Riding a Bike in Rome

(Thought this was a fitting topic coming off of yesterday's post featuring The Fat Cyclist!)

Have you ever seen the movie Bicycle Thieves (also translated as The Bicycle Thief)? A classic of neorealism from the late 1940s, many of the key scenes were filmed in Porta Portese. You may know Porta Portese for its famous Sunday flea market, but its true heart and soul are the back-alley bicycle and scooter helmet/accessory stalls that are there day in, day out.

Alessandro and I each have a bike, but for over a year they've been sitting idle in our entry hallway on their poor little "gomme bucate" (tires with holes in them). When I worked in an office here I used to ride my bike to work, and frankly I was missing the convenience of tooling around the center and running errands on my bike. So one Saturday a couple weekends ago, we decided to wheel our tired biciclette over to Porta Portese and see what could be done about the situation.

Now, Porta Portese on Sunday is a crazy place, and one of these days I'll get a post up about it. But please don't underestimate Porta Portese on a regular old day. You're coming up against the cream of the crop of "Romani di Roma" (real Romans). The accent is thick and the salesmanship is... man, those guys are good. You like to barter and bargain? Perfect. You'll get a good workout here.

We wheeled our bikes up to "Box" 3, Bicycle Repairs, and told the man we needed our tires repaired. He rattled off the figure of €60 to replace the inner tubes and tires on Ale's bike, and the inner tubes on mine (tires still good). Ale tried for €50 but since I'm an impatient wuss when it comes to bargaining down, I made the mistake of opening my big mouth too soon and saying that €60 was fine. I was completely unprepared for what we were coming up against. Maybe the actual value/cost is around €40, but so be it. The owner was beaming, a neon sign on his forehead practically flashing in hot pink: "My lucky day, a naive foreigner!" Because once I had said it was ok... well, how do you recover from that?

Sighing, I explained to the man that I'm no good at bargaining (this confession being the first, most obvious proof of such). He said that an American woman had come by just the other day by herself, and he spent "mezza giornata" (half the day) bargaining with her, as she kept telling him her "marito" (husband) would only allow her to spend X and she wasn't leaving until that was the price. He smiled wistfully. You could see that he had truly enjoyed the "battle."

Bravissima! But that's not me.

Anyhoo, our bikes were quickly repaired and ready for the road. While we were waiting we saw these electric scooters at the stall next door:

We asked the guy how much they cost and he told us €200, and when we asked if he sold those too, he said, "Ma no, siamo ciclisti noi... quelli sono solo gioccattoli." (No way, we're cyclists here, those are just toys.) Fatty would have surely appreciated the "we're serious cyclists" comment, seeing as how this man had a belly to rival that of Santa Claus. Then we all agreed that something like that parked on a Rome street wouldn't last long in the hands of the owner anyway, so it wasn't worth it whatever the price.

Now, back on the road. You can tell me what you think, but sometimes I feel that riding a bike in Rome is more dangerous than a scooter. The problem is that with all the tourists, staying on the sidewalks isn't usually an option, and without mirrors or turn signals, it's hard to keep an eye on the traffic around you or keep others aware of you. Then there's the fact that no matter how fast you pedal, you're probably not going to keep up with even the saddest-looking example of a moped, even if it happens to be an old Piaggio Ciao from the 70s (which itself has pedals, strangely enough---I guess in case you needed to help it along).

So that's why I'm the girl with the red helmet.

Yes, yes, I wear a helmet here. I stick out like a sore thumb. The first day I rode my bike around my neighborhood, I felt like a proud 5-year old, with all the Trasteverini in front of their shops making funny comments like "Ehi, bella, mi piace il casco!" Hey cutey, love the helmet! Etc., etc. I just smiled and waved. I am OK with looking like a dork here in Rome. I've accepted by now the fact that I'm never going to blend in completely, so I figure the helmet only adds to my overall charm, my "foreign mystique," if you will.

Tourists can rent bikes to take a spin, but that's more in the areas like the Spanish Steps. In fact, the other day walking down Via del Tritone I saw this contraption:

But, Porta Portese? Custom-designed for locals. If you're not from around here, be sure to bring your bargaining hat, because you'll need it!

Here's my bike at home sweet home, my front door (yes, the people eating at the restaurant look at me funny too).

Alberto, We Miss You

The other night I spotted this phrase in a neighborhood in north Rome. Do you know who Alberto is?

I can only guess that they're referring to Alberto Sordi, a Roman comic actor of mythical proportions who made his most famous work in the 50s and 60s. Of the 150 films he was in, he is probably best-known and loved for "Un Americano a Roma" where he plays a Roman so enamored with American culture and all things American (wishing he had been born in Kansas City) that he tries to live an American lifestyle among the Romans and even fakes an attempted suicide leap from the top of the Colosseum to gain attention for his plea for American citizenship. Given the anti-American climate these days, it's touching that this film has had such enduring popularity. Just one year after the film's release in 1954, Sordi was even invited to Kansas City and made an honorary citizen for promoting the city through this movie.

If you've never seen or heard about the film, but you've been to Rome, chances are you've seen this still taken from the movie:

Tell me you've seen this! I mean, it's only posted in just about every down-home Roman trattoria in existence. In fact, I have this idea rolling around in my head to document every restaurant that has it. It would be simple, just take a picture of the picture, then list the name and address of the restaurant. Next time I see one, I'm starting... and you are all welcome to send me yours as well. We can start an Italy-wide list.

I'd love to be able to embed this scene in my post, but unfortunately it's been taken off of YouTube for copyright restrictions. However, the world wide web is indeed wide, and so you can still view it here.

Basically it's a battle between a plate of macaroni (maccheroni), and what Sordi's character considers an "American" meal (yogurt, jam, milk...random things he finds in his kitchen). In the end, he can't resist the pasta and utters what has arguably become one of the most famous lines in Italian cinema: "Maccheroni, m'hai provocato e io ti distruggo adesso, io me te magno." Which translates roughly to: "Macaroni, you've provoked me and now I'm going to destroy you, now I'm going to eat you up." (Much better if you can watch and understand it in the original context of the movie.)

