Christmas has come and gone and now it's that odd week before New Years where it feels like a holiday but everyone is working. Nothing is quite normal. Some stores are open but most are closed. There are lots more people out cruising during the daylight. Restaurants are full at lunch too instead of just at dinner. The PSG offices are officially closed until 10 January, but no one bothered telling America to close too so a few of us will be working here and there to take care of our US customers. It's not too bad because if I wasn't in the office I'd be at the house trying to watch as many episodes of Dexter in a row as possible. That much serial killing really isn't healthy.
Since no one has to work during the days, there is something to do every night. Last night I went with some friends to Chiaravalle for an aperativo and to watch some live music. As I've mentioned before, I love the aperativo. It's meant to be a cocktail and some small bites to loosen the appetite for dinner. But the spread usually put out is more akin to the all you can eat line at the Hometown Buffet or a small Indian casino. What could be called a line but has more similarities with the lift scrums at Meadows (their motto: if you aren't moving forward you're going backwards) forms early and doesn't go away until the final piece of pasta is scrapped off the table. It's the perfect situation for someone with my gentille and delicate appetites. On the way back to Ancona, a friend called and when she heard we were in the car invited us to stop by for dessert and limoncello. She lives with her family on the fourth floor of an apartment building and the ceilings of the apartment easily had to be fifteen feet. What's with all the tall ceilings in this country? We played Wii (I watched. It's an Italian Wii and therefore isn't set-up for an American.), ate chocolate and drank their homemade limoncello. An early night since I was home by midnight.
Raimondo went to his parents' house for Christmas. He wasn't supposed to be home until the 29th but couldn't stand his family any longer and came home last night. Even though I was expecting to be on my own for a couple more days, I had put on pants in the morning and kept up with the dishes so fortunately it wasn't a disaster when he walked in the door.
On my way home this afternoon I'm going to take the food route back to my apartment. It's what I've taken to calling my favorite way home. I walk to a small pizza place and get a slice to go. I can arrive in front of a bar (a coffee shop to an American) right as I finish the slice and have a caffé normale. As I'm leaving I buy a piece of dark chocolate. I finish that right in front of the pizza place next to my building. Another slice gets me through the lobby door and up the stairs to the apartment. Perfetto!
I'll close with a very public thank you to Shelby for her beautiful card that arrived on my birthday and Pidgeon, Jenn, Eric, Morgan, Luke, Max, Sara, Sam and Tommy for the huge box of treats and cards that I opened on Christmas. It was wonderful to receive. And an early thank you to Carl, Sharon and Dave whose are unfortunately caught-up in Italian customs. Guess you should have used a bit more coffee to wrap that weed.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Monday, December 28, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Buon Natale e Tanti Auguri Tutti!
As I write this it's 1pm in Italy which means most of you are still asleep in bed. Unless you have small children or an irritable bowel and then you are probably up. Whatever your condition, Merry Christmas! I hope the day, and the season, treat you all well.
For those of you wondering what a person who is 9212 kilometers (rough guess) from his home does on Christmas, let me tell you.
(I will have to do this with words alone too because it looks like my trusty G9 has died and I haven't bought a new camera yet. Before doing that I am hoping to find a Christmas miracle online that will tell me how to cure the gremlins in the camera. Fingers crossed.)
My celebration of Christmas actually began on Christmas Eve. Doesn't it always? I went to a dinner last night with a friend from work, Fabrizio, and his wife Daniela. I was joining a group of families that has been getting together for years. Dinner was in Falconara, a city on the coast about 12 kilometers to the north, at the house of one of the families. Rarely do you get a chance to see into the future but that's what this evening was. All of the adults have known each other for years, since the kids were toddlers. Now the kids are all grown and they are still getting together. I had to think this is what it will be like for us as all the kids grow from ankle biters into waist biters and finally into car thieves and high school drop outs.
For dinner, they did this really weird thing where everyone brought food to share with everyone else. Great concept. I think I'll bring it back with me. I just brought a bottle of booze which was warmly received. Dinner was a four course affair. There was a long table down the center of the room with a make-shift bar set-up in the center. The table would be loaded down for each course, the food eaten and cleared and then the next course laid down. We had antipasti and then a primi of pasta (5 kinds!) and then secondo of stewed fish with potatoes and then dolce with cake, nuts, fruit, dates and lots of wine and sparkling wine to wash it all down.
Right around midnight a bunch of people walked to one of the local churches for mass and I decided to join them. It was nice to be in church surrounded with people even though I didn't understand much of the service. I spent some of the time thinking about the Christmas Pageant I used to go to with Eric, Jenn, Morgan and Luke. It's just not the same when there aren't a bunch of little kids dressed as Mary, Joseph and other barn animals. Back to the present, I've been to enough masses though that I could follow along. After the service, we walked back to the house a little after 1am, had a coffee and apperitivo and some more dessert and then everyone headed home. I went to bed around 3am I think.
On Christmas, that's today, I got up around 11:30. It's 20 degrees (mid 70s) which is bizarre especially since it snowed last weekend. No one is in the apartment so I am alone which is nice. I have the bells from all the churches for company though. They keep ringing and ringing. A friend (her name starts with a P and it rhymes with Midgeon) sent me a big package which I have left unopened for about a week. Finally get to give into the temptation. After dinner tonight I'll join some friends and that will just about wrap-up the day.
I hope wherever you are and whatever you're doing that you all have a wonderful and happy Christmas. I'll miss the lobsters Matt and Inga, but I will probably sleep better not hearing their screams.
Auguri!
For those of you wondering what a person who is 9212 kilometers (rough guess) from his home does on Christmas, let me tell you.
(I will have to do this with words alone too because it looks like my trusty G9 has died and I haven't bought a new camera yet. Before doing that I am hoping to find a Christmas miracle online that will tell me how to cure the gremlins in the camera. Fingers crossed.)
