la moda italiana

We have started to know our way around but we do not fit in here. I am still motivated by a teenage sort of desire to fit in, at least with people who I admire. Although I have been mistaken for an Italian once or twice, it was only while bogged down with groceries and since carrying grocery bags around constantly is not an option, it is neccessary to take some other measures to assimilate.

Italian women are always dressed well. Inspite of the fact that the entire city is paved with roughly hewn basalt squares which are set one against the next leaving gaps every few inches and a bumpy surface, the italian women seem to glide effortlessly across the piazzas in spike heels. They also ride scooters and pedal bikes in heels. One night before we ventured out for dinner relatively nearby, I bravely doned my most comfortable of heels which are wide enough at the bottom that there was no risk of sinking into a gap. I navigated a course which had sidewalks most of the way, and I made Chris walk at my side the whole time holding my hand. Eventually he ask if I could take his arm because I was squeezing his fingers too tightly. I only almost fell over once, but Chris said there were at least three near disasters. It is obvious that Italian women walk in heels balancing on their toes. I once read that Paris Hilton practices walking on her toes around the house so she can walk in heels. This is obviously why Italian women have beautiful legs.


The shoes are hard to adjust to, but the clothing I think will be easier. I visited the triumverate: Benetton, Sisley and Stefanel which are, respectively, the Old Navy, Gap and Banana Republic of Italy to pick out a few things. The stores have one thing in common: vertigo inducing interiors with lucite cantilevered staircases and all glass floors. I am not prone to vertigo but I hate walking around and being able to see straight through the floor. I hadn't planned for shopping over the heads of others and therefore was inappropriately attired in an a-line dress. While trying to see if any of the shoppers below me were getting a glimpse up my skirt, I nearly walked into a mirrored wall. While the stores were a dizzying experience I did find somethings I really liked. Similar brands in America produce basic, classic staples, but there is no shortage of innovation and daring in fashion design, even among mid-range stores here. Tulip hems on skirts and jackets with cute sixties inspired necklines. I tried on a few things while the sales girl was chatting me up. Also an art history major and exactly the same age as me, we had a lot in common and she wanted to know all about New York. I think think I got carried away trying to keep up my end of the conversation because of all the things I could have purchased, I bought a dress with a drapped neck that plunges to the navel. The fit is sort of a reverse triangle, with batwing sleeves, that narrows to a formfitting part around the rear. The salesgirl told me most people wear it with a camisole under it and leggings. I was glad to hear that...I wasn't going to be buying double sided tape to avoid "wardrobe malfunctions." I have yet to complete the ensemble with the requisite leggings and camisole, but I am feeling more Italian already.

Bialetti, Branzino e la Bombola

Today was the first day that felt a little bit like fall. The humidity was gone and the air was crisp. It was appropriate to feel the weather change as we are feeling too that things are different. This foreign country is starting to feel less foreign. We finally know where to get all of our food, we understand why the weatherman is a colonel (meteorology is strictly a military pursuit here) and we are having more success with our culinary pursuits as well.

We received excellent instructions from our friends Susan and Jay on how to make coffee in the cafetiera. I have a feeling we went wrong primarily in how we filled the basket with coffee, that is to say that is where we went wrong after we bought a cafetiera in "Top Sound." Kitchen items are a specialty of Italy and I found a hardware store (still a bit strange for us, but there is no crate and barrel here) that sells "Bialetti" cafetiere. We figure with the best cafetiera money can buy and step by step instructions from our friends, we should be able to make coffee with out any explosions.

We also successfully cooked our whole fish. Tara responded to our post about the Branzino with a recipe. With her suggestions in hand I was brave enough to defrost the fish. You might be surprised to know that Branzino is actually sea bass. We stuffed it with lemon and rosemary as instructed and roasted it in the oven with a little white wine. It was delicious. We skipped out on eating the skin--we are taking this one step at a time.

It seems we exhausted the stove with the roasting of the Branzino, because the next day we noticed the bonfires we have for a stove top were looking pretty anemic. I was barely able to make the sauce I needed to make the meal I was planning: cannelloni filled with ricotta. Stupidly, we didn't realize what was going on. I had a pan full of stuffed pasta ready for the oven when it completely stopped working. We finally realized we had run out of gas but identifying the problem was really only the beginning. Not only did we not know where to find a gas canister but we didn't even know the word for gas in Italian. I know that the gas put into cars is called "la benzina" here, but I had a feeling that wasn't what we needed. With gestures and explanations in a combination of Italian and English, we explained the symptoms of the stove problem to the porter. A look of clarity came over his face, and he said we needed "una bombola." The very word had us in hysterics. We were certain that whatever a "bombola" was it wasn't going to help. The next day some guys came over to look at the stove. They tried to light it and said with a very dry sense of Italian humor, "It's hard to get the stove to work without gas." They returned soon after with the "bombola" a canister full of "gas." Yes, the word for "gas" in Italian is "gas!"

