Weekend in Milan

Just back in Rome after a lovely and wonderful couple of days visiting one of my favorite Americans in Italy, my pal Sara. She and her adorable hubby were the perfect hosts, plying me with homemade pasta for Sunday lunch, homemade olive oil and homemade limoncello, and all sorts of the more random things that we expats love to horde and share. For example, I brought up some gossip mags in English that an American guest in my apartments had recently left with me, while Sara filled my bags with treasures like Ziplocs, cranberry juice, and Good Earth tea. All in all, a perfect weekend, and yet another testament to real-life friendships born from the blogosphere!

I had only briefly passed through Milan once, so this was my first real introduction to the city. From aperitivi on Corso Como (where I also had the pleasure of meeting another bloggy buddy, Michelle) to fried pockets of sinful goodness (luckily the line outside wasn't so long), I really enjoyed this Italian city. Yes, it was gray and rainy most of the weekend, but since I grew up outside of Seattle, that was fine by me. Of course, Milan definitely has a much different "city feel" than Rome. On the street I felt an air of fashion and sophistication of a certain type that we don't necessarily have here, with decidedly less of the chaotic tourist frenzy we get around this time of year. While I can appreciate Milan for its business savvy and crisp feel of relative efficiency, I must admit that the haphazard craziness of Rome still holds the #1 spot in my heart.

As far as curiosities go: have you ever heard of the tradition of spinning your right heel on the bull's balls in the Galleria? I certainly hadn't, and this action is reputed to bring said heel-spinner good luck. I was too busy filming it for you to take a spin myself:



We "just happened" upon a major event on Saturday for the Festa della Repubblica (Republic Day). A huge line-up of military personnel were in front of the spectacular backdrop of the Duomo while a military band played the Italian national anthem (which I have to admit I really like, as far as anthems go.)

We walked through Sara's surprisingly lively neighborhood outdoor market, and she also took me to a fascinating shop she recently discovered. We sparked up a conversation with the friendly owner, who told us interesting stories about how many people call the shop this time of year to report beehives they've discovered around (and in!) their apartments, and to get help with removing them.

Creative "bomboniere" or wedding favors, of tiny jars of honey with wooden dippers.

I was truly amazed by the selection of honey and honey-related products in this shop. There was everything from soaps and lotions to a huge assortment of flavored honey, candy and tea, and even honey-flavored grappa. Above you see the front shop of the window, with a veritable laundry list of ills that the various bee-produced products can cure ... from heavy legs to swollen feet, menopause to andropause (!?). I myself picked up a bag of "digestive sugar cubes." Oh, how I love this country and its charming contradictions. Sugar -- to help me digest? Yes, please!

And, jolly fun was had by all through the miracle of Twittervision. If you follow Sara's blog, then you have probably noticed that she's a technological and Internet genie-us, and while we were hanging out she showed me a bunch of cool stuff online, including this random, voyeuristic and reality-TV-like gizmo of a website.

And, last but not least, I even managed to pick up a photo souvenir for another of my favorite bloggy buddies, who I had the pleasure of meeting in person here in Rome earlier this year.

NYC/Caribbean Ragazza, this one's for you!

My Big Fat Roman Wedding

Well, I wasn't planning on posting any photos from my wedding or honeymoon, but due to requests from my blogger buddies as well as a handful of my former guests who have stayed in our apartments, I'm caving in and sharing a few from my wedding day. I usually don't put anything about my personal life on the blog because I like to keep to the Rome (and Italy) only theme, but hey, we are talking about a wedding in Rome, so I guess I can make an exception...just this once... I mean, had I seen it with my own eyes I would have taken photos for you guys to talk about "this girl who was walking down my street to get married..." so...

I'm the one in the white dress. (Cue drums and cymbals... Thanks folks! I'll be here all week!)

