drowning our sorrows
As many of you may know, Italy is currently without a Prime Minister. Some of my expat blogging friends have written about it as it is currently our biggest news story.
Far be it from me to be the one to understand educate you on Italian politics, but let’s just say that this is a frequent occurrence (over 60 changes in power since World War II), so no one should be scared.
We still have a president after all.
Feel better? No?
How about a Kinder treat?
P threw one of these in my bag yesterday as I set off for school, knowing that I get peckish mid-afternoon. I’ve always avoided these Kinder snacks (although the little chocolate eggs are heavenly), but just as P guessed, I hit it around 4 p.m.
It was love at first bite with its orange and chocolate flavors mixed together in cakey deliciousness. And then I tasted a little tinge of…something…alcoholic?
Was it possible that these children’s treats are laced with Jesus Juice?
And there it is in plain Italian. Third line down.
If you don’t speak Italian, “liquore” means “liquor,” “vino liquoroso” is a port-like wine, Marsala for instance, and “alcool” indeed means “alcohol,” and in this Kinder snack, you’ll find 8.5%.
Again, like the resignation of Prodi, I don’t really know what that percentage means, but I do know that I felt really nice after the Kinder fiesta bar, that I no longer cared about the government’s status, that yesterday’s lesson went swimmingly, and that I’ve already requested a box full for next week.
Now let’s hope we’ll soon be able to raise our Kinders and salute the new (or old, as it may be) governo.
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[tags]italian government, romano prodi, kinder snacks, italy[/tags]
Love Thursday: Making it Pretty
Italian women love their homes.
They express this love by keeping them cleaner than some hospitals and by decorating them.
Now I don’t mean like for the holidays kind of decorating, because actually, that’s not so common at least where I am. And I’m also not saying that all the southern Italian homes I’ve been in are especially warm and homey, at least for my taste. I’ve seen quite a few stark white walls, and since many of the apartments (most Italians live in flats stacked one on top of another) double as echo chambers, an overall sterile feeling isn’t uncommon either.
That said, Italians are masters of making things pretty. We know this. So while maybe some homes lack a certain lived-in feel, it’s rare to find a bare balcony or terrace. Flowers, plants, and trees are everywhere adding splashes of color to complement the lush green hills and achingly blue sea.
Other that a simple love of nature, this, in my expat opinion, has a lot to do with the bella figura, making a good impression. I have to believe that there’s some sort of logic along the lines of “If the outside of your house is brutto, it doesn’t matter how well you clean the inside.”
I don’t know if that’s true, but it goes a long way in explaining sights like this:
This isn’t an uncommon scene here in Calabria. Unfortunately, many unfinished concrete monstrosities line the SS 106 that runs along the Ionian Coast. And man are they fugly (even when they’re completed for the most part).
But that doesn’t stop Italian women from making homes out of them from the outside in, from trying to make them pretty, from showing them some love.
Happy Love Thursday everyone!
what’s cooking wednesday: spaghetti alla carbonara
Today’s What’s Cooking Wednesday recipe is a fast (ready in a half hour) pasta dish made to stick to your ribs. It’s great for a last minute meal as you probably have all the ingredients at home right now.
What? No spaghetti? Some people sure are strange.
The origins of Spaghetti all carbonara are unclear, although it’s usually attributed to Rome. All we know for sure is that “carbonara” comes from the Italian word for coal, “carbone.” Beyond that, some suspect this tasty plate came about because:
(1) it was prepared for coalminers;
(2) it was originally made over charcoal grills;
(3) it was invented by the Carbonari, an Italian secret society (not to be confused with the carabinieri); or
(4) the pancetta and black pepper in the dish look like little bits of coal.
That last one kinda grosses me out, and you know I’m fond of conspiracy theories and whatnot, so let’s opt for the secret society explanation for the sake of this post, umkay?
However it came about, Spaghetti alla carbonara gained popularity around World War II when Italians began to eat bacon and eggs shipped over for American troops; thereafter, soldiers returning from the war took home a delicious pasta dish along with a victory.
There are many, many different recipes out there for Spaghetti alla carbonara, but I’m giving you the one we eat in our house–no cream, no bells and whistles, a real just the facts ma’am kind of plate.