My celebration of Christmas actually began on Christmas Eve. Doesn't it always? I went to a dinner last night with a friend from work, Fabrizio, and his wife Daniela. I was joining a group of families that has been getting together for years. Dinner was in Falconara, a city on the coast about 12 kilometers to the north, at the house of one of the families. Rarely do you get a chance to see into the future but that's what this evening was. All of the adults have known each other for years, since the kids were toddlers. Now the kids are all grown and they are still getting together. I had to think this is what it will be like for us as all the kids grow from ankle biters into waist biters and finally into car thieves and high school drop outs.
For dinner, they did this really weird thing where everyone brought food to share with everyone else. Great concept. I think I'll bring it back with me. I just brought a bottle of booze which was warmly received. Dinner was a four course affair. There was a long table down the center of the room with a make-shift bar set-up in the center. The table would be loaded down for each course, the food eaten and cleared and then the next course laid down. We had antipasti and then a primi of pasta (5 kinds!) and then secondo of stewed fish with potatoes and then dolce with cake, nuts, fruit, dates and lots of wine and sparkling wine to wash it all down.
Right around midnight a bunch of people walked to one of the local churches for mass and I decided to join them. It was nice to be in church surrounded with people even though I didn't understand much of the service. I spent some of the time thinking about the Christmas Pageant I used to go to with Eric, Jenn, Morgan and Luke. It's just not the same when there aren't a bunch of little kids dressed as Mary, Joseph and other barn animals. Back to the present, I've been to enough masses though that I could follow along. After the service, we walked back to the house a little after 1am, had a coffee and apperitivo and some more dessert and then everyone headed home. I went to bed around 3am I think.
On Christmas, that's today, I got up around 11:30. It's 20 degrees (mid 70s) which is bizarre especially since it snowed last weekend. No one is in the apartment so I am alone which is nice. I have the bells from all the churches for company though. They keep ringing and ringing. A friend (her name starts with a P and it rhymes with Midgeon) sent me a big package which I have left unopened for about a week. Finally get to give into the temptation. After dinner tonight I'll join some friends and that will just about wrap-up the day.
I hope wherever you are and whatever you're doing that you all have a wonderful and happy Christmas. I'll miss the lobsters Matt and Inga, but I will probably sleep better not hearing their screams.
Auguri!
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Gas Man
The Gas Man is the most dangerous man in Italy and he is trying to do evil to me. I will endeavor to explain.
The day I moved into the apartment, Michele, my landlord, warned me never to buzz in a stranger to the lobby downstairs with the intercom. He said people with stuff to sell will push all the doorbell buttons trying to get someone to ring them in and then will wander the building trying to sell their junk and generally make a nuisance of them self. Fairly common-sense advice for anywhere in the world and not out of the ordinary. But he also stressed that it was especially important that I never let in someone claiming to be the Gas Man.
Like the US, people come around each month to read the gas meter to see how much gas you have used so that they can then send the utility bill. However, in Italy, most of the meters are inside apartments (not on an outside wall or in a common utility room) so the Gas Man actually has to come inside to read it. This is the root of the terrible danger.
The Meter!
He told a story about a Gas Man that he had heard from someone he knows who knows somebody else who once heard from a reliable source, etc. Apparently, two university girls were in their apartment when the doorbell rang and a man said he was the Gas Man there to check the meter. They looked out the peephole and saw a man in what looked like the company's uniform so they let him in. But it turned out to be a thief who held them at knife point, robbed the apartment and escaped. At the time of this telling, I have just arrived in Ancona after a 19 hour trip, speak no Italian, have just met this guy who doesn't speak great English who is telling me a story that I may or may not be correctly understanding about a Gas Man who may or may not exist and I am terrified. Upon later reflection I suspect I may have over-reacted to the warning. But still it took me a few weeks to decide to tell Raimondo the story. He laughed and said Michele had told him the same thing when he moved in a couple years ago.
So for the past few weeks we've been creating Gas Man stories. Anything bad that happens or is unexplainable is the fault of the Gas Man. He is a useful character to have available and we've had a good laugh about it. Even Deborah and Alice have started to join in on the joke. No one takes it seriously.
Until a couple weekends ago!
Saturday morning I woke-up to the sound of the door buzzer. I don't know what I was thinking but I went to answer it. Someone speaking Italian asked something but all I caught was Dr. Caruso which is Michele's last name. He maintains an office in the apartment to receive his mail and faxes. Still half asleep and still not understanding the request I just said, "No" and hung-up the intercom and went back to sleep more annoyed than anything. It wasn't until later in the day that I realized I had foiled the clever ruse of the Gas Man trying to get in and commit larceny!
I told Raimondo the story when he returned after the weekend and we both agreed I had had a narrow escape.
Then later that same week, after work, Alice and Deborah left to buy a couple things from the grocery store. A few minutes after they had gone, the door buzzer went off. I assumed they had forgotten something and didn't have their keys. I went to open the door to let them in and as I did I looked out the peep hole.
Raimondo Demonstrating Proper Gas Man Checking Behavior
Standing off to the side was a man in a blue uniform with a clipboard, breathing heavily (maybe because he just walked up five floors or maybe because he was so evil), saying something (probably evil related) in Italian. The Gas Man had made it inside and was at the door!
What A Gas Man May Look Like
I told him no thanks and asked him to leave which he did. Once again, I had foiled the Gas Man and escaped my doom. When everyone came back that night we all agreed that the Gas Man is more clever than ever and we need to be very careful. And even more important, since I'm the only one to have seen or spoken with him, it stands to reason that he is after me. I will remain vigilant.
Perhaps it is just coincidence, or even more likely part of his convoluted, evil plan, but a few days after the latest incident we received a post-card in the mail from the gas company telling us that they had come by to read the meter but had not been successful and we needed to call the automated service with our meter reading.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now.
The day I moved into the apartment, Michele, my landlord, warned me never to buzz in a stranger to the lobby downstairs with the intercom. He said people with stuff to sell will push all the doorbell buttons trying to get someone to ring them in and then will wander the building trying to sell their junk and generally make a nuisance of them self. Fairly common-sense advice for anywhere in the world and not out of the ordinary. But he also stressed that it was especially important that I never let in someone claiming to be the Gas Man.