When Alberto Sordi passed away in 2003 at age 82, his funeral was attended by Ciampi (the president at the time), Rome's current mayor Veltroni and former mayor Rutelli, as well as other important figures in the local and national government. But most touching was the outpouring of love from Rome's citizens. According to this article, on one day prior to the funeral, around 60,000 mourners filed past the open casket in front of city hall, and this continued for days. At the funeral, banners filled the square outside of the Basilica of S. Giovanni, one of the most memorable of which said: "Yesterday you were an American in Rome, today you're a Roman in heaven."

3rd Annual Roman Neighbor Day

Yes, folks, Mr. Rogers would be quite proud. This is the third year running that someone in the bowels of Rome's public administration has decided that it would be fun to ask all of Rome to have a lovey, huggy, can't we all just get along? kind of day among neighbors.

In 2005, when this "Festa dei Vicini di Casa" first appeared, my cynical side laughed it off completely. But that was not before imagining lively scenes between Roman neighbors, all of which involved a good variety of local swear words and random insults, captioned with something like: Finally! A city-sponsored event that brings you closer to the ones who make your homelife a living nightmare.

Here's the thing. As you probably know, when we talk "neighbor" in Rome, we're not talking about let's chat over the fence while watering our oh-so-lovely green lawns.

No.

It's more like, "so THAT'S who's been cooking all that onion and garlic goodness from morning to night!" Or, "what the HECK are you DOING up there?" I swear... I once lived in an apartment in Garbatella where there must have been an army of kids rolling marbles across the floor upstairs all day long.

My first encounter with a Roman neighbor was when I had only been in Rome for a few days and didn't know you had to close the multiple elevator doors behind you for it to work (and get back to the 6th floor where someone was calling it). I know, that was dumb of me. But let me tell you, there was definitely no neighborly love going on when one of the people in the building caught me red-handed. Non lo so, sono americana!! My all-purpose excuse.

But, back to the point of my tale. Tomorrow is "Vicini Vicini," round 3. Cutesy little play on words there. Vicini being neighbors (vicini di casa) but ALSO, looky here--"close." Close neighbors. Aren't we clever? Since I am finally realizing that this little happy fest doesn't seem to be going anywhere, having firmly taken root sometime during May each year, I decided to take a look at their website to see if I could glean anything from it (read: maybe find something good to make fun of).

Well, let's just get the cheap shot out of the way right off the bat. Totti endorses Vicini Vicini. You know, Totti of the public wedding registry? He reminisces about his childhood apartment building and just wants to wish everyone a happy neighbors day. Thanks, Franceso. Same to you. And wait! Don't you live on the top floor of a really exclusive building with your own private pool on the roof? Perfetto! I imagine you're planning to invite all your neighbors over for a swim, no?

Back to the website, though: there's an entire party kit available for download. (Well, they're calling it a kit but it's really just a flyer and a one-page list of instructions.) Actually though, they're so completely organized, enthusiastic, and well-meaning about the whole thing, and those smiling windows in their logo are just so darn cute... aw shucks, I think the idea is starting to grow on me. The only problem is that in my building I don't have any neighbors except for the tourist guests who stay in the two apartments we rent below ours. Should I start including a "vicini vicini" party in the rental rate? (Rhetorical question, answer: no.)

Things like this have set the tone of the Veltroni government (he's Rome's mayor) and he is often criticized by opposing political parties for sponsoring what are seen as "fluff" events like La Notte Bianca, but not taking care of more pressing issues. Say, for example, like cleaning up the Tiber River. Ask any Roman if he or she would be willing to touch its waters, and you're likely to hear a tirade on the biohazards that would be involved in such a reckless act.

Well, check this out. Thanks to my pal Latta (a.k.a. Fabio) for bringing this to my attention. I'm thinking Veltroni might be just a wee bit out of touch. His quote is:

Il Tevere è così pulito che c'è un eccesso di pesci rispetto alla portata d'acqua.

Now, allow me to translate:

The Tiber is so clean that there are more fish than the water can handle.

Right, Veltrons. They're just jumping up begging to be caught for tonight's dinner. Um...you try eating it first.

What was he thinking? Probably too distracted drawing up plans for his apartment block party.

If you live in Rome, have you ever participated in the "Vicini Vicini" initiative?
If your city or town sponsored an event like this, would you organize one with your neighbors?
Do you know your neighbors, or ever have neighborhood get-togethers?

Bar S. Callisto - Tour del Gelato

Lest we forget that the "Tour del Gelato" is an indefinite tour, and lately I have been slacking on my tour guide duties, I give you what I affectionately call "Gelateria Zozza," a.k.a. The Filthy Gelateria. Mind you, it's not really filthy in the literal sense. But in Roman dialect, sometimes when we want to indicate something so incredibly down-home and no-frills that there's just no other way to express it, well, I've heard people use the word "zozzo" before, and here I feel it's appropriate.

Usually, pleas by Ale to go here fall on deaf ears--mine. I have a bit of an aversion to this place. Maybe it's because it lacks the neon pizzazz of Blue Ice, or the embarassment of choice provided by Della Palma. In all fairness, Bar S. Callisto isn't even really a gelateria, but rather a bar that happens to serve homemade gelato. Let me just get to the honest point here: I don't mix well with the crowd that congregates in front of the bar. It reminds me of a grittier version of Campo de' Fiori when it's past dark and beer bottles start breaking on the pavement. Getting inside this bar always makes me feel like I've just crashed a meeting of Trastevere's secret grunge and alternative society. Let's face it...I just don't fit in around here...far too few piercings and tattoos to be accepted.

Truth be told, in the light of making this a stop on the Tour del Gelato after Ale insisted on it this weekend, I have re-evaluated my former assessment. Also because our trip there allowed me to bring closure to a blogging mystery I presented to you a few months back. And because I have to be honest, the gelato there IS pretty good, after all.

So, prepare yourself as I lead you into the dark underbelly of the secret gelateria bar.
Enter, and face the list:

No, people, there are no shiny glass cases overflowing with mounds of colorful gelato here. I mean, please, would you just look at this sign? One can only wonder what ever became of the flavors now shrouded in wrinkled bits of scotch-taped paper. Frankly though, the prices are excellent: from €1 to €2.