And yes, I walked down my street to the church. Usually about a 10 minute walk, but we went extra slow because at 10 am when the ceremony was supposed to start, we got word that there were "technical difficulties" at the church. (I later found out that this meant there weren't any guests yet.) Tell the Italians your wedding is at 10 am if you want them to show up at 10:30. So, it was at a snail's pace that we made our way to Santa Maria in Trastevere, in my opinion the most beautiful church in all of Rome.

Quite the memorable experience getting to walk, especially given that I was blessed to have about 25 or so American relatives and friends following me, as well as a few of my closest Italian friends as well. The rest were waiting in the church... eventually!


Um, basically when the photographer had me stop here to take some shots, what you don't see is the main street of my neighborhood, Viale Trastevere, to my right. Where a large garbage truck was passing by and then slowed to a stop, with two guys around my age inside. They started yelling over to me: "Auguri! Auguri!" (like congratulations or best wishes). When they saw I spoke Italian as I yelled back a thanks to them, they got on a roll and yelled back to tell me that it still wasn't too late, and did I want to run away with them in their garbage truck?

I hollered back that under normal circumstances I would, but unfortunately on this particular day I wasn't dressed appropriately. Laughs and smiles were had by all (minus my puzzled relatives), and another runaway bride episode was thus averted.

Only in Rome, people, can you be hit on by garbage men on your way to the altar. Can't beat that!

Here we are in our getaway which was kindly provided by Ale's sports car-loving uncle.

Chances are good that if you pass by the "Fontanone" on the Gianicolo Hill on a Saturday or Sunday anytime from morning to mid-afternoon, you too might spot a newly married couple taking photos. It's a great place for them, and speaking of it, I just saw a couple there as we drove by this afternoon.

Now. If I ever get around to it, I plan to write a series of posts about all the bureaucratic nonsense you have to go through just to get to the altar. It's Italy, so getting through the red tape is the hardest part! I took a couple gem photos, even one inside a public office which I am sure must be punishable by death, but you see, for blogging, my courage knows no bounds.

And I just want to say thank God you only plan a wedding once.

Or do you?

When I mentioned this as I was hanging out chatting to my friend and hairstylist Alberto at his salon about a week or so before the big day, he was working on a woman's hair and she heard this and looked at me from the mirror with a steely glare and said, deadpan, "Non è detto." (Not necessarily.)
Um, yeah. Not exactly the best thing to say to a soon-to-be bride. But funny Roman spirit all the same. Don't ever expect a Roman to hold back what he or she really thinks...

In any case, should you be planning to get married in Rome as well, I HIGHLY recommend these friends of mine:

Hair and makeup: Alberto at Laboratorio Figaro, Via dei Conciatori 22 (Testaccio), Tel: 06 5758099
Photography: Massimiliano Uccelletti, www.maxu.it
Flowers: Rosa Manzone, Via della Settima Coorte 7 (Trastevere), Tel: 06 5815387

Radio: Mission Accomplished

So luckily in the end I didn't chicken out, and I went live on the Roman radio waves this morning. It was hands-down one of the most fun things I've done since I've been living here. Really interesting to see how a morning radio show works, and the idea that these people get paid to talk and joke around all morning... well, needless to say, it seems like a dream job, and I can attest to the fact that it literally felt just like hanging out and shooting the breeze. We had a great time and lots of laughs during the broadcast. Grazie ancora, Emanuele!

And now, for the photographic evidence. You didn't think I was making this all up, did you?

This friendly face is Fabio, the studio engineer who runs the show. He's in charge of the timing, music, advertising, and all that technical stuff with buttons, levers and switches. He also has three phones on his desk, which is quite important-looking as well. Really nice guy and does a great job...it can't be easy trying to get radio personalities to stop talking and conform to time constraints! I can tell you that we blabbed so much this morning, if it weren't for Emanuele keeping an eye on Fabio and cutting things off every once in a while to squeeze in a song or two, we'd still be there talking...

Here's me in the studio, a little self-portrait during a commercial break.