Like the US, people come around each month to read the gas meter to see how much gas you have used so that they can then send the utility bill. However, in Italy, most of the meters are inside apartments (not on an outside wall or in a common utility room) so the Gas Man actually has to come inside to read it. This is the root of the terrible danger.
He told a story about a Gas Man that he had heard from someone he knows who knows somebody else who once heard from a reliable source, etc. Apparently, two university girls were in their apartment when the doorbell rang and a man said he was the Gas Man there to check the meter. They looked out the peephole and saw a man in what looked like the company's uniform so they let him in. But it turned out to be a thief who held them at knife point, robbed the apartment and escaped. At the time of this telling, I have just arrived in Ancona after a 19 hour trip, speak no Italian, have just met this guy who doesn't speak great English who is telling me a story that I may or may not be correctly understanding about a Gas Man who may or may not exist and I am terrified. Upon later reflection I suspect I may have over-reacted to the warning. But still it took me a few weeks to decide to tell Raimondo the story. He laughed and said Michele had told him the same thing when he moved in a couple years ago.
So for the past few weeks we've been creating Gas Man stories. Anything bad that happens or is unexplainable is the fault of the Gas Man. He is a useful character to have available and we've had a good laugh about it. Even Deborah and Alice have started to join in on the joke. No one takes it seriously.
Until a couple weekends ago!
Saturday morning I woke-up to the sound of the door buzzer. I don't know what I was thinking but I went to answer it. Someone speaking Italian asked something but all I caught was Dr. Caruso which is Michele's last name. He maintains an office in the apartment to receive his mail and faxes. Still half asleep and still not understanding the request I just said, "No" and hung-up the intercom and went back to sleep more annoyed than anything. It wasn't until later in the day that I realized I had foiled the clever ruse of the Gas Man trying to get in and commit larceny!
I told Raimondo the story when he returned after the weekend and we both agreed I had had a narrow escape.
Then later that same week, after work, Alice and Deborah left to buy a couple things from the grocery store. A few minutes after they had gone, the door buzzer went off. I assumed they had forgotten something and didn't have their keys. I went to open the door to let them in and as I did I looked out the peep hole.
Standing off to the side was a man in a blue uniform with a clipboard, breathing heavily (maybe because he just walked up five floors or maybe because he was so evil), saying something (probably evil related) in Italian. The Gas Man had made it inside and was at the door!
I told him no thanks and asked him to leave which he did. Once again, I had foiled the Gas Man and escaped my doom. When everyone came back that night we all agreed that the Gas Man is more clever than ever and we need to be very careful. And even more important, since I'm the only one to have seen or spoken with him, it stands to reason that he is after me. I will remain vigilant.
Perhaps it is just coincidence, or even more likely part of his convoluted, evil plan, but a few days after the latest incident we received a post-card in the mail from the gas company telling us that they had come by to read the meter but had not been successful and we needed to call the automated service with our meter reading.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Italian Recipe 3
After an unexplainable pause I am back. Nothing worse than an outdated blog. I'll try to catch you up on the past couple weeks over the next few days.
Highlights of the interim period include the discovery of a great new restaurant here in town, deciphering the local bus system, the lighting of the Christmas lights in downtown, and a four day weekend featuring a visit to Cattolica and Gradara (a real live castle built for real castle reasons and not cartoon princesses).
I met a man today originally from Ghana who went to university in Cuba, married a Cuban woman and now lives with his family here in Ancona. He speaks French, Italian, English and two other languages.
One of my co-workers is a self-proclaimed feminist. She was describing her struggles with her boyfriend. They both work but when she gets home, he is sitting on the sofa and she has to clean the flat, cook dinner, clean-up, etc. She finally managed to teach him how to use the washing machine and wash the dishes but all of those skills are something he never learned. She said something interesting. "The biggest challenge facing the modern Italian woman is the Italian mother." And she is not optimistic much will change with her generation mentioning that sometimes she feels like Italy is still in medieval times.
And now for the food...
Spaghetti with Pistachio and Pepper Pesto
Alice invented this one and it was a pretty delicious discovery. The completed sauce has the consistency and texture of Genovese pesto but a completely unique taste. As always, ingredient amounts are speculative but if you have some fun and experiment a bit you should end up with something quite tasty.
Ingredients for the pesto: maybe a 1/2 cup pistachio nuts, 1-4 small dried red chilies (red pepper flakes can probably be substituted), 1 clove of garlic, 1 medium tomato, 1/4 medium carrot, grated parmesan cheese and olive oil. (Adjust all amounts to taste, especially the chilies.)
The process here assumes the pesto is mixed in your saute pan using one of those hand-held boat motor type mixers. If you don't have one, combine the ingredients first in a blender or even better, in a mortar to be crushed with your pestle the way your nonna used to do it.
Start your pasta water to boil. Meanwhile shell about 1/2 a cup or more of pistachio nuts and roughly crush them with the bottom of a jar or something else sturdy. Place in your trusty saute pan. Remove the paper and mince the glove of garlic and the chili(s) and add to the pistachio. Dice the tomato and shred or finely chop the carrot and add to the pistachio. Add the grated parmesan cheese. Adding oil, use the mixer to combine everything until the pesto reaches your desired consistency. (Some people like it silky smooth, others prefer it to be more rustic.) Adjust ingredients for volume and taste. Place over medium heat and heat through thoroughly. During this time, your pasta water has come to a boil, you added salt to it and cooked the spaghetti to almost al dente. Drain the nearly cooked pasta (reserving some of the pasta water) and while still hot, add to the pan with the pesto and over low heat combine and finish cooking the pasta. Serve.
Hopefully your results match ours.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now.
Highlights of the interim period include the discovery of a great new restaurant here in town, deciphering the local bus system, the lighting of the Christmas lights in downtown, and a four day weekend featuring a visit to Cattolica and Gradara (a real live castle built for real castle reasons and not cartoon princesses).