Oh...did I forget to mention that this is a strictly Romanisti bar?

By that I mean, major Rome soccer team memorabilia OVUNQUE, that is, everywhere. Ms., I know that must be the real reason Sante comes here when you guys visit Rome. Strangely, my Lazio-crazed husband doesn't seem to mind. That tells you how much he adores this place's gelato. And I once again have to confess, I hold a soft spot in my heart for these down-home bars with autographed photos of local soccer heros from the early-to-mid 80s. I'm not being sarcastic--trust me, I find it strangely charming.

This is where the gelato comes from--mysterious silver vats. If you catch the scooper on a busy day, you'll see the covers literally flying all over the place. They are FAST, and I mean it. Also note the coveted homemade whipped cream topping.


Bits of local wisdom and advice can be had at every turn:

Who am I to partake in the un-hygienic practice of refusing the little spoon? Oh, no, indeed!

This, friends, was my final selection, for €2 (actually a bit much for me). Chocolate and strawberry, a combination that never fails me when I can't find the strange concoctions I prefer at other places, filled with all number of cookies, fruits and random additives. No, you will find no chunks here, I assure you.

Well, our tour ended, I must say that my snobbish attitude regarding this place has softened into a quiet admiration for the simple art of gelato the way it was intended to be. And I give my stamp of approval to Bar S. Callisto for upholding the art of traditional, no-frills gelato.

And, about that blogger mystery I mentioned to you. Remember how I swore I couldn't ever manage to find a clever enough ploy to disguise the shameless act of capturing the pupazzaro on film? Well, folks, let's all give a round of applause to S. Calisto and its alternative club, which, who knew, our friend the pupazzaro is a member of. Not surprising in the least. In a thinly-disguised attempt to appear tourist-like, snapping a photo of the many happy customers enjoying their drinks in the sun, I zoomed in on said pupazzaro, and here, for the first time in blogdom (I think), I give you:

It's your turn to figure out which one he is. And I'll give you a little hint: it's not the guy in the white shirt.

Bar S. Callisto
Piazza S. Callisto, just off Piazza S. Maria in Trastevere (the road to the left when you're facing the church)

Ever tried Gassosa?

The only possible way I can think of to translate the name of this beverage is to call it "Gassy." Which is just a fun name for a drink, wouldn't you say?

Gassosa Neri, in my experience, is a drink of mythical proportions here in Rome. There are many devotees to the Neri family of beverages, not the least of which is called Chinotto (kee-NOTE-toh). Chinotto has inspired entire websites that gush over it, explaining the origins of the fruit from the citrus family known as chinotto and why everyone loves it so. (Personally I think it's weird and bitter-tasting. S. Pelligrino makes it as well, but true devotees will probably tell you that Neri is the only true Chinotto). In fact, the Chinotto.com website actually has a FAN CLUB called "Amici del Chinotto" (Friends of Chinotto) complete with membership cards. I am tempted to join just to get one for my wallet, but it wouldn't fit with all the stupid grocery store loyalty cards I am forced to carry around with me. They also have a list of pro-Chinotto bars throughout Italy (and one in Livonia, Michigan--hello, random!) where you can get Chinotto.

But, what of gassosa? It's like Roman Sprite. The ingredients are: water, sugar, carbonation. That's right folks, gassosa is carbonated sugar water. How's that for simplicity? No secret recipes here.

First of all, it's pretty hard to find. But if you do locate it, it comes in these little 20 cl glass bottles, sold in shrink-wrapped flats of six.

The best place to go gassosa-hunting is at a really traditional Roman pizzeria. For example, I know they have it at Cassa Mortaro on Viale Trastevere. Marked outside simply "Pizzeria" and in fact its real name being "Ai Marmi", this place is known as Cassa Mortaro (a.k.a. "The Mortuary") by locals because it has marble-topped tables---just like---you guessed it! It's the only place I can think of that has Gassosa Neri on the menu. A friend of mine always orders one and mixes it with beer. Some people mix it with wine.

Why is this relevant? It's not, really. But it just crossed my mind that some beverages have taken on mysterious and mythical proportions here in Rome, and not everyone knows about Gassosa. It's not that it's this incredibly great drink. But I think the fact that it's so hard to find makes it kind of popular among those "in the know." Another of these is Tassoni Cedrata.

Has anyone tried these? Anyone a big fan? What other "strange" or local drinks do you have where you live?

Roman Spirit for the Internet Age: Limortacci.com

I probably shouldn't post this, lest I offend someone's delicate sensibilities, ma parliamoci chiaro, let's be frank: Roman culture is embraced, shrouded, and engulfed in vulgarity. I think it would be safe to say that vulgarity, in fact, can easily be considered part and parcel of the true "spirito romano," the Roman spirit, the "anima romana," the Roman soul. I'm not making a judgement call, just stating the facts, ma'am. I call it as I see it.

Romans don't really have a distinct dialect, per se, but they do have a heavy accent and specific sayings that other regions and areas don't have. In my experience, Italians look down on the Roman way of speaking and when I was learning Italian, most Italians and even many Romans I encountered warned me not to "pick up the Roman accent" or "learn to speak from Romans." Well, too late for that. I've become a strange hybrid creature who sounds remotely foreign yet kind of Roman at the same time. The Romans find this quite amusing and very strange.

Hand in hand with the verbal vulgarity of the Roman culture (formally known as "romanaccio") goes a certain sense of humor that I haven't encountered anywhere else. The spirito romano, in my experience, is completely and totally irreverent, and at times can be incredibly quick-witted. Take, for example, a random sampling of stories of Romans behaving as Romans do, found simply by typing "battute Romane" or "Roman jokes" into Google:

Realmente accaduto a Roma a bordo della Metro A
Una signora espone il biglietto integrato giornaliero al controllore. Signora: "Mi scusi, con questo posso viaggiare tutto il giorno?". Controllore: "Si nun c'hai 'n cazzo da fa'... Sì".

True story from the Metro A Line
A woman shows her all-day bus pass to the inspector. Woman: "Excuse me, but with this pass can I ride all day?" Inspector: "If you don't have a f***ing thing to do... yes."

