Live Archives - Page 9 of 13

Live Archives - Page 9 of 13 - Itch.world

A three-minute escape to Italy.

Tuscany, travel, medieval village, Italy, festivals, celebrations, customs, cooking, recipes, living in Italy, moving to Italy, visiting, visit, restaurants, language

archive,paged,category,category-live,category-39,paged-9,category-paged-9,wp-theme-stockholm,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,select-theme-ver-4.4.1,paspartu_enabled,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-7.9,vc_responsive

April 13, 2019 In Best Of, Chow, Live, Recipes By Nancy

How I know it’s spring in Tuscany

One of the things I love most about creating Itch is that I’m constantly reminded to keep attentive to what unfolds around me every day. I had so much fun thinking about spring for this post, and the little things that make me know that it has arrived.

1. Fava Beans

In the spring fava beans are suddenly everywhere, but show up in two completely different ways. First there are the fave that you eat. Italians often serve them in a very different way than I’d had in America. I was used to the beans being shelled, the small inner beans removed, and then blanched to make it easier to remove the skin around the inner, bright green bean, which was the only part served. (One memorable exception to this was many years ago in San Francisco’s Mission District at Delfina when they served fried baby fava beans which were eaten whole, outer pod and all. They were delicious.)

Here, even at very nice restaurants, when you order fave you often get a plate of raw, whole beans, along with some thin slices of pecorino cheese, salt, and some olive oil. You then remove the inner pods yourself and eat them raw, along with the skin coating them, accompanied by some oil and cheese. We still aren’t totally convinced that this is as good as just the innermost pod cooked in some delicious way, but this kind of dish makes everything dependent on the essentials: the fave must be very, very fresh and the quality of the oil and cheese is critical.

My sister turned me on to a recipe that involves throwing whole, really fresh fava beans in a plastic bag along with some olive oil, sea salt, red pepper, and garlic, tossing together to coat, and then roasting the beans over a fire until cooked and tender and a bit charred in places. You can eat these whole and we have served them several times as an aperitivo, along with a prosecco.

But fave in markets and restaurants aren’t that unusual in many places around the world. The second way fave are a harbinger of spring is that they are used as a cover crop to restore nitrogen to the fields where tobacco was planted late last summer. All those glorious little beans are plowed under just when they get really promising, unharvested.

2. The Lamborghini come out

If we were to do an MRI of our brain activity with the verbal prompt “Lamborghini” I think our brains would light up in very different ways. The image I conjure up is one of a tractor. After WWII Ferruccio Lamborghini started a company to make tractors out of reconfigured military equipment. He also made heating and cooling equipment and between his businesses became wildly successful. So successful that he started to collect luxury cars, including a Ferrari, which was a constant nightmare to maintain. He decided to start his own car brand in 1963.

Today, in the valley, having a Lamborghini tractor is definitely the cool kid choice and at this time of year the tractors, Lamborghini or otherwise, hit the fields and make them incredibly well-groomed. Soil is also prepped in long, rectangular patches for personal vegetable gardens, called orto, often in the front yard of a house.

3. The dandelions face their natural predator, the horse

We cheated and put a horse cookie in the middle of the dandelions to make sure that Salome would cooperate for the shot, but she ended up ignoring the cookie to concentrate on her favorite thing, fresh dandelion greens.

4. The world turns blue and green

5. Poppies

6. One of my favorite restaurants opens again after a long winter.

Laura and Marco open Il Travato in Monterchi sometime around Easter. I just saw Laura near the piazza and she said that Pasquetta is THE DAY! (Pasquetta is literally “Little Easter”—the relaxed family day after Easter usually marked by a picnic.)

Laura taught us how to make her best-in-Tuscany spaghetti aglio olio e peperoncino, which we often make at home.

7. Bees

April 6, 2019 In Best Of, Live By Nancy

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.

March 31, 2019 In Best Of, Live, Roam By Nancy

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.

March 23, 2019 In Best Of, Live By Nancy

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.

March 23, 2019 In Live By Nancy

The darker view of Italian life

OK, it’s not perfect. Living in Italy has its dark sides and challenges, as does any other place on earth. I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently as we have some life decisions to make around education.

We live in a village, which offers so many good things that speak to us every day—people are warm, relaxed, funny, and coming from their hearts rather than striving to prove their worth with every encounter. I am sure we are seeing a very special slice of Italy, partly because it is rural. Living in an urban center, like Milan, is probably far closer to what it is like in New York, London, or San Francisco. What we lack in innovation, drive, and ideas doesn’t bother me as these other human elements more than overcome, and I get exposure to the “real world” pretty frequently through work, friends, and travel.

