Best Of Archives - Page 13 of 15 - Itch.world
A three-minute escape to Italy.
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The mysteries of Italian shutters

I’ve noticed that in Italy most shutters are always closed—even in houses where people are living and seem to be home. I’ve wondered why so many shutters are closed so much of the time, and how people live with them shut, so I asked some Italian friends.

One friend thinks that it is an artifact from an earlier way of living and happens more in small villages like ours with an older population than in larger, more age-diverse cities like Milan. Traditionally a house would have only one room that was heated and the whole family would gather there to stay warm whenever they were in the house. You’d cook, eat, and basically live in this room and the shutters would be open. Bedrooms were used only for sleeping and shutters were always closed. Closed shutters help to insulate from the cold (and the heat in summer) and also protect expensive windows from weathering.

Another friend confirmed that she thinks of rooms as divided between light rooms and dark ones. The dark ones are only for sleeping, and the light ones are where you go once you get up.

With central heating it was no longer necessary to gather in one room close to a heat source, but old cultural habits are slow to die. In many families it is considered rude to hang out in a room by yourself—when home everyone needs to be in the same room. This habit even extends to my friend, who is in his early 30s, and lives with a woman who is a couple years younger. He finds it amusing that she feels that they need to be in the same room together when they are home. Quite a difference with our American tendency to all be off in our own rooms, only coming together at meals, or for a movie.

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Satan in a box: the autovelox

Continuing the series on what you need to know about driving in Italy…

You are driving along on a freeway. All the cars around you are comfortably ignoring the speed limit, treating it as a mere suggestion, then suddenly all the cars break dramatically to slow to exactly the speed limit for about 500 meters, then continue along their merry way. Why? Most likely you are in the presence of the dread autovelox. These camera boxes along the side of the road capture your speed and if you are going too fast a speeding ticket appears in the mail about a month later. The ticket gets more expensive the more you exceed the limit, but they’ll get you for even small transgressions. We recently got one for going only 4 k.p.h. faster than the limit.

The tricky part is that not all of them are operational, which is why it’s important to pay attention to how seriously the other drivers around you are taking the speed limit. In the province of Arezzo many of of the boxes do not function and I love the reason why. Arezzo was a very wealthy and powerful Italian city with several politicians who were some of the most connected and influential in government. It’s not an accident that the autostrada and the main train line between Florence and Rome take quite a detour to stop at Arezzo.

According to local lore one of the mega powerful and connected politicians was caught speeding by an autovelox and received a speeding ticket. He was furious. So furious that he mysteriously was able to get the vast majority of the boxes in the province turned off.

The good news for drivers is that there is always a sign warning you of an autovelox ahead of the actual box, but reading it assumes that you are actually paying attention to the constant chatter of signs that are a part of any road journey in Italy. To avoid a surprise ticket always assume they are active, especially outside the province of Arezzo.

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Finding inner peace at the ATM

My Apple watch frequently reminds me to take a minute and breathe, as did my Calm app on my phone, until it caused me too much stress and I had to delete it.

My recent trip to the Bay Area, complete with super-efficient ATMs, put my usual experience of getting cash in the village square in a new perspective. Just trying to get euros in Italy is a big, brash reminder that there is nothing to do in life but slow down, breathe, and look at the view. A friend once told me that when she gets cash from this ATM she knows she has actually arrived in Italy. And if you don’t get the message at the ATM you certainly will in line at the butcher, getting a coffee, or a ordering slice of pizza. Con calma above all. In these places we are among friends and equals and wouldn’t want them to rush or stress over the size of the line. Anything else would be rude and foolish at once.

I thought you might want to see the slowest ATM in the world in action.

 

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The visual delight of Italian road signs

(Part I of a series on Driving in Italy.)

The architecture, the design, the paintings, the love of pageant and opera—few other cultures are as visually-obsessed as the Italians. This visual exuberance even extends to Italian road signs. There are literally hundreds of different types of signs that warn, chide, and advise about almost any situation you could imagine yourself encountering on the road when driving in Italy.

Italian road signs almost always come in groups and tell little short stories about a section of road through their hieroglyphic language. Sometimes it feels like there’s an Italian grandmother sitting in the passenger seat, delivering a monologue while I am driving. “Watch out, sometimes there are deer and boar on this road. Why Giuseppe hit a deer 15 years ago! And even though it is July, it can freeze and be slippery around this curve in the winter! And your tires could pick up gravel and possibly hit someone walking by the road. SLOW DOWN big curve coming! Did I mention that when it rains a lot it can flood here? WATCH OUT—soft shoulder!” And all this can be delivered in about 20 feet of road signs. With more around the next bend.