Realmente accaduto in via Nomentana
Un signore alquanto anziano resta immobile con la sua macchina allo scattare del verde e il ragazzo di dietro con una macchinetta alquanto sportiva abbassa il finestrino, si sporge e esclama: "A nonno, guarda che più verde de così nun diventa!".

Really happened in via Nomentana
A rather elderly gentleman remains stopped in his car when the light turns green, and the guy behind him in a rather sporty car rolls down his window, sticks his head out and exclaims: "Look here grampa, it's not going to get any greener than that!"

Sentita sulla Boccea
Un tizio di mezza età a bordo di una 156 rivolgendosi al vecchietto a bordo di una vecchia 600 ferma al semaforo: "Che aspettamo che se mette 'n moto l'asfarto pe' annassene da 'sto 'ncrocio!?".

Overheard on Boccea St.
A middle-aged guy in a 156, to an elderly man in an old 600 stopped at a traffic light: "What, are you waiting for the asphalt to start moving to get you out of this intersection?"

And then there's the never-ending lists of Roman one-liners, kind of like an Italian version of the dozens. (By the way, I find it hilarious that there's a Wikipedia article on that phenomenon. But I digress...) Here's what I'm talking about:

"Quanno ride pare 'n cruciverba"
When you laugh, it looks like a crossword puzzle.

"Sei tarmente zozzo che quanno entri dentro casa mia er cane se va a mette er collare antipulci!"
You're so filthy that when you come over to my house, my dog goes and puts on a flea collar.

"Sei tarmente brutto che tu' padre ar firmino de quanno facevi n'anno c'ha messo a colonna sonora de X-Files"
You're so ugly that when your dad made a video of your first birthday party, he put the X-Files as the soundtrack.

"C'hai er naso tarmente lungo che pare che te sei pippato er Viagra!"
Your nose is so long it's like you've been sniffing Viagra.

And those are just some of the (very few) PG-rated ones. Most Roman battute really know no bounds of good taste and delve into areas of verbal vulgarity that I did not know existed, and yet still, I laugh. Looks like I have become Roman after all. Granted, I've never really heard anyone use any insults like this in "real life," but they do get traded around at times, like, I heard this one, did you hear this one? I can already see the cultural heritage that will be passed down to my kids.

But the real inspiration for this post is the ubiquitous phrase "li mortacci" and the fact that it has spawned its very own website. Li mortacci is basically a vulgar Roman way of saying, well, I guess something like "may your dead relatives die again," although I really don't know for sure. Let's just say it's an all-purpose curse on your dead loved ones, or the dead loved ones of anyone or anything you care to insult. You say it when you're ticked about what something or someone did, does, has, is, etc. And for a true Roman flourish, go ahead and pronounce the "L" like an "R" 'cuz that's just what they do around here. (All together now: "ree-more-TAH-chee") I know, I shouldn't be teaching you how to swear in Roman dialect, but, it's fun. Avery had a post on Roman slang not too long ago as well, and there were bad words...it's impossible to avoid, I'm telling you.

Now, for a very recent example. Ale and I were trying to install a showerhead set in our bathroom this weekend, one that turned out to be ridiculously complicated and cryptic, missing parts, and totally frustrating for something that should be stupidly easy. So, here we have "li mortacci loro." Curse their dead ancestors. "Them" being all those even remotely involved with planning, designing, and/or building, packaging or selling aforementioned showerhead.

What is all this nonsense leading up to? A website that I found while innocently checking my Gmail. No idea how the Google ad-matching algorithm decided that an ad for a site called limortacci.com had anything to do with my email. For that matter, no idea why a site like this is investing in Google Adwords. But, the world is full of mysteries. Curious as I am, I clicked on it, and lo and behold I discovered an entire forum and virtual world where you can vent your frustrations and tensions, using the phrase to curse the dead ancestors of pretty much whoever you feel like. Clicking on the forum I found li mortacci my alarm clock, my math teacher, my neighbors... even illegible online nicknames (the example given being udsjhf69vdsi0op5465467, which I think we can all agree is quite illegible and perhaps even deserving of a li mortacci or two). The forum is subdivided into a few specific categories so you can send a hearty "li mortacci" to the government, your love life problems, and hospitals as well. (I am very troubled, but unfortunately not surprised, that "hospitals" has its very own category on the forum.)

In short, if you ever decide to move to Rome, and you really want to understand the local culture, you're going to have to learn not only Italian, but "Roman," or rather "bad Roman," ie, Romanaccio. I am not ashamed to say that I love it, no matter how much the Italians wrinkle their noses at me. Complain as I might about how rude and crude Romans can be, I still heart 'em for it.

Top 5 Signs That You're in Rome

1. You see gladiators taking a coffee break.

2. The clothes dryers.

3. The view from the neighborhood bus.

4. The local version of Wal-Mart.

5. The preferred form of transport.

Part of the Top 5 Group Writing Project. Thanks to Ms. Adventures in Italy for the head's up!

Nonna, Just Take the Bus!

This is an ad I've been seeing lately on the buses around the city, and every time I see it I just have one of those "ask yourself why" moments.

Can you read it? Wait, let me get closer for you:


Don't worry, I wasn't driving when I took this...I was in the passenger's seat.

Anyhoo, so, the title of the poster is: "FREE PUBLIC TRANSPORT"

And I'm thinking... woo hoo! 'Bout time!

Wait, what's that you say?

"Annual transport pass for Rome residents over the age of 70, with income up to €15,000 per year."

Ok, now, I'm not trying to make fun. Well, not much. It's just that, how many people age 71 and over still ride Rome's notoriously bad public transport system? Not many, I'm hoping. But, for those who are still out there, clutching their handbags for dear life and being thrown about like produce on the back of a truck: May God bless 'em!

Moving Furniture in Trastevere

Ever wondered? I mean, most of these buildings don't have elevators. My building is actually relatively "recent," from the 1700s, but it is right in between two buildings from the Middle Ages. I live on the 3rd floor (4th floor US) without an elevator and let me tell you, it's better than a Stairmaster. Most "Trasteverini" (Trastevere neighborhood natives) do the same thing.