This is the mythical Emanuele Artibani himself, checking the computer where the SMS messages arrive throughout the show. We had a great time chatting about everything from stereotypes about Americans and Italians, to, yes, I'll admit it, Britney Spears and Paris Hilton. We couldn't contain ourselves and didn't even get around to reading and commenting on the morning's headlines like he usually does (see all those newspapers on the left?). We kept getting lots of friendly and interesting SMS messages that we'd respond to and chat about live.

Here's another self-portrait of us with our headphones on. Before we went live, I asked him why they have to wear headphones. He started laughing, and maybe it is kind of a funny question, but if you've never actually gone on the radio before, you might wonder. It's so that you can hear your voice feedback. It's simultaneous so it's not like having an echo, but it's a way of isolating the sounds around you and just hearing your voices. Let me tell you, I felt like a real pro, pretending to be a radio personality for one morning. I've already been invited back, but who knows how long before people get tired of the whole "American in Rome" routine. Do you think a gig as DJ Shelley is in my future?

Update on the Voice of America in Rome

Ragazzi, I chatted yesterday with Emanuele of Tele Radio Stereo 92.7 and he's asked me to stop in next week... he said I should come by on Monday towards the end of the show to see how things work, then if I don't get too embarrassed or nervous to be in front of the ol' "microfono" (doubtful, since I was one of those kids that went to detention for "talking too much"), I get to go on air with him as a sort of voice for Americans in Rome for one day. Tuesday, to be exact. Quite the responsibility as I definitely shy away from speaking for anyone besides myself...everyone has different experiences here and we'll have to make that very clear!

This morning during his show I sent him an SMS, since one of his topics was "strange jobs" (remember when Mr. Diego showed us the armpit smellers?) Anyhoo, he then sent me a special shout out, which is pretty surreal when you think about it, communicating with someone and they respond over your radio. Makes me laugh. Anyways, he asked me to call or send an SMS on how we American expats view the recent uh, shall we say, developments, in the Italian government. Other bloggers have briefly covered it here and here so I'm not going there... all's I'm gonna say folks is: "HEEEEE'S BAAAAACK!" Right. In terms of Italian politics, I rather shamefully admit that I don't really follow anything, 'cuz I just get way too confused.

Still no word on whether our new pal Emanuele will give us an interview too... we'll see.

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.

Knitting in Rome: Not Just for Le Nonne Anymore

Yes, that's one of my two Roman cats, Betsy, enjoying the spectacle of me cleaning out my knitting basket, which for the past 4 years or so has served as nothing more than an occasional cat bed for her. No, this isn’t a crafting blog and I’m not converting it into one. However, I do knit and for a while I’ve been itching to do a post that combines my love of knitting with my love of Rome. So indulge me, will you, just this once? Or, all you non-knitters out there can join me back on my next post.

Truth of the matter is that should you find yourself living in Rome for any extended period of time, and should you be interesting in knitting during said time, you’re not really too much in luck. Knitting, although popular in the States with twenty/thirty-somethings and up, here in Italy is still seen as a sport only for le nonne, the grannies. Which is fine, unless you are one of those non-granny people of any age who has the urge to knit.

A couple things to know about Rome and knitting:
1) Yarn shops aren't that easy to find.
2) The few shops that I’ve managed to find generally don’t display their yarns like you find in other countries (my personal examples are the US and a shop I visited in Sweden where the yarns and projects are on display for customers to browse). No, here in Rome you probably have to stand in front of a counter to look at yarns displayed on the wall behind, and ask for each individual ball of yarn. Perhaps if you're lucky you can see a sample strand or ball of yarn, but nearly always under very close supervision. Pretty tedious.

I learned how to knit through a class I took when I lived in Phoenix about six years ago. Once I started my life here though, things were so hectic I had no time, and certainly no money, for hobbies. I put away the knitting stash and there it stayed for years, half-finished projects becoming no more than a cozy bed for Betsy (the only one of my two cats still "small" enough to squeeze into the knitting basket). Yes, it's clear from the photo that she was heartbroken by this sudden destruction of one of her many sleeping spots.