I met a man today originally from Ghana who went to university in Cuba, married a Cuban woman and now lives with his family here in Ancona. He speaks French, Italian, English and two other languages.
One of my co-workers is a self-proclaimed feminist. She was describing her struggles with her boyfriend. They both work but when she gets home, he is sitting on the sofa and she has to clean the flat, cook dinner, clean-up, etc. She finally managed to teach him how to use the washing machine and wash the dishes but all of those skills are something he never learned. She said something interesting. "The biggest challenge facing the modern Italian woman is the Italian mother." And she is not optimistic much will change with her generation mentioning that sometimes she feels like Italy is still in medieval times.
And now for the food...
Spaghetti with Pistachio and Pepper Pesto
Alice invented this one and it was a pretty delicious discovery. The completed sauce has the consistency and texture of Genovese pesto but a completely unique taste. As always, ingredient amounts are speculative but if you have some fun and experiment a bit you should end up with something quite tasty.
Ingredients for the pesto: maybe a 1/2 cup pistachio nuts, 1-4 small dried red chilies (red pepper flakes can probably be substituted), 1 clove of garlic, 1 medium tomato, 1/4 medium carrot, grated parmesan cheese and olive oil. (Adjust all amounts to taste, especially the chilies.)
The process here assumes the pesto is mixed in your saute pan using one of those hand-held boat motor type mixers. If you don't have one, combine the ingredients first in a blender or even better, in a mortar to be crushed with your pestle the way your nonna used to do it.
Start your pasta water to boil. Meanwhile shell about 1/2 a cup or more of pistachio nuts and roughly crush them with the bottom of a jar or something else sturdy. Place in your trusty saute pan. Remove the paper and mince the glove of garlic and the chili(s) and add to the pistachio. Dice the tomato and shred or finely chop the carrot and add to the pistachio. Add the grated parmesan cheese. Adding oil, use the mixer to combine everything until the pesto reaches your desired consistency. (Some people like it silky smooth, others prefer it to be more rustic.) Adjust ingredients for volume and taste. Place over medium heat and heat through thoroughly. During this time, your pasta water has come to a boil, you added salt to it and cooked the spaghetti to almost al dente. Drain the nearly cooked pasta (reserving some of the pasta water) and while still hot, add to the pan with the pesto and over low heat combine and finish cooking the pasta. Serve.
Hopefully your results match ours.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!
As you gather with friends, family, loved-ones or strangers I hope you all have a fantastic day full of fun times, great food, and wonderful memories!
It's a bit strange to be living and working in Italy on what is arguably the Most Important American Holiday Of The Year. More turkey, potatoes, yams, corn, rolls, brussel sprouts, cranberries and French's French Fried Onions are consumed today than on any other day of the year. Additionally on this day, fewer wars are fought, fewer greenhouse gases are emitted, more peace, love and understanding is spread, more babies smile, the world spins a little more slowly so the day is longer, more hugs are given and hi-fives slapped. (All facts are my own or taken from Wikipedia.) In short, it's the most bestest day of all.
So it's a little unsettling and with more than a little sadness that I find myself working on Thanksgiving and Friday. All my efforts to stage a celebration of sorts were thwarted by the fact that it's my roommate Alice's 23rd birthday and she is taking it seriously. I'll be commandeering parts of her party as I see fit and calling it Thanksgiving. We'll be going out for dinner to have pizza - Thanksgiving Pizza? That just doesn't work. I comfort myself by trying to find some humor in the fact that I am working in an Italian office to support US clients, US clients who all happen to be on holiday. Is that funny?
I also dug out some photos from Thanksgivings past...
It's a bit strange to be living and working in Italy on what is arguably the Most Important American Holiday Of The Year. More turkey, potatoes, yams, corn, rolls, brussel sprouts, cranberries and French's French Fried Onions are consumed today than on any other day of the year. Additionally on this day, fewer wars are fought, fewer greenhouse gases are emitted, more peace, love and understanding is spread, more babies smile, the world spins a little more slowly so the day is longer, more hugs are given and hi-fives slapped. (All facts are my own or taken from Wikipedia.) In short, it's the most bestest day of all.
So it's a little unsettling and with more than a little sadness that I find myself working on Thanksgiving and Friday. All my efforts to stage a celebration of sorts were thwarted by the fact that it's my roommate Alice's 23rd birthday and she is taking it seriously. I'll be commandeering parts of her party as I see fit and calling it Thanksgiving. We'll be going out for dinner to have pizza - Thanksgiving Pizza? That just doesn't work. I comfort myself by trying to find some humor in the fact that I am working in an Italian office to support US clients, US clients who all happen to be on holiday. Is that funny?
I also dug out some photos from Thanksgivings past...
Wow, what a bird!
The proud chef. And he didn't even burn himself.
Thanksgiving Roth Brothers style - a potluck with good friends.
I'll be thinking of my family and friends who have opened their homes and shared their food with me over the years and all the great memories you've given me. Warmest wishes to you all - my brother Turkey Trotting around Portland, my sister, her husband and daughter munching away in China, my parents joining my Uncles in Houston, and my family in London ignoring the whole thing as they should. As well as friends vacationing in Mexico, partying in Chamonix, and celebrating in Sunriver, Aspen, Leavenworth and everywhere else. We're spread far and wide but sitting down at our various tables with family and friends I like to think we're joined by our thanks and gratitude for all we've been blessed with in the past, our joy in the present and the hopes and expectations for the mysteries and pleasures to come in the future. You're all in my thoughts; I miss you and wish you the best.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Video Delights
Just as I was finishing work today, my Skype rang with the Heinrichs on the other end. My work computer has audio support for Skype but no microphone so I could hear them but couldn't talk back. I had to type all my responses which made for an interesting conversation. But it was neat to hear from the kids and talk about Thanksgiving plans. Someone will be snowboarding and mountainbiking this weekend providing the answer to a frequently asked question on this blog.