The other day I was in my kitchen looking out the window and I saw a hulking piece of furniture being brought up a sort of moving ladder, where it finally perched perilously on a tiny platform above the street, about 4 stories up. Hey, don't take my word for it. You can see for yourself:

I wish I had thought enough in advance to film that baby going up, because I was just cringing, almost sure there was going to be a nasty spill. It wobbled the whole way. But, these guys must really know their stuff because although it kept wobbling, it never fell off. Lucky for them. And luckier of course for any innocent bystanders. Almost as dangerous as the arrotino's basket of knives desecending from the window, no? What's in there, anyways? A piano?

Round two. I'm now poised and ready with my camera to give you the enthralling, action-packed full-motion view. The only thing is that, because I made a mistake and filmed it with the camera tilted, and can't seem to find any way on Earth to make the video player flip it, you're going to have to take your monitor and turn it on its side. Don't worry, I'll wait....

All set?

Ok, here we go!



Right, maybe I am just easily amused, but I found this interesting. I'm keeping these guys in mind the next time I have a baby grand delivered.

Sulmona: Land of Candy-Coated Almonds

My dear readers, I must warn you that we are going into the home stretch as far as my wedding is concerned, so my posts will most likely be tapering off a bit in the upcoming weeks. In keeping with the wedding theme though, let's dive into an Italian wedding tradition and go directly to the place where it all happens.

Something I find almost uniquely Italian is this tradition of giving out candy-coated (jordan) almonds, called confetti, at celebrations like baptisms (pink or blue), first communions (white), graduation (red) and weddings (white). And people, let me just tell you that the Italians have some hard and fast rules and regulations regarding these things, some of which, as you will see, I was not informed of prior to embarking on my trip down confetti lane.

When I talk about rules and regulations, what I'm mainly referring to are some almost unspoken social expectations and traditions. Certain ways of doing things that many Italians will always look for and notice, but probably would never admit they actually care about and won't necessarily come right out and say you "have to" do. It's eternally frustrating for me, not only as an annoying perfectionist, but also as a foreigner in this country wanting to do things the "right" way. I'm wearily happy to say that I've reached a point now where I realize I won't ever do everything perfectly as expected, so I'm throwing my hands up and saying "Basta! Sono americana!" Enough! I'm American. I can't help it.

For example: you can't just go to any store and buy confetti. Oh, no siree. The "good" confetti for weddings (hence, the ones your guests will undoubtedly look for and expect) come from a small town called Sulmona, located in Abruzzo, almost right in the middle of the "boot" of Italy. Luckily this is one thing I already knew, so won't be making any brutte figure in that area. You can buy Sulmona confetti in other towns, but they cost a lot more than if you buy them directly in Sulmona.

Since Ale and I have lots of ties to Abruzzo, we go there often enough to have been able to stop by Sulmona directly to buy our confetti. Many brides will have the factory make up the "bomboniere" (favors) for them, but I was looking to do something a bit more personalized as well as save some money, so I bought little containers in the States when I was back visiting, brought them over, and decided to make my own.

Confetti don't come cheap: the plain white candy-coated almonds cost approximately €20 per kilo (in Sulmona directly) and I think you get about 200 per kilo. That's about 10 cents per almond. Egad!

We got our confetti from Pelino, probably the most famous of all the factories. Who knew, they even have an exclusive US distributor. I asked the shop owner for some small labels (I have to be able to prove where they come from, no?) for making my bomboniere, and once I got home I started filling my little containers. Each container was big enough for 8 confetti, so naturally, that's how many I put in.

Please raise your hand if you have already noticed my GRAVE ERROR.

No? Well, you see, I'm learning too. After I mentioned to some of my friends about how I made my own, and how I put 8 in each container, they looked at me funny and said that was weird. Why? Because you're only supposed to put FIVE in each. Why? They don't know. "Well, if you don't put five, Shelley, you at least have to make it an odd number." Why? They don't know. Then they see my look of desperation and bride-on-the-verge-of-a-nervous-breakdown look and sympathetically say, "But no one really cares."

Me: "Well, if no one cares, why did you tell me?"

Them: "Well, actually, no one usually opens them until after they leave. So don't worry, because once they see there are 8 instead of 5, you won't even be around for the reaction, so who cares, right?"

Me: "Um. Thanks. I think." (Cut to single tear slowly dripping down cheek, with sad violin playing.)

I, being the curious and stubborn creature I am, decided that "boh" (who knows) wasn't a good enough answer for this whole "five" concept, so I did some research and I am now able to reveal the secret of why it's 5. Five, or in any case an odd number, is INDIVISIBLE, as should be any good marriage. Get it? Well now, isn't that just charming!? I know.

I'm hereby changing the rules and now declare that 8, being an even number, brings harmony and, oh, why not, let's throw in lots of children, too. Because there's no way I'm going back to untie and re-tie ribbon on nearly 120 containers. Although I will admit that the perfectionist in me is almost tempted.

Upon further research, I have learned that baptisms and first communions merit 3 confetti, but 5 is also permissable. I'm not motivated enough to find out the why on this one. Not sure how many you get when you graduate, but please do make sure they are red, tied with red ribbon, and in a bag with the appropriate color of your major. Yes, that's right. Who knew each major had its own color?

Oh, Italians and their traditions. Numbers. Social graces dictating behavior. Once I went to a first communion lunch and saw an empty place setting. When I asked who wasn't able to make it, they told me everyone had come and that was just the "18th place." What? Well, there were 17 people at the table, so they had to add an 18th place because you can't have 17 at a table together: "porta sfortuna, porta male." It's bad luck, you see. And just in case you're curious: no, they didn't bring food to the imaginary 18th person, although I would have been amused to no end had they done so.

Well folks, God only knows what might possibly happen to me, and my future marriage, with 8 confetti instead of 5. Please pray for me.

Back to our main topic though, confetti themselves. Mine are in a simple container, but typical styles include flowers and birds. Hey, I'm not going to lie to you. This stuff can get molto gaudy, as evidenced by this rather enchanting species of red-nylon confetti peacock:

Come on now, you know you want to take him home with you!

Flowers are probably the most typical. When I approached this shop, at first I thought it was a real florist:

But only on closer inspection did I realize that these were, in fact, confetti flowers:

If you're keeping score, there are 7 (ie, odd number) confetti. I don't think the ladybug counts.