i nostri gatti

It was hard to part from our little Ella and this week has been rather lonely without her. While Chris has been at work I have been sad that I no longer have a little cat trailing behind me when I am at home. Ella has been staying with her grandparents, who are first time cat caretakers and while they are doing exceptionally well, they are prone to some novice mistakes. The other day my mother told me that Ella wasn't eating her dry food. Ella eats one homemade meal per day, usually chicken and butternut squash mixed with special vitamins, and for the other meal she gets dry food. Just like a child, Ella prefers the "McDonalds" food to the homemade, lovingly prepared meals I (and now my mother) slave over. Naturally, I was shocked to hear she wasn't eatting her dry food especially since I had told my mother which brand of food to buy. When my mother suggested that perhaps it was too big for her mouth, I knew exactly what had happened. I asked her to check the bag and sure enough, she was feeding the cat dog food. To make up for it she gave Ella a little orange roughy for dinner to soothe her palate, but the whole sad story made me miss our little cat even more. We still haven't received our webcam but we can see my parents on theirs and they have begun to bribe Ella to come near the computer where we can see her.

As anyone who has seen the ubiquitous "Cats of the Colloseum" calendar in souvenier shops here knows, Rome is full of stray cats. Outside our apartment is no exception, particularily because we are close to the garbage dumpsters. Probably the only advantage to being close to the trash is the opportunity to see many little cats when coming in and out of our house. There are about four regular visitors to the garbage area, two of which Chris and I have decided are our outdoor cats. This means little more than giving them names, since I am a little afraid of what would happen if we started to feed them. We call the one with black and white splotches resembling cow hide mucchina (which in Italian means little cow). Mucchina (pictured above) is the most adventurous because she actually comes up near our apartment. There is also a tiny black cat, Nero, that likes to rest in the bushes in front of our house. Unfortunately, Chris has told me that I shouldn't pet the cats because I could get ringworm from them. I'm sure this is unlikely to be a problem since these cats are not at all interested in coming near us. To them we are pesky intruders who like to pass by their favorite resting spots disturbing their cat naps. But in the event that they should come near me, I'm not sure I could resist.

lo sciopero

When I came to Italy years ago as an au pair, I had a wonderful book called "Teach Yourself Italian" which I used to do just that. The book is very practical so it begins with things you will surely need right away in Italy such as: how to ask what things cost, how to get directions, and how to ask for help when your mode of transportation is shut down due to a strike.

Striking is sort of an Italian way of life, so when prices on Pasta and Bread, things that everyone needs, were set to rise 20% the Italians called for a "Sciopero della Pasta" on September 13th. This was a "symbolic strike" because it was set to last only one day. As serious as Italians can be about their strikes when it means not working, they are less strong willed when it means forgoing gastronomic pleasures and even those planning the strike knew many could not hold out any longer than that. I was very enthusiastic to be able to participate on the striking end of the sciopero! I made Chris promise not to eat pasta for lunch and resolved also not to buy pasta.

I was planning on cooking Ragu alla Bolognese for dinner but I figured that was probably okay since I had already bought the pasta, right? At the last minute I decided I wanted to make some Bruschetta for dinner so I had to run to the store for tomatoes. Since I have already explained that such a trip is really an odyssey, I wanted to make it worth my while so I picked up some other things as well. As I was passing by the fish counter I saw a woman buy some fish and ask the guy to clean them. I am intimidated by the fish counter because the fish are almost all whole and there is a giant real swordfish head sticking out of the display, but if someone else cleans them for you, well, I thought, that must make it much easier. So after I got everything else I went back to the counter. The only name I understood on the signs was Branzino, which I saw on a restaurant menu once. I asked for one Branzino to be cleaned. As the guy weighed it I realized I had forgotten to do all the things that Alton Brown suggests when buying fish, ie. looking at the eye to see if it is clear and smelling it (hopefully with no success). Oh well, I'm a whole fish novice. Then the guy asked how I was planning on cooking it because apparently that makes a difference as to how you clean it. I realized I had no idea how I was going to cook it and how ridiculous it would sound to say so, so I pretended I didn't understand what he was asking. (This technique is only effective for those with obvious accents) He used gestures to indicate "covered" or "uncovered" so I said uncovered. I think this was the wrong choice. He took the fish over to this blood covered board and scraped the scales off. He then plunged a knife into the belly and drew it towards the mouth gutting the fish. He gave it to me in a plastic bag and then, shockingly enough, he complimented my Italian! I was slightly traumatized and dazed by this experience so when on my way to the checkout I saw a box of Parpardelle all'uova I snatched it up without thinking. It was only when I came home and got done examining my fish (which really, looks as intimidating as it did before it was cleaned) did I realize that I had bought pasta. I had missed my chance to participate in the strike in solidarity with the Italians. I am still deciding what to do with the Branzino which is in my freezer for now. Any suggestions? Comment with recipes (but only those in which the fish is cooked uncovered!)