When we took the very hard test to get our Italian driver licenses, and had to memorize the meanings of hundreds of signs, I was particularly amused by this sign of a car falling off a dock into the water and could hardly imagine a context when it might be necessary to use it. Then I went for the weekend to the tiny Isola del Giglio in the Tuscan archipelago and discovered why it exists in the road sign oeuvre.

More about the Italian visual nature in one of my favorite books about Italy, Tobias Jones’s The Dark Heart of Italy. There’s a fascinating chapter about the British preference for the written word and the Italian preference for visual communication, and how it plays out in the culture.

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Carnevale, village style

Maybe other celebrations of carnevale are more famous—Venice, New Orleans, London, Rio—but I’d argue all night that none of them have the pure joy, community, and heart that carnevale has in a small Italian village.

Carnevale is a tradition that started in Venice a thousand years ago. It’s the last great hurrah before the beginning of Lent, with its tradition of penitence. Carnevale evolved from ancient pagan Spring traditions of fertility and rebirth that were repurposed into the Christian calendar by the ever-pragmatic Catholic church.

In the village of Anghiari carnevale is one of the biggest events of the year. Tractors, which pull the floats, are washed and polished. Traffic is diverted from the main street. Containers of silly string and bags of confetti are everywhere. Nearly the whole village turns out, most everyone in costume, especially the kids. A lawn mower-sized tractor pulls a train of carts around the piazza for the smallest children. Floats often make political and social statements and can be surprisingly elaborate, but my favorite is often from the hamlet of Motina, which has about 100 inhabitants. One year the whole hamlet dressed up as the 101 Dalmatians.

But what gets me is the sweetness, spirit, and warmth of the thing. I can’t watch this parade, which circles the town multiple times, without getting tears in my eyes. It’s the way people honor and care for each other. It’s the old guy who wanders around the village every day, seemingly lost, always dressed by his family in a vest of safety orange, who was asked to lead the parade. The two buff 20-something male heartthrobs who never miss this opportunity to cross-dress, much to the delight of the crowd. The band, which is never quite in tune, but always enthusiastic. The Italian love of spectacle and show, manifested by the littlest kids dancing completely to their own rhythm on stage, cheered by the crowd. It’s that there are ways for everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, to be celebrated, to be seen, to have fun.

More scenes from carnevale, in case you haven’t seen this video before.

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Venetian spice cake recipe

Last week when I wrote “The Venice you may not, yet, know” I mentioned that one of my all-time favorite desserts, a spice cake, comes from La Bitta restaurant—and the owner shared the recipe with me. This spice cake recipe is simple, but it has quite the unusual set of ingredients that gives it a comforting and very complex flavor. I truly love this cake. In my experience, it is unique.

Preheat oven to 350° F (180° C)

300 grams butter (1 1/3 cups)

300 grams sugar (1 1/2 cups)
300 grams unbleached, white flour (2.6 cups)
3 eggs
1/2 glass red wine (around 2/3 cup)
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon poppy seeds
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon saffron (or 1 packet—that’s the way we buy it here)
1 teaspoon ginger powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
pinch of salt

Butter cakes, like pound cakes, get their soft, fine texture and moistness, called a crumb, by first creaming together fat and sugar, adding eggs, and slowly incorporating dry ingredients into the mixture while alternating with a liquid.

Start by beating the butter in a standing mixer—if straight from the fridge and butter is cold—while gathering up all the other ingredients. If it whips for 10 minutes it will get fluffy and light. (If you don’t have a stand mixer, try to get the butter to room temperature.) Then add the sugar and beat until incorporated.

Add the eggs one at a time.

In a separate bowl stir together all the dry ingredients, then add them to the butter/sugar/egg mixture alternating with the red wine, and beat until just incorporated.

Prepare an 11” pan (28cm)—buttered and floured and lined with baking paper. A spring-release pan is best.

Cook for until it is just firm in the center and a toothpick comes out clean. If it wobbles like jelly when you touch the center with your finger, don’t bother with a toothpick yet.

Start checking at 35 minutes, but it will likely take longer. Try to get it “just done”.