Just in case you're wondering what I unearthed in my little operation:

A forlorn sock, the first I ever attempted, whose mate was never completed. And now I can't find the pattern I used for it.

A miniature “sweater for your head” project with lots of cables: I finished the first “sleeve” of the hat and it had four cables which ended up being so incredibly time-consuming for something so tiny that I never started the second sleeve. So now we have the rare prototype of a one-sleeved sweater hat.

While I haven’t gotten around to completing either of these projects, I did make a regular "dumb roll-brim hat" for someone as a Christmas present with some angora yarn I bought in Stockholm. I ran out of it about 3/4 of the way through, and was faced with the dilemma of buying yarn here in Rome to finish the project.

I went to “Lana Gatto,” a beautiful yarn boutique, but I ended up feeling like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when she goes shopping for her fancy-shmancy clothes. There were three severe-looking shop assistants dressed all in black, staring me down as I looked at the yarns. Way too nerve-wracking. I asked for the yarn I needed, tried to browse for a while but eventually just bought my yarn and left. They made me feel so uncomfortable! It’s a shame, because they have a pretty nice selection.

Check out the two women dressed in black with their arms crossed. And this is before I even entered the shop. I've never seen any other customers in here. Hmmm, wonder why.

The second shop I can advise you of is called “Lana della Vecchia” near Campo de' Fiori. The photo below is from Unraveling.



I've stopped in here once, and while small, it has a good selection and there were so many other women at the counter that the saleslady didn't have time to stare me down or make me feel uneasy. I think I'd go back here if I needed some yarn. At Unraveling she mentions their sign which says “wholesale prices” and bought 100 grams of cashmere for €53, which must be a good price although I'm no expert on these things. It’s the equivalent of nearly $70 USD.

Thanks to another traveling knitter named Yuvee, I can add to our list a shop called Filati Filpucci, in her words, “… run by men and looked more like a hardware store than a yarn shop.” Interesting, no? Stop by her post to discover other shops in Italy, as her travels took her to Florence as well. I've been lurking on her blog for a while now..she's a very proficient knitter. I’m molto impressed by her skill in seeking out gorgeous yarns, braving the shop owners, and without any Italian to boot. Brava! She encountered the same thing I describe though, the whole “look but don’t touch” phenomenon and the insistence on one-on-one service. Not what we knitters are generally used to.

I personally visited Filpucci after reading about it on Yuvee's blog. Yikes. She wasn't kidding, folks. It was so bizarre. You enter and there's a looooong counter with two young (late 20ish) guys who look like they would be just as at home in a mechanic's garage, but yet are dealing with all these grannies buying yarn. They've got a ton of stuff, but I was really put off by the signs all over the place, literally in front of every single type of yarn, saying that you absolutely, positively couldn't touch anything. Lame. Won't be going back. Although I salute Yuvee doubly now, because I even speak Italian and didn't want to brave that madness.

Knitters visiting Italy, I have a secret to tell you about, and most unfortunately it is not in Rome. When visiting my friend Eugenio a couple weekends ago, I mentioned that I like to knit and was informed that Biella, where he lives, is pretty much the yarn and textile capital of Italy. What? I didn't believe it until he called up his mom for advice on where to get yarn, and then took me to a store that seemed from outside like an anonymous little hole-in-the-wall. Turns out it was none other than the factory store of Lana Gatto--remember the place with the scary sales ladies?

Lana Gatto is based in Tollegno, about a 6-7 hour drive from Rome. To go there you'd have to make a pilgrimage specifically. The factory store was piled high with every kind of yarn they make, and *surprise, surprise!* very sweet and helpful ladies. Try to guess how much I spent for this bag of eight 50-gram balls of wool:

Need a hint? Well, consider that at Lana Gatto in Rome, I paid €6 for two. In Tollegno I paid €11 for the whole bag. It's not factory seconds, either. It's just that buying at the source is cheaper. They sell by weight, and the price is displayed like prosciutto: € X per 1000 gr. They had boxes upon boxes of precious cashmere stacked high to the ceiling, and it was €330 or so per 1000 gr. When you think back to Unraveled's purchase, well, you can see that it's really something. Her 100 grams here would have cost just about roughly €33, about $43 USD.