On the way home, I dropped a letter in the mailbox at the post-office and with this simple task, achieved another small victory. It began with me having to figure out where to buy a card since they are not sold in supermarkets but, as it turns out, in book stores, called libreria (where you buy books) not biblioteca(where you check out books). It's a lot of fun selecting a card when you can't read what it says. "Oooh pretty picture, I'll take it!" Card in envelope, envelope addressed, time to buy a stamp. I refuse to go to the post-office to buy a stamp because that puts me in the clutches of the Italian bureaucracy and that I avoid whenever possible. In the post-office there is a small machine that distributes tickets. You take one when you enter and when your number is called you go to the corresponding window to be helped. But there are four buttons on the machine, each for a different post related service and as I've experienced, a terrible fate awaits anyone who takes a ticket for the wrong service. Fortunately, there are small shops called Tabacaria where you can buy stamps, along with lottery tickets, cigarettes, candy, and I think porn, and never step foot in the post-office. Stamp purchased (Vorrei spedire negli Stati Uniti per favore - 1 Euro - Grazia - Salve.) I headed for a mail-box, dropped my letter, and sauntered somewhat cockily into the night.
Back to a recurring theme...While completely benign, my successful interaction with the negoziante (shop-keeper) was cause for another head-slapping realization. I say head-slapping because it's a fairly obvious observation but one that gave me pause. Learning Italian has made me think about language in ways I never really did before (sad and embarrassing considering I've worked for language companies for nearly 10 years). As I learn these new sounds and begin to use them, I can interact with people - I can get things, ask questions, share thoughts (well not yet, but I will be able to). Before I knew what "Vorrei spedire negli Stati Uniti" meant and how to say it, the phrase was just a series of nonsense sounds and I couldn't get a stamp. But after learning the words and the correct way to say them, when I repeated them to the shop-keeper, I got a stamp. Wow. While it was completely innocuous interaction to the shop-keeper, it was astounding and thrilling to me. Because language is so natural and second-nature I didn't really think about it, until it became unnatural. Then its full power and implications smacked me in the head. Probably everyone who has ever studied another language has already had this realization so here I am late to the party, but wow, neat-o.
And now for some Italian YouTube fun...
Raimondo can't get enough of this one. Berlusconi's accent cracks him up every time.
We can't tell if this is endearing or desperate.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now? (He's in the Suburban, driving to Sunriver.)
On the way home, I dropped a letter in the mailbox at the post-office and with this simple task, achieved another small victory. It began with me having to figure out where to buy a card since they are not sold in supermarkets but, as it turns out, in book stores, called libreria (where you buy books) not biblioteca(where you check out books). It's a lot of fun selecting a card when you can't read what it says. "Oooh pretty picture, I'll take it!" Card in envelope, envelope addressed, time to buy a stamp. I refuse to go to the post-office to buy a stamp because that puts me in the clutches of the Italian bureaucracy and that I avoid whenever possible. In the post-office there is a small machine that distributes tickets. You take one when you enter and when your number is called you go to the corresponding window to be helped. But there are four buttons on the machine, each for a different post related service and as I've experienced, a terrible fate awaits anyone who takes a ticket for the wrong service. Fortunately, there are small shops called Tabacaria where you can buy stamps, along with lottery tickets, cigarettes, candy, and I think porn, and never step foot in the post-office. Stamp purchased (Vorrei spedire negli Stati Uniti per favore - 1 Euro - Grazia - Salve.) I headed for a mail-box, dropped my letter, and sauntered somewhat cockily into the night.
Back to a recurring theme...While completely benign, my successful interaction with the negoziante (shop-keeper) was cause for another head-slapping realization. I say head-slapping because it's a fairly obvious observation but one that gave me pause. Learning Italian has made me think about language in ways I never really did before (sad and embarrassing considering I've worked for language companies for nearly 10 years). As I learn these new sounds and begin to use them, I can interact with people - I can get things, ask questions, share thoughts (well not yet, but I will be able to). Before I knew what "Vorrei spedire negli Stati Uniti" meant and how to say it, the phrase was just a series of nonsense sounds and I couldn't get a stamp. But after learning the words and the correct way to say them, when I repeated them to the shop-keeper, I got a stamp. Wow. While it was completely innocuous interaction to the shop-keeper, it was astounding and thrilling to me. Because language is so natural and second-nature I didn't really think about it, until it became unnatural. Then its full power and implications smacked me in the head. Probably everyone who has ever studied another language has already had this realization so here I am late to the party, but wow, neat-o.
And now for some Italian YouTube fun...
Raimondo can't get enough of this one. Berlusconi's accent cracks him up every time.
We can't tell if this is endearing or desperate.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now? (He's in the Suburban, driving to Sunriver.)
Picture This
And now for some pictures...
The local indoor fresh food market. Fish caught that morning. Vegatables for sale by the farmer. Also bread, meat, cheese. Opens at 7am and is closed by Noon. It's nice to walk through on the way to work although you smell a bit fishy when you come out the other side. It pays to make friends with the farmers because you tell them what you want and how much and they select and bag the produce or you. Friends get the better selection at a cheaper price than the riff-raff (that's me).
Another view. On the weekends, this space is converted into a bar/club. A DJ sets-up where I'm standing. The stand in the far corner sells meat and cheese plates. All the tables below have cushions placed on them and people dance in the aisles. The balcony across the way becomes a bar and art gallery. It closes around 10pm so everyone can head-out after and early drink and some socializing.
And then there is this guy. The hygiene standards are impeccable. Reminds me of going to the market when we lived in Africa.
This is the girl playing the violin the other night that I wrote about. She was fantastic. I didn't get a picture of it but a little further down the street there was a man playing the bag pipes. He was dressed in a sort of native costume so either he was playing some sort of traditional music that I don't have an ear for or he was just learning to play because it sounded awful. People were literally scattering in all directions and covering their ears to get away from him.
Euro-style techno music provides the soundtrack for the kids who ride this carousel.