Let it cool in the pan for 5-10 minutes then you should be able to take it out and place it on a cake plate. Serve it warm, dusted with powdered sugar.

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Word of the week: motozappa

Motozappa. It makes your mouth zing to say it. Its more Germanic sounding English translation, rototiller, is left stuck in the mud on a rutted dirt road by comparison. Just say the two together and you will see what I mean. Having words like motozappa is of the many reasons it’s great to live in Italy. (In addition to being considered tall—at 5’4”—and having what I am often told is an exotic name, Nancy.)

The next time you happen to be in the yard just think of how much more you could do if you got your hands on a motozappa. The zappa part comes from the verb zappare: to turn over, dig over, dig out (soil, ground).

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Nonna net

Soon after we arrived in our village we got a lesson about the effectiveness of the nonna network in Italy.

During our first year in Tuscany what helped the most to get our non-Italian speaking kids thriving in the all-Italian local schools was a couple of sent-from-the-Gods tutors who helped with the transition. They’d pick the kids up at school, check in with the teachers and find out what was coming up the next day, but what became the most important in many ways, take them to the family lunch before starting in on homework. One of Sebastian’s tutor’s grandmothers often cooked for the extended family, plus Sebastian, and got to know him very well.

One day John and Sebastian were walking across the piazza and the grandmother came rushing towards Sebastian, obviously upset and concerned. She started talking to Sebastian in very loud, rapid-fire Italian, her five-foot tall frame towering over his eight-year old height. At the end of what seemed to be an epic scolding she gave him a huge hug and walked away.

John asked, “What was that all about?” “Nothing,” said Sebastian.

So we called the granddaughter, who spoke some English, and got the story. Living in a small village our kids ran free a lot. Apparently earlier in the day Sebastian had been taking a walk with a very attractive local mom and her young son on the path that runs next to the top of the ancient walls of our hill town. This defensive wall is at least 50′ high and the top of it has a flat surface about two feet wide. It drops from the lower part of our village to the valley and helped protect the town from invaders. Sebastian decided to show off, so he jumped up onto the top of the wall to walk for a bit.

But his brief high-wire act had been spotted by a grandmother, who none of us knew, as she was looking out her window. She immediately called her friend, Sebastian’s adopted grandmother, and explained that she saw him break a big village rule: no walking on the wall. She thought her friend would want to let her young American friend know how dangerous this was.

And we learned our first of many lessons that prove that Italian grandmothers rule. They take responsibility for enforcing village mores, and such a transgression would warrant an instant phone call to a friend to rectify—the nonna net in action.

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Three ways Italy is different from California

During a frenzied week back in California, where I lived for most of my life, I was stuck by hundreds of differences between the Bay Area and my adopted home in Tuscany. Here are three of the stranger things I’ve noticed this week.

Dogs

Lola in a restaurant in a high chair. The owner insisted in bringing it out for her so that she wouldn’t have to be alone on the floor.

Right after we first moved to Tuscany our friends’ dogs had puppies, and we got our Lola. Having a dog has been a great window into some of the differences between Italy and the States.

Most Italians love dogs and they are welcome everywhere. Lola comes with us into restaurants, hotels, movie theaters, banks, post offices, trains… She frequently gets served a bowl of water in a restaurant before we even order. Once she and I went into a caffè and she happened to see one of her favorite dog friends. The woman who works behind the bar encouraged us to take the dogs off their leashes so that they could play. Lola and her boyfriend started romping in the caffè, bumping up against people and racing across the floor underfoot. At one point her dog friend got a little over excited and lifted his leg to pee against the bar. His owner and I froze, horrified. The other bar patrons and the owner burst out laughing and she shooed us away as we attempted to clean up the mess and insisted on doing it herself.

A couple years ago I had a minor medical procedure. When I was in the recovery room coming out from anesthesia John mentioned that Lola was tied outside the hospital. The nurse suggested that we bring her into the recovery room so that she could snuggle in bed with me and escape the heat outside. So Lola joined me in bed in the hospital room.

The kids, Lola, and I were enroute back from a long day in Florence and stopped for hamburgers. I had forgotten to bring food for Lola so she hadn’t eaten all day. Donella mentioned this to our waiter, and he and the kitchen staff went into high gear, immediately cooking a burger for Lola and bringing it out on a plate.