Last but not least, any keen observers spot the new badge on my sidebar? Yes, I have joined in Stranded: The Colorwork Challenge, in an effort to free myself from irrational hesitancy regarding fair isle knitting. Well, I started this Bea Ellis Knitwear Nordic Hat project in the car on the way up to Biella, and before we even made it back down to Rome, it was finished! I am here to tell you that fair isle is definitely not as complicated as it may look:

Here's my new hat making a recent appearance in a self-portrait with Ale at Stonehenge:

Knitters in Rome and knitters visiting Rome and Italy, unite! If you have any shops to add to the list, or shops in other cities, please add them in the comments.

Lana Gatto (Rome)
Piazza Di S. Lorenzo In Lucina, 38

Lana della Vecchia
Via Baullari, 3

Filati Filpucci
Via Principe Amedeo, 87-89

Lana Gatto (factory store)
Via Roma 9
13818 Tollegno (Biella)

Chronicle of an Abruzzese Dinner

This week, in a grand lead-up to World Nutella Day, I am declaring Food Week over here at AHIR: all food, all drink, all the time. At least this week. (By the way, I do trust that all my fearless readers are getting their entries ready for WND? Don't wait until the last minute! The clock is ticking!)

Allora... we've got to start Food Week with a bang. So where do we turn but Abruzzo? Home of hearty mountain cooking. It's freezing there, people! They have to eat lots and lots so they can stay warm. It's like bears going into hibernation for the winter. Remember when we went hiking (ok, hiking is a big word. Let's say walking.) in the Parco Nazionale? That was to burn off the calories from our previous night's dinner. Abruzzo food=comfort food. Hence the cozy fireplace at Plistia, hidden haven of cucina Abruzzese in Pescasseroli:

And no, you won't go thirsty, just look at that mantel!

The owner here (I think his name is Ciccetto, or at least his nickname is Ciccetto), really went all out. Once he saw the "americana" whip out her camera, he put on a show. I have photographic evidence of all dishes consumed. There's nothing like a crackling fireplace in a rustic Abruzzese restaurant with just a few tables, stuffing yourself with dish after delicious dish, when it's freezing outside. I literally felt like a guest in this guy's home, partly because our friends know him, partly because he's just like that with everyone.

(CUE the boxing round bell....DING! And no, there will be no bikini-clad women holding signs on my blog). Round One:

Most Abruzzo restaurants will first serve you an appetizer of local cheeses and cold cuts on a wooden board. Plistia? Check. These were the cheeses for that evening, slices of which were served to us along with prosciutto and salame.

DING, DING! Round Two:

No, we didn't get the whole thing. It was more for show. But we did get the first piping-hot slices. It was a flaky, phyllo-like pastry crust filled with spinach and cheese. I can't even remember what kind of cheese. I was already nearing food coma.

DING, DING! Round Three:

I'm such a bad blogger. I think I blacked out at this point from food overdose, because I can't even remember what was in this soup. I have a faint recollection of hearing "cotechino," which is a pork sausage traditional around the New Year (we were there in early January), but folks, shame on me. You'll just have to guess from the shapes floating in the bowl. Gnocchi? Potatoes? Boh! (All-purpose Italian word for "who knows!")

I'm about to throw in the towel, but no! DING, DING! Round Four:

Now, these ravioli I definitely remember. They were something special. Red turnip ravioli filled with ricotta and walnuts. Speechless. Ravioli with ricotta and walnuts in general are heavenly, with just a touch of olive oil and fresh parmesan.