Sunflowers, anyone?

Something I find entirely charming about Sulmona is that most confetti shops and packaging haven't seemed to change since about 1900. Many shop signs and packaging have a beautiful art nouveau look and feel to them (think the "Metro" signs for the Paris subway):

It's hard to make out, but this sign reads: "La Più Antica Fabbrica di Confetti" -- the oldest confetti factory.



All in all, I'm happy to report that my confetti mission is now complete, and I will forge ahead with my 8 confetti per person containers. I know, I'll be the talk of Rome for ages to come for this brash and unusual deviant behavior, but I'm willing to take the heat.

Roman "Telephone Style" Fried Rice Balls

Otherwise known as Supplì al Telefono. Yes, today's lesson is "How to Make Supplì." Supplì (soo-PLEE) are a traditional Roman appetizer and snack, a fried rice ball stuffed with mozzarella. Why are they often known as "al telefono"? Because legend has it that when you bite into a good supplì, the mozzarella strings out like a telephone line. Personally, that very rarely happens to me, but it's still a creative name, no?

Now, don't confuse the supplì with their southern cousins known as arancini (ah-rahn-CHEE-nee). What's the diff? Roman supplì are fried tomato-flavored rice balls filled with mozzarella, while arancini hail from Sicily and are often a larger, almost pyramid shape, with saffron-flavored rice, meat, mushrooms, and peas.

I'm certainly not the authority on either of these, but here I'll share how we make them in our house. Everyone has their own variations, but ours are pretty simple: rice and mozzarella. No formal recipe here. I'll just show you what we do:

What you’ll need:

Rice
Tomato puree
Mozzarella
2-3 Eggs, beaten
Breadcrumbs
Oil for frying

1. Make the sauce and rice

We use arborio or carnaroli rice—cook it and drain it. At the same time, cook the tomato sauce in another pan using "passata di pomodoro," a tomato concentrate/puree. We don’t do anything fancy for the sauce; we just put some olive oil in the pan, add a bit of onion and sauté it, then add the tomato sauce and let it simmer.

2. Combine sauce and rice

When the rice is cooked, add it to the sauce mixture. You shouldn’t have a soupy texture, you want just enough sauce to coat the rice. Mix it all together and let it cool so that it becomes sticky.

3. Prepare other ingredients: mozzarella, egg mixture, breadcrumbs

Cut the mozzarella into small cubes. Beat the eggs in a bowl. Pour the breadcrumbs into another bowl.

4. Make the rice balls

When the rice has cooled, form small egg-shaped rice balls, making a small indention in the center where you’ll add a bit of mozzarella. In this photo you'll see the rice ball is already covered with breadcrumbs which was a mistake we learned from—too much breadcrumbs means the supplì comes out too dry, so don't be tempted to roll it in breadcrumbs first in order to make it more manageable. If the rice has cooled sufficiently, you shouldn't have problems getting it to form the right shape.

Then cover the mozzarella with some more rice and carefully dip the rice ball in the egg mixture, then carefully roll it in the breadcrumbs.

Really, folks, that’s pretty much all there is to it—all that’s left is to fry them. If you have a fryer you can use that:

If not, you can create your own fryer by filling a large pot with oil and frying them in that. Here's the crispy, golden-brown finished product, which I like to call "Dinner al Supplì":

Ok, I realize that I’m not that good at recipes. The reason is that Ale never uses measurements so I either have to guess or just be generic like I am here. If you want a more professional opinion, check out the recipe from Mario Batali of the Food Network or Kyle Phillips’s from About.com’s Italian Food site. One tip I liked about the About.com recipe is the idea to roll the rice balls in flour before the egg mixture, to keep them from falling apart and help keep your hands from getting too sticky.

Try these out, they really aren't that difficult and make great snacks. We made a bunch of them and froze them so they are ready to pop in the ol' fryer whenever we want. In Rome they cost about 80 euro-cents each and you'll find them at places that sell pizza al taglio (fast-food pizza) or in pizzerie as an appetizer. Buon appetito!

Everything's Coming Up Lemons

Anyone out there keeping score on my lemon-growing prowess? Back in November I showed you my lemon tree in its quest towards eventual liberation as the Italian after-dinner drink limoncello. That was then.

This is now:

We're getting close, folks! Soon we'll be picking these to make limoncello. Limoncello is a lemon-flavored liqueur sipped in a small shot glass after dinner, typicial of the Campania region (Tracie B., you must be an expert!). Last year we tried making it for the first time and it took us about a month and a half, since it's an infusion so it has to sit to soak up the lemon flavor. Alessandro did it without any recipe (sometimes it seems to me that many Italians are born pre-programmed with a cookbook in their heads) and it came out great, but I found a very detailed recipe in English here, from Deborah Horn at Slow Travel. So, in case you have lemons in your garden or even if not, and you just want to try your hand at this, take a look. Deborah's recipe indicates about 40 days, but there are many recipes and many variations online if you decide to search around. Some take as few as six days, but I suggest you go for the long-haul recipe because the flavor will come out better in the end. It's not difficult to make, just takes a bit of time.

The most important ingredient, obviously, is the lemons. Best if you have a tree that you pick them from so you can use them immediately, but if not, just try to get the freshest lemons possible. One recipe I saw suggested they be used just after they turn yellow, even with some green spots remaining. Sometimes limoncello is made with vanilla and cream and becomes crema di limoncello, a thicker liqueur with a softer flavor.

Have you ever made limoncello or tried it? Do you have a favorite brand or variation?

Ten Things I'll Never Understand About Rome

If you've been reading my blog for a little while, then you've probably noticed that my observations often tend to be of the curious, "why?" type. I can't help it. When I see certain things here, I am always asking myself this question and trying to uncover the answer.

Nine times out of ten, with a little detective work, I manage to get it all figured out. But for that inevitable 10th time, I decided to hammer out a list of ten Ask Yourself Why's: things about Rome I'm not sure I'll ever truly get to the bottom of. There are lots of possible answers to these ponderings, but so far, nothing I'd call definitive.