TV (pronounced: tee-voo)

We have a special satellite connection which gives us almost solely English and German stations. We have only one Italian station, RAI UNO, but we prefer to watch it so we can improve our Italian. This morning I found a show which resembled Regis and Kathy Lee; light news with some fun demonstration segments and chatty talk. It is somewhat of a joke in Italy that the news personalities are often sexy women. This one was no exception and throughout an interview on the upcoming pasta strike (more on this later) the camera often zeroed in on her while she turned away from the conversation to smile and strike a pose. These interviews were interspersed with practical segments, one in which a woman demonstrated how to decorate drinking straws with fish cut out of Styrofoam and coral cut from a pink plastic laundry bottle. The point seemed to be to identify your straw somehow so you wouldn't accidentally drink from the wrong glass. The weather, at regular intervals, was reported by a weatherman dressed in a full military costume. The show ended with a dance performance where the hostess wore a pucci-esque unitard (sans one arm and one leg).

The television in the middle of the day and early evening is far more subdued. "Murder She Wrote" is huge here. In the Italian series priests and nuns figure heavily. Chris and I have begun to watch "Don Matteo 5" a show where the main character is a priest who seems to assist women with their romantic problems. We're not sure what the five after the name means.

The commercials here are no less humorous. There is one where a woman gives her daughter a chocolate bar in the morning while explaining, "It's hard to make breakfast." The AXE commercials are famous here. The guy usually puts on the cologne and the woman, upon smelling it says male fantasy line like, "Let's watch football all day today!" Last night I saw a Martini and Rossi commercial where a guy gets a drink from the bar but there isn't any ice left. As he looks across the room he sees a bull made out of ice and a woman dressed as a matador, complete with a sword. I can't write what happens next, because this is a PG-13 blog. Suffice it to say, I don't think that would have passed the FCC in America.

PS. I've added an photograph I took of this morning's dance routine. This time our hostess was wearing a pokka-dotted leotard.

il caffe

Coffee is an essential part of Roman life. Along with the sock stores, you can find a bar almost every few feet where you can drink a quick coffee in piedi (standing at the counter). Unfortunately we seem to live in an area devoid of either grocery stores or bars so we must make our coffee at home. When we arrived there was an american-style coffee maker in our apartment but Chris and I wanted to get a little cafetiera to make espresso. We thought this made the most sense since all of the coffee here is fine ground for the espresso machines. I did see something labeled "american coffee" in the supermarket but the layer of dust on the box scared me away.

We had a cafetiera in New York, but we hadn't brought it with us so I bought one. Perhaps it was a mistake to buy it at a store called "Top Sound" which sold mostly electronics but how wrong can you go with a cafetiera? Aparently disastorously wrong. Chris made the coffee while I was sleeping so I didn't witness what happened, but he described an "explosion." He cleaned up rather well though so I thought he was probably exagerating a bit. You might be thinking, "How stupid to buy a cafetiera in an electronics store!" Well, our stupidity goes beyond that. We thought perhaps we had done something wrong, so we tried it again. This time Chris thought perhaps the flame underneath had been too low. So in an effort to make the coffee quickly he tried it on high. At first everything seemed fine and then, without any warning (or even the faintest gurgle of coffee) there was an explosion which spewed coffee and espresso grounds all over the stove, walls, sink, cabinet, fridge and the drying rack full of clean dishes; everything within a six foot radius. The clean up took two days. I hope that someone has some advice on how to fix this. I think that perhaps the flames on our stove are too high or the cafetiera is simply faulty, but with results like this we can't afford to experiment.

faciamo come i turisti!

After my usual morning shopping excursion, which this time required a bus trip, Chris and I did a few touristy things. We made a short pilgrimage via the parking garage to San Pietro. We visited Pope Pius X and Gregory the Great, from whom Gregorian Chant takes its name and said a little prayer of thanks for being in Rome.



