Since I am still a practically destitute college student, my experience with the Italian cuisine is chiefly through the little shops which line the roads of Rome.
My favorites, and the most common, are the pizzarias and gelaterias.
Inside any of the streetside pizzerias, you are confronted with a huge glass counter, behind which reside huge rectangular pizzas with everything from ham to egg-plant on them, the choices dictated by none but the cook. Voice your choice and the guy behind the counter will slice off a hunk and charge you by its weight. Take it porta via (to go) and he will cut it in half, press the pieces goodness-sides together, and fold a wax paper envelope around it for you.
I am getting hungry telling you about it! Contrary to popular opinion, it is just as easy to get bad food in Rome as it is anywhere else, but I have emerged so many times with a messy sandwich of crunchy crust, mozzerrella and chunks of tomatos and basil, and I am not looking forward to leaving the experience behind.
Gelaterias are another experience all together.
First of all, there is none of this "chocolate or vanilla" nonsense. Even the humblest gelateria, consisting of nothing but a counter, has at least eight flavors, and to ask for only one will get you a confused "Solo?"
The servings are smaller, but they are much denser. The servers scoop the gelato out with paddles, but it is still much softer than American hard ice cream. The shops have cones, real cones with pointed ends, but it is much more common to savor the experience in a cup with a plastic, brightly-colored gelato spoon.
The other day, I took a long walk across the city, bought some margherita pizza for dinner, ate it by the Fontana di Trevi, was chased off by the Italian police (no eating on fountains), treated myself to some stracciatella gelato, scrambled out of the way of a lady who wanted to open her shop (I was sitting on the ledge, leaning against the door), and then made my way home with the satisfaction of a day well spent.
-Maria
Thursday, October 28
Wednesday, October 27
The Student's Guide to Food in Rome: Part 1
This post is not about what you think it's about. This post is about my own cooking.
It's not awful. That's all I can say.
I am not a particularly discerning eater. Taste is my least cherished sense, and food is not particularly important to me (though I can certainly appreciate edible heaven when I swallow it) so I have been surviving on a monotonous regimen of supermarket supplies, the chief of which is (naturally) pasta. Until a few days ago, it was only ever garnished with butter and salt, but I got tired of that and splurged on some supplies.
Never underestimate the power of garlic.
Not only can it repel vampires, it can whisk your cooking into a whole new level. So far, I have soutéd the stuff with part of a bag of frozen vegtables and found myself with a fine new mixture with which to toss pasta, and I made a great stew with the rest of the bag, more garlic, noodles and ham bones.
The fact that this is exciting and makes me feel as if I am finally living on my own should probably concern me, but that topic is not flattering, so let me distract you with pictures of the supermarket:
Produce is sold on a very what-is-in-season basis. When we arrived, almost this entire side was covered in peaches. The next month, the smell of grapes (not the castrated grapes that we are used to, but real grapes, twice as big, with seeds) almost intoxicated you the moment you stepped into the supermarket.
You can't tell from the pictures, but this is a tiny, tiny store, and yet, the seafood ice shelf has the most incredible collection. There is everything from raw octopi to whole flouder in this pic, and once I saw a sturgeon's head, its pointed nose uselessly stabbing at the ceiling.
Keep in mind that the store in only four or five aisles wide, and marvel at the entire corner dedicated to alcohol. There is more on the other side of that wall.
This is how we pay. There are two aisles with actual people that you can see behind the robot here, but they will stand and wait for ten minutes for you to dig out exact change, and are frustrated when you don't have it, so we feed our 50£ bills to our friend Robby as he chatters to us in an Italian voice, and he gives us back change with no problem.
Well, that's all for now! Tune in next time for Part 2: Street Food!
-Maria
PS. Notice how I didn't mention what the rest of the house is eating? It's because they're making German chocolate cake from scratch.
PPS. We make popcorn on the stove. It is awesome.
It's not awful. That's all I can say.
I am not a particularly discerning eater. Taste is my least cherished sense, and food is not particularly important to me (though I can certainly appreciate edible heaven when I swallow it) so I have been surviving on a monotonous regimen of supermarket supplies, the chief of which is (naturally) pasta. Until a few days ago, it was only ever garnished with butter and salt, but I got tired of that and splurged on some supplies.
Never underestimate the power of garlic.
Not only can it repel vampires, it can whisk your cooking into a whole new level. So far, I have soutéd the stuff with part of a bag of frozen vegtables and found myself with a fine new mixture with which to toss pasta, and I made a great stew with the rest of the bag, more garlic, noodles and ham bones.
The fact that this is exciting and makes me feel as if I am finally living on my own should probably concern me, but that topic is not flattering, so let me distract you with pictures of the supermarket:
 |
Produce is sold on a very what-is-in-season basis. When we arrived, almost this entire side was covered in peaches. The next month, the smell of grapes (not the castrated grapes that we are used to, but real grapes, twice as big, with seeds) almost intoxicated you the moment you stepped into the supermarket.