And just like Rocky, we push onwards. Yo, Adrian! DING, DING! Round Five:

At this point you'll just have to start describing the dishes yourselves... running out of steam... must keep going... there was some green stuff... and some grated cheese on top...

DING-DING! Round Six: (Attention vegetarians: Hide your eyes! Look away! Look away!)

As if we needed a nice, juicy steak on top of everything else. And folks, please note that this was not a communal steak but just my personal plate (or personal huge wooden board, if you will). Often in Italy I've found that meat is served "al sangue" which is rare, to bring out the flavor. You'll never find a menu here like the one I once saw in the States, basically telling you that if you ordered anything less than medium you were at your own risk, the State Health Department didn't recommend it, etc... no, here most of the restaurant owners either butcher their own meat or know the butcher and get it fresh, so it's less of a worry.

Oh, people, the end is near! When our friend called in the afternoon to make a reservation, the owner asked us if we wanted crema pasticciera for dessert. This was freshly homemade that day, warm confectioner's custard oozing out from crispy, sweet millefoglie wafers and powdered sugar. Can you say YUM? Yes, there was still room left for this. How can you resist?

And Ginkers, this was the photo I was talking about, just for you. The owner pulled out a box of his "special" grappa, this one from Nannoni, an unopened bottle, pointing out to us that the license number was 000001 or something like that, meaning that these were the first producers to ever acquire the license the government put into place for grappa producers. Ginkers, you could probably explain it better, but after all, it's the drinking of it that counts, as I'm sure you'd agree? Ale and I were actually the only ones brave enough to try. Me likey.

With this, our Abruzzese food battle is over. We've lost; we were really no match for these dishes in the first place, but we leave contented anyways. I don't know if I'll ever get back to Plistia, but if you ever go to Pescasseroli sometime, I highly recommend it. And ask Ciccetto what that green stuff was, will you?

Ristorante Plistia
Viale Principe di Napoli 28
Pescasseroli, Abruzzo
Tel. (0863) 910732

A Walk in the Park

Well, truth be told, I have some more food photos for you, but given the reaction to my last post, I think I'll wait a bit and let you build up an appetite. In order to do this, I'd like to take you on a walk in the woods, at the Parco Nazionale d'Abruzzo: Italy's first national park, founded in 1923. (Map below c. James Martin, Europe for Visitors)

We went to visit some friends of ours who have a house in Pescasseroli in the Abruzzo region of Italy (on the bottom above, even though it's mistakenly spelled "Pascasseroli"), one of the few towns actually inside the park boundaries. By the way, have you heard about the snow crisis this year? There's no snow! Inside the park this time of year it's usually covered with the white stuff. This year we were walking around without jackets, sun beating down on us, to the tune of temperatures as high as nearly 70°!

This is unheard of and is actually quite a problem for those who rely on winter tourism to make their living. In any case, that's why in these photos you won't see any snow, but Abruzzo is generally full of the stuff this time of year, especially in the mountainous areas like the park.

Animals that live in the park include brown bears (the cute symbol of the park's logo above) and wolves, but also "camosci" (chamois) which are harder to spot. And you thought it was just a funny name for that cloth you use to dry off your car! My guess is they were all away sunbathing somewhere because we didn't see any.

We're taking our walk in a part of the park called "Camosciara" and going on a short trail to the "Cascate delle Ninfe": The Nymphs' Waterfalls. It takes us about a half hour to stroll leisurely from the parking lot to the trail head. Don't worry, I'm not into heavy-duty hiking. I have to conserve my energy for eating.

There is water throughout the park and especially in this area, where we found running streams and small waterfalls everywhere we looked.

The walk takes us about 10 minutes through this beautiful wooded area, and has very few steep grades. You don't even really need to be outfitted for hiking, although we did have hiking boots because when we left Rome we figured there would be snow.

Nature lovers, Parco Nazionale d'Abruzzo is definitely worth a trip. I love the Abruzzo region and I feel like it still hasn't been discovered by tourists. Have any of you ever been to this park? Any other great nature areas in Italy to recommend?

