Archive for December, 2006
Note to Paris Hilton: That’s Not Hot
For those of you who don’t know, today is a holiday in Italy. Every December 8, the country has the day off for the Immaculate Conception. And yes, the separation of church and state is the law here. Why do you ask?
So, since it’s a yearly free day, I’ve chosen December 8 as the day my house turns into Christmas Village. And that’s what I did all morning. Harry Connick Jr. serenaded me while I put up our mini-tree (no room for much else) and other assorted cheer.
When I got tired of Frosty melting away (am I the only one who finds that song kinda sad?), I put on the television.
Um, when did Paris Hilton become important enough to do telefonino (cell phone) commercials in Italy? Who has allowed this? I doubt most Italians have the faintest clue as to who she is, even if she is pictured sometimes in the gossip rags. But still…is she *really* going to make them switch phone service?
The funniest part of the ads is one of three things. I can’t decide. In the running are:
(1) Her trying to speak Italian. Horrendous doesn’t begin to describe it. Let’s just say that I had to translate Paris’s Italian into actual Italian for P;
(2) Her voice is dubbed over in some of the ads; or
(3) The voice over girl was apparently given instructions to speak Italian only slightly less horrendously than Paris and (most importantly) to keep the valley girl American accent.
That Paris appears in these ads with one of Italy’s most beloved actors, Claudio Amendola, is more disturbing than funny, so that didn’t make the list. But at least she’s not playing opposite La Loren (who does spots for a different company). Imagine the horror!
So what I’m really wondering is this: is there a way we can petition to get this, um, girl off of Italian airwaves–a way to tell “Tre” that these ads are so *not hot* here?
Has Italy plain run out of people famous for no reason other than their wealth? Aren’t there some Agnelli or DeLaurentis kids running around blowing their inheritances? Or how about members of the ex-royal family now that they’re allowed back in?
Sorry for the rant, but hearing Queen Daft butcher one of the most beautiful languages in the world has effectively drained my Christmas cheer.
Maybe I should go back the dying snowman for a pick-me-up.
Love Thursday: Luna
One August evening I came home to find P making dinner, a little annoyed that I was late. Oops! Using my sweetest voice, I asked what was cooking.
P: Ti piace il cane? (Do you like the dog?)
Me: Whahuh? (Whahuh?)
He pointed under the table, and there was a real live caramel-colored pooch with big brown eyes staring at me.
About a year before, I had taken in a stray, but he had passed away the previous week. The last thing I expected in the house was a puppy, especially since I insisted I wasn’t ready for another one just yet, that I needed time to heal.
I was wrong.
P knew I couldn’t live without a dog for too long, so he went and rescued this pup from a family that had been calling her “Nessuna”–Nobody.
What’s that sound? Your heart breaking?
I squatted down to look Luna in the eyes (P had already renamed her), to which she responded “Grrrrrrr.” How cute.
I told him to take her back.
I was joking, of course, but only half-heartedly. Dogs always love me! What was her problem?
After dinner, P went out for coffee, but I didn’t want to leave Luna alone so we stayed home. Together. Just the two of us. She was still growling a bit as I pulled her up onto my lap, but I held her close, spoke in a soft, annoying baby voice, and scratched under her chin.
About ten minutes later, I called P.
Me: Sono innamorata! (I’m in love!)
P: Grazie. Anch’io. (Thanks. Me too.)
Me: No, di Luna. (No, with Luna.)
Ever since I saw “Love Thursday” on italian trivia (Jennifer discovered it on Karen’s Chookooloonks), I wanted to play, too.
So here’s my first installment, posting the love encompassed in this sweet face looking up at me every morning.
I love my Luna Balloona.
What’s Cooking Wednesday: Borlotti Beans with Tomatoes, Garlic & Basil
“Are you cookin’ beeeeeans?”
Anyone remember David Letterman’s obnoxiously saying this over and over? Well, it was funny, I swear.
Today, amici, the answer to the title question is–YES! I’m cookin’ beans! And you can too!
And yes, I’ll stop with the exclamation points.
Inspired by Shannon at Tales From the Fairy Blogmother, we’re starting a little something called “What’s Cooking Wednesday” around here.
When I told P this, his eyes grew wide and he ran off a quick list of future featured dishes. He’s an excellent cook with a passion for (mostly Calabrian) food, so you won’t be disappointed. I’m only sorry I didn’t take a picture of his “Linguine agli scampi” (linguini with prawns) the other night.
Must…think…more…like…blogger.
So, because he told me I can only do paesana recipes (wonder how long *that* will last), today’s is P’s mom’s Borlotti beans with tomatoes, garlic, and basil. Only a few ingredients, but do set aside a couple hours’ cooking time.
For a primer on today’s featured bean, check out Darla’s entry, conveniently titled The Borlotti Bean. As Darla writes, these are late summer/early autumn beans, but lucky for me, I have a suocera (mother-in-law)* that freezes in-season treats and then passes them to us just when we’re craving them.