Well, that's all for now! Tune in next time for Part 2: Street Food!
-Maria
PS. Notice how I didn't mention what the rest of the house is eating? It's because they're making German chocolate cake from scratch.
PPS. We make popcorn on the stove. It is awesome.
Assisi
Assisi is the most beautiful place I have ever been, so I am just going to display a few pictures. Please savor them.
Here's the inside of the Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, featured in the first picture:
Outside of the Basilica, there was a display of Mother Teresa's work.
It was a beautiful day, physically, and also spiritually, for me.
-Maria
Tuesday, October 26
Observation
The pigeons in this city don't fly much.
The closer you get, the more nervously they move, until they are running on their pink feet, heads bobbing frantically, but they don't take off. Eventually, once you have been perfectly capable of kicking or catching them for so long that they can no longer stand it, they will suddenly move much more messily and, finally, flappily and make it to the safety of the top of some wall or something. And then stop.
I'm sure that someone could make some deep poetic statement about this, or use these feathery things as devices for some poignant philosophical declarion about cities or something, but they just dissappoint me. Especially since pigeons are doves.
-Maria
The closer you get, the more nervously they move, until they are running on their pink feet, heads bobbing frantically, but they don't take off. Eventually, once you have been perfectly capable of kicking or catching them for so long that they can no longer stand it, they will suddenly move much more messily and, finally, flappily and make it to the safety of the top of some wall or something. And then stop.
I'm sure that someone could make some deep poetic statement about this, or use these feathery things as devices for some poignant philosophical declarion about cities or something, but they just dissappoint me. Especially since pigeons are doves.
-Maria
Art and Architecture: Introduction
We call him Pierluigi. He is our Art and Architecture class professor, and yet the name is so Roman, and sounds like two names, anyway, and he asked us to call him "Pier"... We can't believe his first name is Romeo.
He is not at all handsome, he wears glasses which make it seem that we are viewing his eyes from the wrong end of a telescope, and he is incredibly, astonishingly, magnificently, phenomenally knowledgable. Ask him the simplest, most specific question that you can think of, and he will still have pages to excitedly tell you, if you are at all interested.
The first class, we began with the Etruscans, the Roman's predecessors, and became fully convinced that he had dedicated his life to Italian history. He knew who. He knew when. He knew why and where. He knew who found out and why. He knew who cares and where to find more information and how to tell if the information is authentic.
We moved through ancient Rome, and as we admired the sculpture he casually told us the name of the work, who discovered it, who created it, who funded its creation, what it portrays, where it has been, why it was damaged, similar portrayals, which is his favorite...
We spent a class specifically focused on the evolution of mosaics and he told us where each color of marble came from. We went to the Vatican museum and he suddenly became an encyclopedia of the development of Rennaissance art. We are only half-way through classes!
We passed the Egyption section that day, and he dropped the fact that he was an Egyptologist, and I don't think that I have quite absorbed that one yet. Does he know everything about everything in Egypt, too?!
Not only does he know everything, but he gets so excited about what he is talking about, though heaven knows how many times he has told it. (Did I mention that one of his books is in its second edition, eventhough it has been out less than a year?) He'll be halfway thrgouh a sentence when - "AH! See here an excellent representation of..."
I am going to try to write a summary of each class. I really love them, though three hours of lecture and walking tours can really wear you down, and I would love to have you enjoy them as well. The only problem is that I will most likely get sidetracked by researching.
-Maria
P.S Seconds after I took that picture of him, he turned around and casually translated the hiroglyphics. Oh my goodness. He really does know everything about Egypt, too!
He is not at all handsome, he wears glasses which make it seem that we are viewing his eyes from the wrong end of a telescope, and he is incredibly, astonishingly, magnificently, phenomenally knowledgable. Ask him the simplest, most specific question that you can think of, and he will still have pages to excitedly tell you, if you are at all interested.
The first class, we began with the Etruscans, the Roman's predecessors, and became fully convinced that he had dedicated his life to Italian history. He knew who. He knew when. He knew why and where. He knew who found out and why. He knew who cares and where to find more information and how to tell if the information is authentic.
We moved through ancient Rome, and as we admired the sculpture he casually told us the name of the work, who discovered it, who created it, who funded its creation, what it portrays, where it has been, why it was damaged, similar portrayals, which is his favorite...
We spent a class specifically focused on the evolution of mosaics and he told us where each color of marble came from. We went to the Vatican museum and he suddenly became an encyclopedia of the development of Rennaissance art. We are only half-way through classes!
We passed the Egyption section that day, and he dropped the fact that he was an Egyptologist, and I don't think that I have quite absorbed that one yet. Does he know everything about everything in Egypt, too?!
Not only does he know everything, but he gets so excited about what he is talking about, though heaven knows how many times he has told it. (Did I mention that one of his books is in its second edition, eventhough it has been out less than a year?) He'll be halfway thrgouh a sentence when - "AH! See here an excellent representation of..."