Having conquered the bus system in my earlier shopping trip, we decided to take the bus to the Aventine, my favorite hill in Rome. We scaled the hill via the Clivio di Rocca Savella and reached the Parco Savello which offers a beautiful view over the city below. I remembered from my trip to Rome a few years ago that there was an old man selling olives at the entrance. The charming man with his bowl of olives has since expanded his offerings to include beer, a range of soft drinks and potato chips. We stuck with the olives.

Further down the road is the keyhole of the Cavalieri di Malta. Through the hole in the door you see a garden which perfectly frames the distant dome of St. Peter's Basilica. (This is Chris taking a look before being pushed aside by some tourists who wanted to videotape the view.) Directly across the little piazza is the Monestary of Sant Anselmo. A shop attached to the church sells products produced by Monks from all over Europe. Last time I was in Rome I bought Casamari Sambuca and some pure licorice candy there and have been dying to buy more ever since. Lest you think we made the trip solely for the Sambuca, we attempted to enter the chapel but there was a wedding taking place.


After our shopping and resting in the park, we headed down the hill and across the Tiber via the Isola Tiberina, home of a hospital and the Chiesa di San Bartolomeo. In Trastevere we stopped for a pizza at Dar Poeta, the cheap--but some say best--pizzeria in Rome to enjoy our first meal out in the eternal city.

Fare la spesa

Most important to me in feeling settled is knowing where to buy groceries. On our first full day in Rome I attempted to go to the grocery store. For some reason it is very easy to find a store that sells socks in Rome but difficult to find a place to buy the most basic of housewares. After a long search I finally found a supermarket. The first thing on my list: laundry detergent. The dish washing liquid, dishwasher powder and laundry soap were all intermingling on the shelf and since there were no recognizable brands I was forced to read almost every label for fear of washing my clothes in dishwashing liquid. I settled on "bio presto" which I chose based on label's claim that research at the university of ferrara had proved it was sensitive to the skin. (so that's what they study at the universities here...) I did see the snuggle bear on a bottle of fabric softener which is called "coccolino" here but I didn't buy it because I have yet to figure out where the fabric softener goes in our washing machine. The rest of the shopping trip was unremarkable except that I noticed there was a large section of liquor but no fruits or vegetables and you must pay for any bags in which to place your groceries. We live on a hill (I guess you are either on a hill or in a valley in Rome) so carrying anything on your way home is exhausting. Climbing the hill with large bottles of olive oil and laundry detergent would normally be a challenge but the task was made more difficult because of my poor choice to purchase only one bag for my groceries. I felt the need to support the bottom of the bag for fear that it would give out so with the "bio presto" in one hand I had to balance the other bag on my forearm and walk tilting slightly backwards.

Today I found a parking garage with an elevator and escalator which takes you down to the bottom of the hill and deposits you just outside the colonnade of San Pietro. I was emboldened by this discovery to try shopping again, this time at the market on Via Andrea Doria which is a little past the Vatican Museums. I did one pass through what must have been about an eighth of the total market just checking everything out. It is clear why there are so few grocery stores when you see the variety and the prices at the markets (and the bags there are free too). There was one stall devoted to yarn which was exciting to see (if only my knitting needles would arrive). In another stall they were slicing prosciutto di parma paper thin by hand. There were exotic fruits, moscato grapes and itty bitty wild strawberries. It was a bit overwhelming particularly because I am completely unfamiliar with the size of an "etto" or "kilo" and was never sure just how much I was ordering. On my second round through I purchased some basics for a salad: mozzarella di buffala, cherry tomatoes, baby arugula and a little basket of lettuce. The tomatoes are not to be believed. Red, plump and flavorful.

On the way back I was stopped by several tourists asking for directions. Clearly, the quickest way to look like a local is to carry a bunch of shopping bags!

Siamo Arrivati!

We are here! Though we haven't actually gone far to explore, there is a lot to say about the apartment and the people. We were picked up at the airport and arrived to a two bedroom apartment with a well-stocked kitchen and a hot meal awaiting us. The desire to eat was the only thing that overcame our urge to go to sleep immediately. The two bedroom apartment seems palatial compared to our studio in New York and there is a patio outside which is surrounded by lemon trees. As you can see in the picture, the unrippened ones look like limes which makes me wonder if limes are really just green lemons... I picked a yellow one this morning, but I think by the time they turn yellow on the tree they are really too ripe and soft. Since I was born and raised in a colder climate, I hope someone can comment on this perplexing citrus problem.