And it’s wonderful if I do say so myself.
By the way, you can certainly substitute bacon here, but if you can find some Italian-style bacon, aka, pancetta, do splurge.
It’s worth it.
Spaghetti alla carbonara
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 thick slices pancetta, diced
1 tbsp chopped parsley
3 eggs
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
salt and black pepper
1 package (500 g) spaghetti
First, put on the water to boil for the pasta.
Now put the olive oil in a medium skillet on medium heat, and then add the onions, garlic, pancetta, and almost all of the parsley, leaving some for garnishing if you like. Let this cook for about 2 to 3 minutes–just don’t let the pancetta dry out. When it’s done, stick a lid on it to keep it warm.
In a separate bowl, beat together eggs, cheese, salt, and black pepper.
Tip: to regulate salt, taste a piece of the cooked pancetta and also pay attention to how salty your cheese is. Remember you’ll be cooking your pasta in salted water, so you shouldn’t need much salt added to the egg mixture. A dash of black pepper should be plenty.
Once the water is boiling, add salt and cook the pasta until al dente and drain.
Now return the pasta to the empty but still warm pot and stir in the egg mixture, letting the heat cook the eggs. You can turn the burner on low here, but just be sure the eggs aren’t sticking. If I happen to be using an undesirable egg-cooking kind of pot, I drizzle a little olive oil on the bottom before adding the pasta and egg mixture to prevent a sticky mess.
Once the eggs are cooked, transfer the mixture into the pan with the pancetta and mix together well. If the pancetta isn’t hot enough for your liking, turn the burner on low until you’re finished combining.
Sprinkle on a little fresh parsley and serve immediately.
Note that this recipe is meant for one package of spaghetti, so if you’ll be making more pasta, adjust everything else accordingly.
Buon appetito!
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[tags] spaghetti alla carbonara, carbonara, pasta recipes, pancetta, eggs, cooking, what’s cooking wednesday[/tags]
back and to the left
I’m a conspiracy theorist.
I love conspiracies of any sort about any topic. Not saying I believe in all of them, but they sure make for interesting reading and lively discussions.
Living in southern Italy has only amplified this fascination as I’m constantly being told to never trust anyone–above all “lo Stato.” I’ve always been an annoying, questioning type, so at least in this regard, the transition hasn’t been a tough one. Whether the attitude of non-trust is Italian, southern Italian, both, or neither is worthy of an entire other post, but for now, I’m just going to share the latest in a 44-year-old murder investigation at the center of my favorite conspiracy theory.
There’s a new video showing JFK moments before the assassination. Apparently the big development is that President Kennedy’s jacket was bunched up in a way that could further call into question the Warren Commission‘s assertion that only three shots were fired.
Quick show of hands: Does anyone *really* still believe the Warren Commission’s report? OK, Senator Specter. You can put your hand down. Now please put your Magic Bullet to rest and redeem yourself by getting habeas corpus rights back for detainees.
Despite not being born until 13 years after JFK’s assassination, I’ve always been fascinated by this particular conspiracy. In fact, back in the States, I have a rather respectable collection of books and articles written on JFK’s life and death, his presidency, and his brother Bobby’s 1968 murder, which I really hope will make it here one day. Ah, the joys of an international move.
Maybe some of you are thinking “Hey, this dude’s been dead for almost half a century. Can’t we just move on?”
Quite simply, no.
Ever hear the saying about those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it? How is it possible that our government has been able to cover up the truth about what happened on and around November 22, 1963 for so long–all while under extreme scrutiny regarding the case?
The President of the United States, in a car with his wife, was murdered in broad daylight in the middle of an American city while surrounded by Secret Service agents.
Can you imagine what they do when we’re not looking?
Mankind must put an end to war or war will put an end to mankind.
-President John F. Kennnedy, Speech to United Nations Assembly
September 25, 1961
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[tags]president kennedy, jfk, john f kennedy, president john f kennedy, conspiracy theories, magic bullet theory, warren commission, warren commission report, senator arlen spector, habeas corpus[/tags]
Sunday Scribblings: Crush
Prompt #47: Crush
I read this prompt on Friday, and I had so wanted to go the fiction route…a fast-moving piece about the planning and scheming to make a meeting with a crush seem so natural, the mix of nervousness and excitement that bubbles inside as the crush approaches. It likely would’ve been heavily based on reality being the self-proclaimed Queen of the Crush that I am. Or at least was for the major part of my life.