So without further ado, I invite you to join me on my quest to answer the following questions. All this demanding to know why might come across as just a tad bit militant, but you know that in the end, I really do love the quirkiness of it all.

Here we go then:

1. Why does my bank open at 8:30 am, close at 1:50 pm, reopen at 2:35 pm and close again after just 40 minutes at 3:15 pm?

2. Why do the transport workers almost always strike on Fridays? And what are they really striking for? And why do they warn us in advance? And why do they generally stop striking for an hour or two in the morning and the evening to let the workers commute?

3. Why does the pharmacy have to wrap up all my purchases in tissue paper, as if they were Christmas gifts? I mean, it's just a box of Bandaids, for God's sake, and there's all these old women staring at me! And while we're on the topic, why do I have to ask a pharmacist for a box of Bandaids? Why can't they just put them out on the shelf? Are they afraid people will steal them? Do they think that purchasing Bandaids requires a pharmaceutical consultation? (And why on Earth do they not teach you the word for Bandaid in your Italian classes??) Yes, I know that the supermarkets here have Bandaids now. But I'll never forget this episode, because it was my first encounter with an Italian pharmacy nearly six years ago. Bless their hearts.

3a (because I like the #3 so much I accidentally put it in twice...thanks for spotting it, Gracie!). Why, when I'm crossing the road and a car comes dangerously close to hitting me, do I put out my hand? Do I think that my hand has superhuman powers that will stop the oncoming Roman driver from obliterating me? And why do they always manage to stop, even when it seems like it isn't humanly possible? (Facciamo le corna.)

4. Why is it that at nearly every intersection in the city, there's a small sign with an arrow telling me how to get to the Auditorium? In trying to research this one, I found this blog post in Italian asking the same question, insightfully pointing out that some of the absurd number of these signs are located nearly 20 kilometers from the Auditorium, which is quite a stretch, and they always have their trademark random little arrow. They don't really delineate any specific path, mind you. They just kind of say: "Hey! You there! Just wanted to remind you, the Auditorium is here in Rome, somewhere in the vicinity of right" (or left, or straight, as the case may be). The only thing is, the closer you get to the neighborhood where the Auditorium is actually located, the number of signs drastically decreases, while the distance between them drastically increases, effectively sending you into a panic wondering where to go if you truly wanted to get there in the first place. People, I'm telling you. If you come to Rome, make note of this. It's both hilarious and surreal.

5. Why do Italians insist on having so much food at a wedding, or at the traditional New Year's Eve dinner known as cenone (literally: the big dinner, where I once was glued to my seat for nearly 6 hours), or at a first communion lunch, and then complain, I mean really complain in a woe-is-me kind of way, that it's too much? And why is it though, that if you don't offer this much food, they criticize you behind your back for being cheap?

6. Why, OH WHY, do people ride around on their scooters with helmets on without the chin straps fastened? If you've already gone to the trouble of putting the thing on your head...I mean...is it that much of an inconvenience to just fasten the thing? Or do these people think that the protection factor of the helmet is found in simply placing it on their head, not in actually securing it so that it stays there should their head unexpectedly make contact with the pavement? I know they're just trying to avoid a ticket from the mandatory helmet law, but still...seems like a petty little act of defiance, IMHO (thanks for that acronym and the geeky tip, Finny!).

7. Why is it that when I'm waiting for a bus and it doesn't come for like a half hour or more, when it finally arrives, another one of the exact same number is driving right behind it? Thank you, Bruno Bozzetto, for feeling my pain on this one.

8. Why are public employees allowed to sleep on the job and no one says anything? Yes, yes, I am aware of the Italian phenomenon of "I can't ever be fired, so I'll proceed in doing whatever I want." But still...have we no personal dignity? When I went to get my Italian ID card, the man at the information desk snoozed the entire two HOURS I was there. ("Um, excuse me, don't want to interrupt your dream there or anything, but I was just wondering where to deposit this form?") I've also heard a few tales of employees sleeping under their desks in government offices, although I can't say I've seen it with my own eyes. Are these people staying up all night so they can catch up on their sleep once they get to work?

9. Why are Romans obsessed with exact change? Why do they get so mad when I use a €50 bill? Do they never go to the bank? Is there a national change shortage? Why do I have to go make change for them when I want to buy something? Why did a shopkeeper once refuse to sell me a €1 loaf of bread because all I had was a €20? Is it that hard to keep €19 of change in the register?

10. Why, when Roman tap water is considered perhaps the best in all of Italy, do they never serve it in restaurants? And why isn't there ever any ice?

Don't get me wrong, folks--I'm not complaining. In fact, like I said before, I do love these Roman mysteries. For me it's all part of the unique "charm" of my adopted city.

Are there things about where you live that make you wonder "why"?

Five Things They Told Me About Rome

Almost 6 years ago, when I was about to embark on my first trip ever to Rome, and first trip outside of the US for that matter, suddenly it seemed like everyone was an authority on Rome. People started coming out of the woodwork with any scrap of knowledge they had about Rome and Italy, even if they’d never been there. And of course, almost none of it was positive. Have you ever noticed how this seems to happen in life? As if I wasn’t nervous enough, going on this adventurous trip alone.

Well, here are a few of the things they told me, and what I actually experienced. Maybe you’ve heard some of the same. Maybe you’ve had different experiences. I’m curious to know!

1. Watch out for Roman men.

Ha. This is a good one, especially considering I met my husband the first day I arrived in Rome. (It’s always when you’re not looking, I tell you!) This piece of advice is stupid. I don’t really know what I was supposed to “watch out” for. Plus, I’ve had Roman men tell me to watch out for Neopolitan men. Ask a Milanese which men to watch out for, who knows what they’d tell you! Even my Lonely Planet guidebook listed Roman men as one of the top 5 negative things about Rome. Here we go generalizing again.
It’s true that women here may get a bit more overt attention on the street than they are used to in their home country, for example I sometimes notice men ogling women and they aren’t so subtle about it. But I wouldn’t consider that cause for alarm—it’s certainly not all men who do this, and it could be simply considered a cultural difference. As someone once told me--living in Rome is like living on a stage: everyone plays a role and everyone is constantly being observed.

2. (could be 1a?) Watch out on the bus and subway—the men will pinch your butt.