But now Sebastian is in his second year of high school. A school he adores and bounds out of bed every morning at 6:30 to attend. A school where the teachers don’t posture in any way to impose control or superiority. When John or I walk in the halls we are struck by the atmosphere, which is so different from the schools we attended, where the teachers and administrators always seemed frightened that their cloak of control would slip. Here the relationship between students and teachers seems to be almost one of peers. This even extended to a teacher discussing, with the whole class, their extramarital affair as a way of warning the class to be careful about whom they fall in love with. Students are taught to speak their minds and question authority, and they have no problem getting angry with a teacher face to face if there is a perceived injustice. John likes to say that the true accomplishment of the middle and high schools are that they taught our kids to be Italian.

The Italian system forces students to choose a high school with a certain focus—these range from the Liceo choices, which are academic (classics, math and science, linguistics, art) to trade schools for subjects like forestry and hospitality. Sebastian and Donella both chose Liceo Artistico, which we affectionately refer to as Slacker High, so our experience doesn’t speak to the more aggressively academic choices like Classico. But even the most academic of the high schools seem to rely a great deal on memorization and rote learning. The local schools work well for most of the families around here because the kids love the valley and want to stay, and there are few jobs which require university degrees. The trade off of leaving isn’t worth the possibility of greater career possibilities.

In this paradise of Liceo Artistico both hit a wall about two years in. Doing well without ever having to study outside of class and lacking peers who had any interest in going on to university lost its charm. For Donella, the answer was going to a boarding school in England and doing the IB degree, then on to university at UCL. The answer may be the same for Sebastian, but it really bothers me for our family, and for the millions of students in Italy, that this choice needs to be made at all, as well as the disparity issue that we are lucky enough financially, linguistically, and to have this path as a possibility.

I was mulling all this over one day when I went out for lunch by myself to a restaurant run by sisters from Rome, Una Terrazza in Toscana. Cinzia and Daniele (photo above) had only one other customer that day and when he left they joined me for lunch at the table they’d moved to the middle of the front entrance so that it would be best positioned for the sun and we talked for about an hour. They were asking me about what we do for a living, what the kids are doing for school, and whether we think the kids will remain in Italy. And they told me of their great sadness for Italy. That it had felt for while in the 1980s that anything was possible, but now it feels like a country for old people.

It was a theme that was beautifully conveyed in an insightful, poignant, and beautiful documentary, Spettacolo, about a tiny village in Tuscany where most of the population writes and acts in an original play every summer. The documentary followed the development of that year’s play about waiting for the end of the world, which I think a lot of Italians feel. (The concept of locally-written and produced plays, Tovaglia a Quadri, also happens in the village of Anghiari.)

I guess with any of these big, overwhelming subjects the only way to think about it is personally. And for me, the constant challenge is how I can blend the thirst for learning, challenge, and growth while not falling into the traps of competition, insecurity, and anxiety. How to blend the American and the Italian bits of myself. And I still have great hopes for Italy because I believe in the Italians.

March 17, 2019 In Best Of, Live, Roam By Nancy

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.

March 9, 2019 In Best Of, Live By Nancy

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.

March 3, 2019 In Best Of, Lingua By Nancy

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).

February 23, 2019 In Best Of, Live By Nancy

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.

February 23, 2019 In Lingua By Nancy

Word of the week: magari

This a word that I hear all the time and that can be used to mean a lot of different things. The dictionary translates it simply as “maybe” or “if only” but that just scratches the surface of how useful this word is.

You can use it to express “Of course! I’d love to!” as in an ironic a response to whether you’d like to go to Paris for the weekend (implying “Of course! If only”).

It often has a strong wistful sense, a kind of “if only” from deep in the soul. “How I wish it was true.” The kind of word you’d pull out to express the regret of a relationship that should have ended differently: “Magari it could have gone differently.” It can also has a meaning of “God willing,” as in things like passing one’s exams, or finding great fortune. This meaning can be accompanied by a bit of a shrug and wave of both hands.

The last set of meanings are “maybe, and what if” “Magari we should open a bottle of wine,” “What if magari we get to the restaurant and they don’t have room?,” or “Magari he would notice she dyed her hair red” are all situations in which magari would be perfectly at home. For starter usage, though, you can’t beat the wistful look into the distance and slight shrug of its “what if” meaning.

Magari you can now speak Italian.