I am going to try to write a summary of each class. I really love them, though three hours of lecture and walking tours can really wear you down, and I would love to have you enjoy them as well. The only problem is that I will most likely get sidetracked by researching.
-Maria
P.S Seconds after I took that picture of him, he turned around and casually translated the hiroglyphics. Oh my goodness. He really does know everything about Egypt, too!
I don't know anything about people
I am often struck by the hands
That clamp the cold pole around mine
As I balance gently on the inside skin
Of the hurling metro car:
four fingers with wiry black hairs
on the back of the knuckles
and a worn wedding band.
strong fingers, French tipped,
a turquoise bangle dangling
from a carefully arched wrist.
a great grip with thick knuckles,
a bitten thumbnail,
a scratched watch.
They shift, our four hands, as we sway
In strange light, the skin
Stretching and moving, our thumbs
Leaving fingerprints where thousands
Have been left before.
-Maria
That clamp the cold pole around mine
As I balance gently on the inside skin
Of the hurling metro car:
four fingers with wiry black hairs
on the back of the knuckles
and a worn wedding band.
strong fingers, French tipped,
a turquoise bangle dangling
from a carefully arched wrist.
a great grip with thick knuckles,
a bitten thumbnail,
a scratched watch.
They shift, our four hands, as we sway
In strange light, the skin
Stretching and moving, our thumbs
Leaving fingerprints where thousands
Have been left before.
-Maria
Modern Catecombs
I love the metro. It is cheap, it is convenient, and it is an adventure.
CHEAP: I pay only 18£ for a whole month's pass, as opposed to the more than 30$ of gas for a week.
CONVENIENT: Do you have any idea how wonderful it is to slip some money and a metro pass into your pocket and just start walking? It you get tired, there will be a metro or a bus stop near by to whisk you back. If you want to see anything specific, the clockwork carriages will take you there.
ADVENTURE: Well, first of all it is underground, and makes me think of some sort of modern labyrinth, with signs and stairs and tunnels, advertisements scrolling on the walls and magazine stands crouching by the exits.
Most importantly, it is full of people, with entire universes of emotion and history and knowledge and opinion behind their blank faces.
Sometimes there are beggers, squeezing old accordiants with some little kid in tow to hold the squashed cup. Sometimes there are dogs, since there are dogs everywhere. Sometimes there are groups of tourists, calling to each other in foreign languages about which stop they are waiting for.
Sometimes it is late at night and the metro is almost empty, with a few tired people slumped on the chairs, sometimes in each others' laps, the lights of the stations sliding over them. Sometimes it is rush hour, and the metro is so crowded that you can't even see the pole that you have in a death grip, and your bag is wedged between your knees so that there is more room at torso level. Your elbow is accross some guy's wrist and your thigh is pressed against some lady's purse, and heaven help you if you actually have to get off.
I like it, actualy. It is fun to pull my hand back from the abyss, duck under whole collections of arms at once, and slide through, cheerfully calling, "Permesso? Scusi!" until I get to the door and leap (the occasion always calls for a leap, complete with outstreached arms) onto the empty platform, and then turn around to watch the doors close on a solid wall of people.
-Maria
CHEAP: I pay only 18£ for a whole month's pass, as opposed to the more than 30$ of gas for a week.
CONVENIENT: Do you have any idea how wonderful it is to slip some money and a metro pass into your pocket and just start walking? It you get tired, there will be a metro or a bus stop near by to whisk you back. If you want to see anything specific, the clockwork carriages will take you there.
ADVENTURE: Well, first of all it is underground, and makes me think of some sort of modern labyrinth, with signs and stairs and tunnels, advertisements scrolling on the walls and magazine stands crouching by the exits.
Most importantly, it is full of people, with entire universes of emotion and history and knowledge and opinion behind their blank faces.
Sometimes there are beggers, squeezing old accordiants with some little kid in tow to hold the squashed cup. Sometimes there are dogs, since there are dogs everywhere. Sometimes there are groups of tourists, calling to each other in foreign languages about which stop they are waiting for.
Sometimes it is late at night and the metro is almost empty, with a few tired people slumped on the chairs, sometimes in each others' laps, the lights of the stations sliding over them. Sometimes it is rush hour, and the metro is so crowded that you can't even see the pole that you have in a death grip, and your bag is wedged between your knees so that there is more room at torso level. Your elbow is accross some guy's wrist and your thigh is pressed against some lady's purse, and heaven help you if you actually have to get off.
I like it, actualy. It is fun to pull my hand back from the abyss, duck under whole collections of arms at once, and slide through, cheerfully calling, "Permesso? Scusi!" until I get to the door and leap (the occasion always calls for a leap, complete with outstreached arms) onto the empty platform, and then turn around to watch the doors close on a solid wall of people.
-Maria
Thursday, October 21
Post
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It's photographic proof: me, alive, and in front of the post office box with a handfull of postcards.
Fun Fact: The postal service of Vatican City is so much better than that of Italy, that people who live in Rome will go out of their ways to send things through the Vatican post office.
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