I can’t even imagine a parallel to any of these experiences (and there are many more) in California. The additional range of places Italian dogs go, and the experiences they have, seem to make them a bit smarter in the ways of the world, a bit more “emotionally intelligent,” than their stateside counterparts. Probably helps that most Italian dogs I see aren’t purebreds and are bred much more for personality than looks.

Of course not all dogs in Italy are pets. In our rural area I’d guess about twenty five percent of the dogs I see are working dogs—hunting dogs for wild boar and truffles, dogs that protect sheep from wolves. These dogs are not at all coddled and often live outside full time.

Lunch

 

In Italy lunch is probably the single most important event of the day. The world stops for a couple of hours. Stores and offices close. School ends at 1:30 so that kids can join their families. Streets empty and the pace of life changes. Because everything shuts down it means there’s no social demarcation between people who have time for lunch and those who work through. We frequent restaurants populated by workmen, delivery truck drivers, and laborers, as well as those filled with businessmen and ladies who lunch, all lingering over a meal that lasts over an hour.

The meal is usually two to three courses—pasta, main, and dessert—accompanied by wine and coffee. People linger, talk, laugh, relax. The work day ends at 7 or 8 in the evening, but they have had this total break in the middle.

On one of my first trips back to California after we moved I raced across town to get to Target before 1:30 so that I could get what I needed before they closed for lunch. About ten minutes into my drive I realized I probably wouldn’t have that problem in Emeryville.

In the Bay Area it often feels like lunch is something to be accomplished as efficiently as possible—ideally the optimal mix of organic protein, carbs, and fat, at the right price point, consumed as efficiently as possible—so that you can get back to the “real” business of living, the important stuff that defines us. What if it turns out in the game of life that the really important thing was the lunch with friends?

Coffee

This week I’ve had time to kill between meetings so I’ve been hanging out in various coffee places, chains and independents, and noticing the differences between what it means to get coffee in Italy and in California. There are lots of obvious ones—in Italy you stand at the bar for your shot of espresso. People don’t get coffee to go. Coffee is never served in paper cups. There are no huge cups filled with 1,000 calorie mocha pumpkin unicorn frappuccinos. Cappuccinos are only had in the morning—in the litany of Italian health rules it’s believed that dairy is bad for the digestion after about noon. In California, nobody ordered a caffè corretto (literally a corrected coffee), an espresso with a healthy shot of grappa, sambuca, or some other liquor, often served late morning (or pre-dawn if you are going out with friends and loaded guns to hunt.)

But the biggest thing I’ve noticed is that having a coffee in Italy is a social act. Everyone is talking at once and standing in a group at the bar drinking shots of espresso. A visit to the caffè happens first thing in the morning, mid-morning, and mid-afternoon and waves of people congregate at these times, eager to see what is new with everyone else since when they last saw them a few hours before.

An espresso is 1€, and a cappuccino 1.20€, so people often pay for one another’s coffees. I’ve had mine picked up a lot, often by someone I haven’t even talked to that day. When you go to pay you discover it’s already been covered. There’s no weirdness in this, like there can be if someone buys your drink in a bar, and absolutely no expectation of anything in return. It’s a small flirt that puts a spring into both people’s steps, and all at for 1€. I can’t think of a comparable act in the U.S.

In contrast, I couldn’t help but notice how non-social the act of getting coffee is in California. There are a few people chatting in line, and a tiny minority of tables with people actually talking to each other, but the vast majority of people seem to be alone, focused on their computers or phones, mostly with headsets on, and completely removed from the environment and people around them. The difference is jarring—the only common factor between having coffee in the two worlds is caffeine.

 

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The lost Leonardo: The Battle of Anghiari

One of the great mysteries of the art world involves one of the most important commissions of Leonardo da Vinci’s career: painting one-third of a 174-foot wall of one of most the massive and politically prestigious rooms in Europe, the Council Hall in the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence. Oh, and to make life interesting and present a bit of a challenge, Michelangelo was commissioned to paint the opposite wall. Michelangelo had just finished the David. Leonardo The Last Supper. They were both hired by a man who understood just a little about competition and manipulation, Machiavelli. It was the only time they would work together on the same project.

Leonardo was 51 and Michelangelo was the hot, up-and-coming young artist at 28. The two men couldn’t have been more different. Leonardo was known for his grace, elegance, sparkling conversation, and mentoring a circle of younger artists. Michelangelo was disheveled, brooding, short-tempered, solitary, often filthy, and the last thing he wanted was any mentoring from Leonardo. Michelangelo was openly disdainful of Leonardo when they encountered each other in public. Both men were gay, but Leonardo seemed to have been more public and comfortable with it. Michelangelo was more tortured about his sexuality and is reported to have decided to be celibate.