And here is the chestnut seller and the old men who gather around him every evening to talk about the day. I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
The local indoor fresh food market. Fish caught that morning. Vegatables for sale by the farmer. Also bread, meat, cheese. Opens at 7am and is closed by Noon. It's nice to walk through on the way to work although you smell a bit fishy when you come out the other side. It pays to make friends with the farmers because you tell them what you want and how much and they select and bag the produce or you. Friends get the better selection at a cheaper price than the riff-raff (that's me).
Another view. On the weekends, this space is converted into a bar/club. A DJ sets-up where I'm standing. The stand in the far corner sells meat and cheese plates. All the tables below have cushions placed on them and people dance in the aisles. The balcony across the way becomes a bar and art gallery. It closes around 10pm so everyone can head-out after and early drink and some socializing.
And then there is this guy. The hygiene standards are impeccable. Reminds me of going to the market when we lived in Africa.
This is the girl playing the violin the other night that I wrote about. She was fantastic. I didn't get a picture of it but a little further down the street there was a man playing the bag pipes. He was dressed in a sort of native costume so either he was playing some sort of traditional music that I don't have an ear for or he was just learning to play because it sounded awful. People were literally scattering in all directions and covering their ears to get away from him.
Euro-style techno music provides the soundtrack for the kids who ride this carousel.
And here is the chestnut seller and the old men who gather around him every evening to talk about the day. I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Italian Recipe 2
Over dinner last night we continued to make plans for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. Alice's birthday is also on Thursday so it will be a double celebration. I introduced the idea of a pot-luck and it looks like that's what will happen. I will be baking an apple pie. The roommates are convinced that apple pie is the only acceptable dessert and because I am American I automatically know how to make them. And also turkey. Should be interesting.
As part of my planning I've asked a couple people for suggestions for "Real American Thanksgiving Traditions" I can "share". I've received a couple so far:
After carving the turkey, the carcass should be strung-up from the ceiling. People eat with their hands tied behind their backs. First one to tear off a bone wins.
Have everyone smell their gravy before they eat. When their faces are close to the bowl - push their faces into the gravy. Raise your hands above your head and yell "America".
If you have any other suggestions, leave a comment.
Pasta with Tuna, Tomato and Olives
Start a large pot of water to boil. Once the water is near boiling, start making this quick sauce in a separate pan.
In a smallish sauté pan over med-low heat (so the oil doesn’t start to smoke), pour in olive oil, enough to just coat the bottom, and throw in a couple cloves of garlic still in their skin but smashed. While the garlic infuses the oil, slice 2-3 cups of cherry tomatoes in half. Increase the heat on the pan a bit, add the tomatoes to the oil and begin quickly sautéing. As soon as the tomatoes start to break down, add in .5 to 1 cup of sliced green olives and a half to a whole can of tuna fish (I use one tin of tuna for two people and the tin is 200g, about half the size of those in the US), lightly drained. Sauté all the ingredients together. Add a bit of spaghetti sauce to add thickness (my addition, not traditional but I think it helps bring everything together). You should end up with a thick, chunky sauce. Season to taste with whatever seasonings make you happy. During all of this, the water boiled and you cooked your pasta to just a few seconds shy of al dente - use short noodles, fusilli is nice. Drain the noodles and add to the sauce over low heat to finish cooking the pasta and combine the flavors. Reserve a bit of the pasta water to add to the mixture if it needs to be thinned out.
Serve hot with good bread but no cheese. Cheese and fish do not mix.
In Italy most of the tuna comes packed in olive oil. In the States I always bought the tuna in water but the oil has a great flavor and adding a bit of it along with the tuna really adds to the dish.
All amounts are approximations. Use as much or as little of anything as you like depending on how many people you're feeding, how you like your sauce, and your favorite flavors. You can also cook the tomatoes for a short amount of time and keep them mostly together, or for a longer amount of time depending on how much you want them to break down in the sauce. It's more traditional I think to cook them short and quick just to soften them but still maintain their inherent wholeness and being. Basically they cook the sauce just long enough to put heat into everything and combine the flavors but leaving everything fresh. I personally like it cooked a while longer (by that I mean I start the sauce when I start the water instead of starting it just before the water boils) and for everything to break down into more of a sauce.
Buon appetito!
I wonder what Eric is eating right now?
As part of my planning I've asked a couple people for suggestions for "Real American Thanksgiving Traditions" I can "share". I've received a couple so far:
After carving the turkey, the carcass should be strung-up from the ceiling. People eat with their hands tied behind their backs. First one to tear off a bone wins.
Have everyone smell their gravy before they eat. When their faces are close to the bowl - push their faces into the gravy. Raise your hands above your head and yell "America".
If you have any other suggestions, leave a comment.
Pasta with Tuna, Tomato and Olives
Start a large pot of water to boil. Once the water is near boiling, start making this quick sauce in a separate pan.
In a smallish sauté pan over med-low heat (so the oil doesn’t start to smoke), pour in olive oil, enough to just coat the bottom, and throw in a couple cloves of garlic still in their skin but smashed. While the garlic infuses the oil, slice 2-3 cups of cherry tomatoes in half. Increase the heat on the pan a bit, add the tomatoes to the oil and begin quickly sautéing. As soon as the tomatoes start to break down, add in .5 to 1 cup of sliced green olives and a half to a whole can of tuna fish (I use one tin of tuna for two people and the tin is 200g, about half the size of those in the US), lightly drained. Sauté all the ingredients together. Add a bit of spaghetti sauce to add thickness (my addition, not traditional but I think it helps bring everything together). You should end up with a thick, chunky sauce. Season to taste with whatever seasonings make you happy. During all of this, the water boiled and you cooked your pasta to just a few seconds shy of al dente - use short noodles, fusilli is nice. Drain the noodles and add to the sauce over low heat to finish cooking the pasta and combine the flavors. Reserve a bit of the pasta water to add to the mixture if it needs to be thinned out.
Serve hot with good bread but no cheese. Cheese and fish do not mix.
