A City Awash in Olive Oil

I've almost completed my first week in Florence. That I will be here for the next three months definitely hasn't hit me yet. We've all been doing circles around the city, wafting through the sea of tourists, marking off the list of must-sees we've all composed in our heads; the Duomo, check, Ponte Vecchio, check. I need to slow down.
I do that over dinner. For the next three months, I will be eating pasta nightly with my host family, the Ficari's. Already they've taught me an easy way to become instantly Italian: pour olive oil on everything. Everything. Slathered on bread, sautéed with pasta, tossed with salad. They even poured it straight from the bottle into my bowl of vegetable soup.  It is Italy's answer to American ketchup. Although I doubt red cabbage salad would taste good tossed with a big douse from a bottle of Heinz.
The very first night here, I was served a main course of pork rolled with spinach. My host father, Ferdi, poured a big dollop of oil over my slice of meat. My host mother, Judith (pronounced U-dit), didn't think that was enough and my meal was drenched again.
All this oil is okay though, my hosts say, it's healthy. High in Omega 3. I just have to get used to a food pyramid thats been turned completely upside down.

I felt it would've been awkward if I took pictures at the dinner table, so here's an unrelated photo of the view from my bedroom window.