The Night My Fiat Wasn't Stolen

Had a little scare last night thinking my car was stolen...I even put a quick post up about it this morning. Did you see it? It was up for about a half hour, until my gut instinct told me to call again and see if it had been towed. Yep. So, false alarm. If you read my "stolen car" post, well, consider it a collector's item. I deleted it. ;-)

But, I figured, why not take this opportunity to present Lesson Number Two of Behind the Wheel in Rome: Be Careful Where You Park.

Last night I went to a friend's birthday party and drove around the block for 20 minutes looking for parking. The situation was getting desperate. I saw one car wedged in at a 45-degree angle, another bumping up the curb to park on the sidewalk. So, when I saw a spot just around a corner, I was so exausted, I took it. It was behind a row of cars, all lined up neatly.

When I got back about 3 1/2 hours later, my car was nowhere to be found. Turns out it had been towed by the city, but when we called last night, they told us it hadn't been towed, hence my stolen car scare. I found out it actually had been towed when I called again this morning, just to be sure. So, good news is the car wasn't stolen. Bad news was yet to come. How much was this little parking lesson going to cost me?

I rode public transport for an hour to get to the depot where they leave the cars whose owners made a little driving boo-boo like I had. To my relief, when I arrived I found a sprawling parking lot not unlike those huge ones at the airport, full of row upon lettered row of cars. Well, at least I'm not the only one who doesn't know how to park properly.

When I got up to the window to pay, the lady said I needed to show her my libretto. Ok. Now. I know this is a document that goes in that folder where you keep all your important car documents. The trick was going to be figuring out which one it was.

You see, "libro" in Italian means book. When they add "etto" to the word, it makes it little. So, bring me your "little book." Um, yeah. Not really helping me out here. I was trying to call back all those boring hours of driving lessons, but I was drawing a complete blank, and couldn't really remember which document it was.

I know this will sound like a very "blonde moment" (even though I cover it with a beautiful shade of henna :-), but I just brought over all the important-looking papers I could find in the car, obviously none of which really resembled anything close to a little book. In Italy, you have to display your insurance on the windshield, and it's usually a normal sheet of paper folded up like 6 times over and stuffed into a little plastic envelope. So there were like 3 of those. And some other stuff.

I start holding one up.
Me: "Is it this?"
Tow-truck lady: "No."
Me: "This?"
Tow-truck lady: "NO. And how am I supposed to know when you've got all your documents folded up into a million little pieces?"

Alrighty then! Excuuuuse me if you people can't spring to add a little perforation action around here. Luckily a tow truck driver stepped in and saved the day by finding the right paper, and the lady started processing my bill. Turns out my car was parked on a corner where a bus couldn't get by, so that's why they towed it. Oops.

This turned out to be quite an expensive lesson. 100 euros to get the car out of the land of tow-truckdom. Then, the traffic cops had left me a little greeting card on my windshield, which asks me to send them 77 euros. Man, oh, man. Not the best day. My potential Christmas gifts are starting to look kinda shabby...

So, when in Rome, if you really must drive a car, may you always be blessed with finding a valid, legal parking space. It's akin to a small miracle. Speaking of which, it did happen once, in a classic Finny video at the end of this post.

Bread and Tulips

The title of today’s post is also the title of one of my favorite Italian movies. It’s the story of a woman who doesn’t know that she has lost herself until her family loses her by forgetting her at a highway rest stop. She goes on an adventure, follows her heart, and finds her creative talents in the most unexpected ways.

Sometimes, when we’re not looking, life finds us, and then asks us to find ourselves. When I first came to live in Rome, I had saved just enough money to pay for a room for about 5 or 6 months. It was literally my life savings. After having worked for a couple years in the “real world” with my freshly minted college degree, and having braved by myself one whirlwind month here, I moved back in with my parents after 6 years out of the house, worked almost daily in a grocery store bagging and cashiering, as well as part time in advertising. Anything to get my little “nest egg” together to go for my dream, as fast as possible.