In Italy most of the tuna comes packed in olive oil. In the States I always bought the tuna in water but the oil has a great flavor and adding a bit of it along with the tuna really adds to the dish.
All amounts are approximations. Use as much or as little of anything as you like depending on how many people you're feeding, how you like your sauce, and your favorite flavors. You can also cook the tomatoes for a short amount of time and keep them mostly together, or for a longer amount of time depending on how much you want them to break down in the sauce. It's more traditional I think to cook them short and quick just to soften them but still maintain their inherent wholeness and being. Basically they cook the sauce just long enough to put heat into everything and combine the flavors but leaving everything fresh. I personally like it cooked a while longer (by that I mean I start the sauce when I start the water instead of starting it just before the water boils) and for everything to break down into more of a sauce.
Buon appetito!
I wonder what Eric is eating right now?
Life Goes On...
These days, we’re in the middle of an Indigenous People’s Summer, l’Italiano l’estate or a Tuscan Autumn, whatever you call it here. It is mostly sunny to partly cloudy and reasonably warm which means it’s 15 to 23 most days. I’m really enjoying it. We’ll have a couple days of wind and rain to make you lose your mind but soon enough the sun is back. Nothing like what it should be or what Portland is normally like this time of year. I’ve heard it’s not typical and I’m being spoiled, but I deserve it. And with the office hours we keep, 9am to 6pm, it’s at least bright when I walk to the office and I have a window so I’m not stuck in the perpetual night of this time of year.
On Saturday I met my co-workers Lothar and Shazia in the morning down in the main piazza. They live about 15 kilometers out of town (Ancona’s Hillsboro?) and had come in to do a bit of shopping. The weather was again perfect and it seemed like everyone from town as well as the surrounding areas was in the square doing what Italians love to do. Namely, stroll up and down the street, shop, talk and drink coffee. Quite a sight to see a few thousand people all out and about for no specific event or reason. I would call it impromptu but since it happens all the time that doesn’t really fit. It’s really what I love best about being here – the constant gathering of people just to walk and talk and see each other. It’s so cliché but there is such a strong sense of community. The kids always gather in the same couple of places. The old folks have their benches and cafes and everyone else just strolls around stopping to talk to everyone they know and getting caught up on the latest.
I was meeting some friends later that night for dinner and on my way to catch the bus (yes, I have figured out how to use the local bus system) to meet them I passed a woman playing a violin. She was really quite good too. There was a light fog in the air, and she was standing in front of an old building along one of the main shopping streets. People were stopping to listen and if it hadn’t been such a beautiful moment I would have laughed at how much of a postcard moment it was. I half expected Mickey Mouse or some other fictional creature to pop out and lead us all to Paris-land or something. It was as if someone had been told to describe their idea of the typical evening in a small Italian town and it had magically come to life.
Dinner was good. It was three couples and me so I felt like a bit of a gate crasher which is not a new feeling since arriving. I’ve realized I’m becoming a terrible listener. When everyone starts to speak Italian I tune out and my mind starts wandering. It’s almost automatic. Sometimes I don’t even notice right away when it has switched back to English and I’m being asked a question.
I’m still not used to the way dinner is served here. The antipasti/appetizer section I get although would it be so hard to offer some wings or a plate of nachos. The appetizer concept has been perfected by Americans. But then comes pasta, which in a decent portion, could be dinner. After the pasta comes meat and just meat. If you want anything with it you order separately like it’s a fancy steak house, but this is everywhere. Who wants to eat just meat? Put a couple beans on the plate and call it good. And after that comes salad. The meal is just organized wrong but it works for them and they’re a country and I’m a foreigner so I’ll keep my criticism to myself and this post. And at this point I would kill for a good blue cheese dressing on my salad. I have to admit that it’s nice not to have to listen to the cameriere (waiter) list off the 9 dressings since all salads only come dressed with oil and vinegar. Oh but then there is the prosciutto. All sins are forgiven when they serve me the prosciutto plate.
I’m starting to get a little bored with life here which perversely, I’m a little excited about. A month or so ago I never would have thought that was possible. I was in such a complete state of shock and bewilderment over it all. Everything was either an adventure or a trial and it felt like so much work to accomplish even little chores that I was too pre-occupied to be bored. But now life has settled into a bit of a routine around going to work, doing things in the evening, going out on the weekend. I am impatient to learn the language better to make getting around easier and to help with making more friends but that will come. What used to feel like a 30 foot wall with no way over now feels like a 15 foot wall with a chance to climb it somehow. We’re studying prepositions right now and they are a beast. There aren’t rules for when to use certain ones and why, you just have to learn it. Anyway, with the boredom comes the desire to start exploring a bit. Between buses and trains I think once I have a few things figured out I should be able to be fairly mobile. There are a lot of towns within a few hours of Ancona for good weekend and day trips. Even Rome is just three hours away. Breakfast in Ancona, lunch at the Vatican, dinner back in Ancona. Doesn’t sound too bad.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
On Saturday I met my co-workers Lothar and Shazia in the morning down in the main piazza. They live about 15 kilometers out of town (Ancona’s Hillsboro?) and had come in to do a bit of shopping. The weather was again perfect and it seemed like everyone from town as well as the surrounding areas was in the square doing what Italians love to do. Namely, stroll up and down the street, shop, talk and drink coffee. Quite a sight to see a few thousand people all out and about for no specific event or reason. I would call it impromptu but since it happens all the time that doesn’t really fit. It’s really what I love best about being here – the constant gathering of people just to walk and talk and see each other. It’s so cliché but there is such a strong sense of community. The kids always gather in the same couple of places. The old folks have their benches and cafes and everyone else just strolls around stopping to talk to everyone they know and getting caught up on the latest.
I was meeting some friends later that night for dinner and on my way to catch the bus (yes, I have figured out how to use the local bus system) to meet them I passed a woman playing a violin. She was really quite good too. There was a light fog in the air, and she was standing in front of an old building along one of the main shopping streets. People were stopping to listen and if it hadn’t been such a beautiful moment I would have laughed at how much of a postcard moment it was. I half expected Mickey Mouse or some other fictional creature to pop out and lead us all to Paris-land or something. It was as if someone had been told to describe their idea of the typical evening in a small Italian town and it had magically come to life.