This one was already laughable even before I’d come to Italy, but, when you have no personal experience, and other people seem to, it makes you kind of impressionable. I am happy to report that this turned out to be an old-fashioned urban legend, and after nearly 6 years of riding public transport more than I care to, I have never been harassed. That’s not to say that perverts don’t exist on the city’s public transport system. I’ve heard a few first-hand accounts since I’ve lived here of some, ahem, questionable behavior. But, in my experience those occurrences are thankfully few and far between, and I’ve never witnessed any. So I wouldn’t give this one much weight. (Are people still saying this? I got it from a ton of people before I left.)

3. It’s a crime to drink a cappuccino after a meal, or after about noon. Italians only drink them for breakfast.

In my observation this one turned out to be true, in general. I’ve never seen an Italian order a cappuccino after a meal. I have noted that waiters will offer them to tourists, which perhaps makes the tourists think it’s an Italian tradition, but it’s not. The only explanation I’ve managed to garner from Italians is that, “After you’ve eaten a big meal, why would you pour warm milk on top of it?” A more typical after-dinner tradition is a simple espresso followed by a small shot of a digestive liqueur to be sipped, like grappa or limoncello.

4. Italians don’t wear shorts.

This I got from my aunt the night before I was leaving, just as I was setting out my shorts to wear for the flight and my arrival. I immediately changed to a pair of black pants, and despite the fact that it was the middle of the summer, I was relieved once I arrived because I blended in way better. Shorts are usually seen on the beach or in the gym, at least in my experience here in Rome. Ditto for running shoes. Of course, if you’re a tourist, you need to be comfortable. I’m just saying—I haven’t really seen Italians wear shorts or gym shoes in the city.

5. You’re going to get your purse stolen.

In all my time here, knock on wood, or as they say here facciamo le corna, I’ve never had my purse, wallet, camera, or anything I was carrying stolen. But, unfortunately, I’ve worked with many students and tourists who have. The trick is just keeping an eye on your belongings, wearing bags to the front and holding them close, keeping a hand on your wallet in your front pocket, being aware of your surroundings, and not being distracted. Especially on bus 64 that goes from Termini to the Vatican! I think these simple tips have prevented me from being an easy target. The pickpockets don’t tend to waste time with people who look like they know what they’re doing—there’s just too many distracted tourists that are easier to pickpocket.

Well, these are just a few---what have your experiences been? If you’ve never been to Italy or Rome, what have you heard about it? What have people told you?

Castagne Roasting on an Open Street

Chesnuts roasting on an open fire—well, growing up in Washington state and then living in the desert of Arizona for nearly 10 years—I never saw them. Not until I came to Rome.

Granted, this isn’t exactly what you’d call an “open fire,” but, it’s about as close as you can get on the Rome streets this time of year.

Chestnuts, castagne (cah-STA-nyay) start to appear once the weather turns chilly, and it’s another thing I love about fall in Rome.

Mind you, this little sidewalk snack can get a little pricey. A couple weeks ago when I asked first, above all, (word to the wise), how much they cost, and I got the response €5, I told the man, “No thanks, that’s too much.” He said, “How about €3?” and just like that, we had a deal. Don’t be shy when you think it just doesn’t seem right. As we say here in Rome, “ci provano,” which means, “they try,” or simply, if people are willing to pay, they’ll keep asking, until someone comes along and challenges them on it. His stand didn't have any prices written, but most do.

They put the chestnuts in a little paper cone and you can walk around with them. There’s usually about 5-10 in the cup.

I finally did get to roast chestnuts over an open fire my first Christmas here in Italy, in a tiny little town called Arcinazzo Romano, and we ate them while enjoying a bottle of Cesanese del Piglio Dolce, a sweet (dolce) red wine (Cesanese) that comes from the nearby town of Piglio.

What autumn traditions start to appear this time of year where you live?

Do You Knead?

Even to this day in some of the most traditional Italian homes, when a son wants to marry a girl, the future mother-in-law will ask the prospective bride something along the lines of “Ammassi?” Now, maybe that isn’t the exact word they use, but it’s the verb I’ve heard in Rome to describe the act of kneading dough, or rather, making pasta all’uovo (egg pasta), also known as pasta fatta in casa (homemade). I’m not making this up: I myself know of one Italian girl in her late twenties who just got engaged and whose mother-in-law asked her this very question. (The answer of course, was an enthusiastic sì! Let's not kid around with things this serious.)

Luckily, my Roman mother-in-law is about as hip and modern as they come, and this question never passed her lips. She accepted her nuora americana with open arms and hasn’t ever pushed me to be anyone or anything I’m not. But, maybe there’s something to be said for homemade pasta in the family blood, because my future hubby, the undisputed chef of the house, has been mentioning lately how much he wants to try his hand at pasta all’uovo.

Since today is said future spouse’s birthday, it was the perfect occasion to bestow him with—behold—(cue the trumpets): the Imperia.

Ain’t she a beaut? Ale was so thrilled with his gift that he insisted we try it out for lunch today. I’m not kidding you folks, this was literally like the Italian grown-up version of the Play-Doh Fun Factory. You start with a little mound of flour and crack some eggs into it, like so:

Then you just dig in and start mixing it all up with your hands. After an incident with a bit of a rebellious runaway egg, Ale got the dough together. And despite some first-time trial and error, adding a little more oil here, a little more flour there, and a whole lot of “ammassar-ing”, whaddya know? The little thing works!




It is a bit time consuming but there’s a special satisfaction in enjoying pasta you’ve made yourself. It only takes about 5-7 minutes to cook once you finish. All told, for our first time out, I think it took us less than an hour, and next time it will probably take about a half hour. I even bought some cutters for making ravioli (pumpkin ravioli, anyone? Mmmm….)

And of course, I can’t leave you without the token "utter kitchen destruction/king of the house a.k.a. Pavel the Cow Cat" photo:

Today’s extra-special destruction involved a full vacuuming and mopping of the kitchen floor! What a treat!

So, if you’ve ever had an itch to make pasta from scratch, I can testify that not only is it fun, but incredibly delicious. Have any of you ever tried this before? What’s your favorite type of pasta?