When I got here and started living day to day, I had absolutely no extra money. For anything. Even though I was managing to scrape together a bit here and there tutoring English, it was the first time in my life I had to ask myself questions like, “Can I afford shampoo and conditioner? Or just shampoo?” I am in no way trying to garner sympathy by telling you this. I'm fully aware that there are much bigger problems in the world. I guess I just got to thinking about Ms. Adventures in Italy’s comment on yesterday’s post: not everyone’s road to success in Italy is paved with living in a hotel while remodeling their dream home. And that’s a really good thing.

Anyone who has gone on this kind of an adventure knows that really making it in a foreign country involves an unspeakable amount of hard work. Embarrassment. Fear. And those who succeed can look back and know that blind faith comes into play. A lot.

When I had almost nothing else besides my family and friends back home, Alessandro, and my blind faith, I started writing down the things I wanted in my life here. Kind of a wish list, convinced that I was headed in that direction. I’ll never forget: one of the things I wrote, one of the goals I hoped I would reach, was to be able to afford flowers for no reason. Flowers, and a daily newspaper.

Yesterday afternoon on the way back from the grocery store, I stopped to look at these tulips. They seemed a little too expensive to me (8 euro). But the truth is, I so rarely buy flowers for no reason that I don’t really know what a good price would be. And that’s when I remembered what I had written back then.

So I went ahead and bought them. Because after all these years, I realized that I could. And now, the tulips sitting on my desk are not just adding a little extra color—they are a reminder of where a little blind faith and a dream can take you.

What steps are you taking to nurture your “crazy, impossible” dream?

They're Baaaaaaack....

Every year about this time, something strange happens. Mutant Nutella jars, most likely hatched from special pods in one of the Ferrero factories, start appearing in big displays on grocery store floors.

Wait, let me back up a moment. Are we all aware of the Italian phenomenon known as Nutella? I'd go so far as to say that it is as much a part of the Italian culture as pasta and caffè. I always think of it as the Italian version of peanut butter. It's a chocolate-hazelnut spread that most commonly goes on bread, or—let's not be shy with the truth around here—eaten straight from the jar. It's famous on crepes and is eaten for breakfast on crunchy pieces of melba toast. You've gotta love a country where a rich concoction similar to super-fudge chocolate icing is an honest-to-goodness breakfast food.

But, back to the main story. The Nutella I normally buy comes in a 200g (about 7 oz.) jar, and when it's gone you can rinse out the jar and reuse it as a juice glass. Visualize: juice glass. The mutants that come out for the holidays have been injected with something at the factory, because they are no less than 3 kilos in weight. THREE KILOS, people. That is 6.61 pounds of pure, vegetable oil-laden goodness.

Note how, in typical McDonald's take-out bag style, I have carefully arranged my humble 200g jar next to its mutant cousin, to give you an idea of what we are dealing with here.

Now, I love Nutella as much as the next guy, but not as much as my pal Jessica, a.k.a. Finny Knits. While I'm sure many a blog post has been written singing the praises of the stuff originally known as "Supercrema," the most recent one I know of is hers. Finny was out visiting in October and little did I know that she has a thing for Nutella. A little side fling, unbeknownst to her poor, unsuspecting hubby. Given that this girl is one of the few people I consider more than a best friend, but like a sister, I did something this year that I've never done before: I bought the 3 kilo tub-o-'tella. And come hell or high water, that puppy is making it across the Atlantic this holiday season. "Friendship is..." when a 3 kilo box of Nutella becomes a carry-on. Yes indeedy, 'cuz it most helpfully comes with its very own box!

The only drawback is the lack of wheels for when I'm running through the airport. Luckily I don't have any stops in London, so it should make it on OK (since I highly doubt they'd let that go in the little transparent bag for ChapStick and keys). I just hope they don't make me eat some to prove it isn't lethal. I'm sure Finny wouldn't appreciate that.