Borlotti beans with tomatoes, garlic & basil
(serves 4)
- 2 lbs. of Borlotti beans
- 6 medium cloves garlic (leave whole)
- 6 plum tomatoes, chopped roughly
- 1/4 cup basil leaves
- 4 tablespoons olive oil
- peperoncino (hot pepper flakes will do)
- salt to taste
1. Shell beans and place in cold water. Bring water to a boil, and leave beans there for about 5 minutes or until they are about half-cooked.
2. While the beans are in the water, peel the garlic, wash and chop the tomatoes, and wash the basil leaves.
3. Drizzle 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a saucepan large enough to hold the beans (or, if you’re going hard core paesano/a, a terra cotta pot), and add the garlic, tomatoes, and basil. Also put in some peperoncino if you’re feeling spicy.
4. Remove the beans from the water with a slotted spoon (or otherwise drain so that you reserve the bean water) and place in the saucepan.
5. Add a cup of the bean water or enough so that they are covered.
6. Set on low heat and stir every now and again, but not too roughly or you’ll be a bean breaker. If you see the mixture is getting too dry and the beans aren’t done cooking yet, add more pasta water as needed. The beans should take about an hour and a half to two hours to cook through.
7. After about an hour, add the other 2 tablespoons of olive oil and salt to your taste. The sauce should be thick when done. When you are ready to serve, drizzle some fresh olive oil directly on top.
8. You can also garnish with fresh sliced red onion–and of course this is to be enjoyed with fresh Italian bread.
Buon appetito!
*Note that it is common in Italy to begin calling your partner’s family your in-laws as soon you’re a couple. Of course, they also refer to an exclusive couple as “engaged” whether or not there’s a wedding in sight. Are you sensing a whole entry dedicated to this system at some time? Points for you!
Conquering Italian Bureaucracy: Getting My Carta d’Identità
Ah, Italian bureaucracy. Didn’t take long to get me on this subject, did it? But it’s actually not a criticism! If you’ve got a pen handy, mark this down, as it’s probably the only time you’ll see me happy about something involving a comune and official stamps.
Yesterday I finally got my carta d’identità, the Italian ID card. This marks the end of a long journey to Italian citizenship — dual citizenship actually. So I’m allowed to have two citizenships because of a neat little thing Italian bureaucrats call “jure sanguinis,” or law of the blood.
No, there’s no organized crime involved. Geez, why you always gotta go there when blood and Italian are mentioned together? It just means that when the Italian bloodline is intact, i.e., no one has renounced his/her Italian citizenship before the next in line was born, Italian citizenship carries on down.
For me, it was from my great-grandfather, grandmother, and father–and yes, it required a lot of paperwork. Birth, marriage, death, and divorce certificates, and then a two and a half year wait. But now it’s done, and I’m legal here. Finally.
So, to celebrate, I’ll share my first photo. This is the view of the Ionian Sea from my house in a village of just 300 souls–most of whom remember American soldiers coming into the piazza and handing out chocolate to the children to close out World War II.
Welcome/Benvenuti!
Well, once again I’ve done it the hard way. Instead of easing myself into this whole thing, using a basic Blogger template, I’ve gone and found one on my own–only I have absolutely no idea about html thingies and whatnot. So this has been a fun past couple of hours!
But back to the basics.
I’ve been sitting on the sidelines for far too long on this blogging thing, but it wasn’t entirely my fault. I’ve been living in a medieval village with shoddy Internet access. We’ll call it “dial up.” I put off even getting it in the house for a while, but finally decided I needed to keep in better touch with all my English speaking friends, and so, I got my very own phone with my very own line. Well, it’s really more “ours,” as it is under P’s name.
And who’s P you Nosey Roseys are surely wondering? I’ll spare you the gag-me-with-a-cucchiaio cutesy nicknames and just leave it at this: he’s my beau. A year and a half and counting. He speaks no English so the chances of him happening upon this blog and discovering what I’ve written are none to none. Although pictures are fair game.
No matter, though, as I’m a good fidanzata, I think, and I’m not one for airing dirty laundry. In fact, I hate hanging out clean laundry–and apparently I don’t do it correctly anyway–but that’s a story for another entry.
Ooh! Material! I have some!
The only other thing I’ll mention now is that I’m a writer, and that was the main impetus to start up this bad boy. If you want to get right down to the pit o’ the peach (90210 fans, I know you caught that!), I’m just jealous that other aspiring authors get all kinds of valuable practice and feedback every day while I just talk to my computer. And he never answers. Stronzo.
Hey, does it annoy you when people throw foreign words into their conversations? Sorry about that. It’s kind of hard to only think in one language now, so I like to believe that I’ll be giving my readers incentive to learn some Italian. And you know, if you’re planning a trip here, “stronzo” ain’t a bad place to start.
So, folks, I’m in. A joiner at last.
Now let’s play nice.
Michelle Kaminsky is an American attorney-turned-freelance writer who lived in her family's ancestral village in Calabria, Italy for 15 years. This blog is now archived.
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