But I kept coming back to the same idea, or the same idea kept taunting me I should say. And every writer knows that when something nags at you, you get your fingers to the keyboard and stop asking questions.
“Because your kiss, your kiss is on my list…” he sang into the mirror of the sun visor pressed against the windshield. His big brown eyes focused on me, the four-year-old in the back seat. I probably rolled my eyes, because I always rolled that way, but inside I was smiling. I’m sure of it.
Our families were good friends, but theirs didn’t have a little girl. On top of that, I was the youngest of anyone, so I was rather spoiled with attention. His mom treated me like a daughter, and I ended up with two big brothers in addition to the one I already had; the oldest of the bunch became, as I can understand now with adult eyes, My First Crush.
Even at an early age, I remember feeling safe with him while my own brother, his brother, and even his father tormented me. And so I ran to MFC when I couldn’t take any more teasing, and he was always there to hold me, play with me, and generally calm me down.
He was only a teenager at the time, so you can imagine that he was mature beyond his years (at least as it concerned me). All I knew, though, is that I liked being around him more than anyone for the first five or so years of my life. And for a kid, that says a lot. One might even say that it says everything.
And then about that time, our families had a falling out of some sort that didn’t involve any of the kids, but oh, did it affect us; MFC went away to college and then moved away, and well, all of us lost touch.
I don’t remember the details of that period very well, but there were surely times that I missed seeing him, laughing with (at!) him, and generally being fawned over. Who wouldn’t love that kind of devotion? But it passed, obviously, because many more crushes followed.
I’m a long-term crusher, so I basically kept the same boy in mind through elementary school, then switched to a new one in high school, a different one in college. Law school, as any law school survivor won’t find surprising, lacked a real crush opportunity–a sad three years without looking forward to accidentally running into a special someone on purpose.
Isn’t that the best thing about a crush? Unrequited love is never fun, but, oh, that rush of emotion when you see your crush unexpectedly (or expectedly, as the case may be), when you’re suddenly thrown into a conversation, when you’re daydreaming about those fateful meetings, when you’re recounting them later to the chosen few who know of your infatuation.
*Sigh*
Sure over time, thoughts and imaginings become more mature, but at the base of it, a crush is so innocent and young–a raw, guttural, overwhelming like for someone and his/her presence. If we’re lucky, our crushes always hold special places in our hearts.
And if I’m anything, I’m lucky.
Over the past year, I’ve been able to return to that oft-forgotten corner of my childhood. Why? Because MFC came across my name on our high school’s alumni list (I graduated 12 years after he did) and sent me an email.
He started with the suggestion that maybe I didn’t remember who he was. Hah! He wrote of memories of my grandmother and times spent with my family when he was younger–priceless stuff especially since my grandmother had passed away a few years before.
I was ecstatic to hear from him, that he’s doing well, is happily married, successful, and just as funny and generally wonderful as ever. Now we’ve gotten to know each other as adults after sharing just a few years of childhood, which is quite a surreal experience. For him, I imagine that my life took a hiatus right around the phase of the froofy pink dress (wanna make somethin’ of it?), and his, as far as I could tell, never progressed past Hall & Oates.
Good thing for both of us that we’ve moved on.
In fact, in one of those Internet-inspired twists of fate, we’ll be moving closer together for at least one day soon–he and his wife are on their way to southern Italy in April, and we’ll see each other for the first time in, oh, 25 years.
I’m only 30 years old, peeps, so this is some amazing stuff.
Through our emails, I’ve learned even more about my early years from his memories. Recently he wrote that when the house was full of company and I didn’t want to go to bed thereby missing any of the fun, he was the go-to guy to get me to sleep. He (correctly) joked that putting girls to sleep was certainly no skill to brag about later in life, so he didn’t talk about it much, but there you have it.
I don’t remember any of that, but the fact that he does? Wow.
Such a warm fuzzy feeling to know that I, too, hold a place in my first crush’s heart.
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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