The Council Hall was the center of power in Florence when Florence was at its apex. It had just become a republic after the long dominance of the Medici and there was a period of peace. They expanded the hall to seat 500 representatives (it’s now called the Salone dei Cinquecento) and the subjects of the paintings were chosen to convey Florence’s military might and power. Leonardo chose a battle that had happened on June 29, 1440 along the Tiber river in the valley outside the small, fortified hill town of Anghiari (which happens to be our stomping ground.) The battle, which pitted Milan against Florence—one of Florence’s few military victories—involved forty squadrons of mounted soldiers and 2,000 on foot. The battle was a turning point for Florence because Milan gave up trying to conquer the rival city. However, Machiavelli was disdainful of the battle as only one soldier died, and that was from falling off a horse.

Leonardo decided to make the central scene a small group of soldiers vying for a standard flag rather than to portray the large scale of the battle. He was as fascinated by showing the struggle to the death of the horses as much as the men, and did dissections and studies of the similarity of expression and facial muscles of each species. Leonardo wanted a softer and more luminous look than traditional fresco techniques could give, so he decided to use oil paints. There are many entries in his notebooks about how to convey the reality of battle—how much dust is kicked up and how high in the sky it hangs, how bodies are dragged through bloody mud, the noise—and he felt that this newer technique would let him marry the nuance of oil painting with the grandeur of frescoes.

He completed the cartoons for the painting, mounted them with a flour-based paste, designed an innovative scissor-type moveable scaffolding, and went to work. In addition to experimenting with paint he also experimented with a base layer that was thought to be a mix of resin and wax. In his prototypes it dried well, but on the wall it remained wet, despite the fires he lit in the hall to promote drying. Not only did the preliminary work not dry, it started to melt.

Leonardo attempted to continue work, but was well-known for procrastination and not finishing projects. The City of Florence renegotiated his contract so that he would have to repay all his fees and forfeit his work if it wasn’t completed by 1505. His deadline came and went, and the painting wasn’t finished. Then a huge storm hit. The cartoon was thrown to the floor and deluged by water from the rain and a large overturned bucket. The project was all but dead.

Meanwhile, on the other wall, Michelangelo was not doing a lot better. He started the project and then got called away to do the Pope’s tomb and Sistine Chapel in Rome.

So the two unfinished paintings sat, facing off, adorning one of the most important rooms in Italy. People came from all over to see Leonardo’s unfinished work, which contemporaries described as some of his best, even in its unfinished state.

In 1565, Vasari, who is the first art historian and adored both Leonardo and Michelangelo, was hired to oversee the redecoration of the Palace and creating finished paintings in the Salone dei Cinquecento. So he painted over the work of Michelangelo and Leonardo in his own paint by the acre style, which remain in the room today.

What we know of the painting (the images above) were actually done by Rubens a century later from contemporary studies of The Battle of Anghiari.

But the story may not end there. An air gap was discovered behind the Vasari, and a team led by Mauricio Seracini from University of San Diego, who is one of the leading diagnosticians of Italian art, got permission to drill through previously restored sections of the Vasari to see what might be behind. They found traces of pigment that matches what Leonardo was experimenting with at the time, and many historians doubt that Vasari would have painted directly on top of two of his most revered masters. (There is also a mysterious phrase on one of the flags in Vasari’s work, located where no one who was not on scaffolding could read, that ways “Cerca Trova,” “He who looks will find.”)

So you’ve got some compelling leads that one of the greatest paintings of all time might be behind this wall, but you are in Italy, so what happens? The project to uncover what might be there is shut down by a group of art historians who question whether this experiment, which is harming already damaged sections of the Vasari, goes against the Italian constitution, and call the police saying it might be illegal. Oh, and they hated Renzi, who was Florence’s Mayor at the time and was in favor of the exploration.

And there the story remains since 2012. If the painting is ever uncovered it require massive meddling with the Vasari (like pouring glue all over it, putting another substrate over the front, peeling the painting off, and putting it on another base. What could go wrong?)

And the Leonardo might just be a smudge of running pigment. But, how amazing that this possibility even exists.

If you want to know more about Leonardo I’ve enjoyed Walter Isaacson’s 2017 book, Leonardo Da Vinci.

 

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