must wander around. Go explore because there are some weirdly awesome things for sale, like discounted Peroni beer and a tub of artisanal marshmallow peeps in July. But don’t cross the boarder because…

French rest stops are all kinds of wrong. Granted, we were only driving in France for a bit, but I can still sleep at night if I damn a whole country’s roadside services after just a few rest stop visits.

France so loudly protests McDonald’s, but the most edible food at their rest stops is at McDonald’s! I think it’s like when guys picky up titty mags at gas stations at 3:00 am: If they’re caught, it kinda doesn’t count because normal rules are suspended in such shitty conditions.

Plus, the French are so suspiciously enthusiastic about bathrooms. I love a good pee like the next girl, but the quality of the bathroom facilities did not match the hype with which they are advertised. Based on the super-psyched paintings on the wall, I was pretty sure I was going to walk into a cocaine party ala Wolf of Wall Street.

So why do Italian rest stops put those in America and France to shame? My theory: Italians really do think that life is too short for mediocre food.  You should be able to eat well regardless of whether you’re at a fancy restaurant or just getting gas. I think the French are too snotty to entertain the idea of enjoying food at a rest stop, and I think the Americans are too lazy and ignorant to demand better.

My friend probably regrets dragging me into my first Autogrill, because Pandora’s box was opened. Every time I saw a sign telling us one was coming up, I’d squeal and yell, “Autogrill!” and then 5 minutes later, as nonchalantly as possible, say, “I have to go to the bathroom.” While I do have the world’s smallest bladder, needing a rest stop every 30 minutes is dramatic for me. But my trick worked, and we pulled over every time.

Because: AUTOGRILL!!!