Dinner was good. It was three couples and me so I felt like a bit of a gate crasher which is not a new feeling since arriving. I’ve realized I’m becoming a terrible listener. When everyone starts to speak Italian I tune out and my mind starts wandering. It’s almost automatic. Sometimes I don’t even notice right away when it has switched back to English and I’m being asked a question.
I’m still not used to the way dinner is served here. The antipasti/appetizer section I get although would it be so hard to offer some wings or a plate of nachos. The appetizer concept has been perfected by Americans. But then comes pasta, which in a decent portion, could be dinner. After the pasta comes meat and just meat. If you want anything with it you order separately like it’s a fancy steak house, but this is everywhere. Who wants to eat just meat? Put a couple beans on the plate and call it good. And after that comes salad. The meal is just organized wrong but it works for them and they’re a country and I’m a foreigner so I’ll keep my criticism to myself and this post. And at this point I would kill for a good blue cheese dressing on my salad. I have to admit that it’s nice not to have to listen to the cameriere (waiter) list off the 9 dressings since all salads only come dressed with oil and vinegar. Oh but then there is the prosciutto. All sins are forgiven when they serve me the prosciutto plate.
I’m starting to get a little bored with life here which perversely, I’m a little excited about. A month or so ago I never would have thought that was possible. I was in such a complete state of shock and bewilderment over it all. Everything was either an adventure or a trial and it felt like so much work to accomplish even little chores that I was too pre-occupied to be bored. But now life has settled into a bit of a routine around going to work, doing things in the evening, going out on the weekend. I am impatient to learn the language better to make getting around easier and to help with making more friends but that will come. What used to feel like a 30 foot wall with no way over now feels like a 15 foot wall with a chance to climb it somehow. We’re studying prepositions right now and they are a beast. There aren’t rules for when to use certain ones and why, you just have to learn it. Anyway, with the boredom comes the desire to start exploring a bit. Between buses and trains I think once I have a few things figured out I should be able to be fairly mobile. There are a lot of towns within a few hours of Ancona for good weekend and day trips. Even Rome is just three hours away. Breakfast in Ancona, lunch at the Vatican, dinner back in Ancona. Doesn’t sound too bad.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Friday, November 13, 2009
Cruising
Tonight after work I went for a stroll which is the Ancona version of cruising. We’re in the middle of a stretch of perfect late fall weather so I was in no hurry to get home and neither was anyone else. The evenings right after work are prime-time for cruising. As it is anywhere and has been for years, the purpose is the same – walk around to see and be seen, check out the hotties and wait for something more interesting to happen. The kids cruise in large packs, trading between groups like the baseball off-season gone mad and massing at corners to talk, smoke, text, and wait. The adults are usually in pairs and I imagine are bemoaning how much better things were back when they were young and there weren't all these rascally kids around. It is constant, casual motion with an eye out for the best place to be and be seen. Wherever you are somewhere else might be better so off you go. What you never see are people by themselves. So in that regard, I’m a trend-setter, bucking convention, challenging perceptions as I walk along solo. The people watching is fantastic – bars filling with people having their aperitivo, pizza stands doing a brisk business in slices, dogs crapping under foot, people rushing to finish their shopping before everything closes for the evening – all to the soundtrack created by the mad church bell ringers religiously marking the passing of another five minutes.
As I was having my saunter and challenging the local paradigm, a couple pushing a stroller with twins passed me. It was one of those double-wide strollers quite common in the States but apparently an apparition here. That the twins were adorable, flaxen-haired bambini in matching outfits eating matching gelato didn’t hurt, but everyone they passed did one of those classic double-takes made infamous by men everywhere. It was almost like Raphaella Fico herself was walking down the middle of the street in only her metallic bikini.
The roommates all went home for the weekend so I have the apartment to myself. I think I might mark the development by eating small amounts of all their food, just enough so that I know I ate it, but they don’t notice it missing. Yes, I really am that wild. They did a really nice job of cleaning-up before they left so I came home to a sad and empty but sparkling clean house.
We four roommates are bonding quite nicely. I am constantly being evaluated for how good an Italian I will make. We’ve devised a scale where I started out in Austria and the more Italian I manage to be the further south I will be placed. It's like one of those fund-raising thermometer signs, just upside down and shaped like Italy, not a thermometer. Following the success of a pasta dish this week I have managed to cross the border into Italy. Next stop, Bologna. We generally eat dinner together several nights a week and I really enjoy those meals. Sometimes Deborah will cook for all of us or everyone will try to make their own meal simultaneously, sharing space in the cramped kitchen. Conversation is usually a mixture of Italian, English, French and some German with good natured teasing, bizarre jokes that are lost in the switching of languages, hilarious misuse of words from other languages, and quizzes about what was learned in class that day.
I don’t know how it happened but I got really lucky to be sharing an apartment with Raimondo. I learned how to spell his name correctly; we get along quite well, easily tolerate each other, and share a common sense of humor. He’s a physicist doing physics research (I assume) at the university. I asked him if this means he spends his day rolling a ball bearing down a ramp into a spring and measuring how far back up the ramp the bearing goes. Something like that he said. He also likes to make jokes at the expense of mathematicians which all seem to start the same way, “There is a physicist, an engineer and a mathematician…” Deborah and Alice (it’s pronounced ah-li-chay in Italian, but she was named for Alice in Alice in Wonderland after her mother discovered the book while on holiday and pregnant with her) are very sweet, concerned that I learn Italian quickly and don’t remain single. They’ve both decided that their older sisters are perfect for me.
It was a good week at work. My team actually closed a couple projects which translates (get it!?!?) into income rather than expenses for the company. They were small but as most leading sales experts would agree, a small sale is generally considered better than a large non-sale. We also submitted our second large RFP. If we’re selected for any of these RFPs I’ll be able to go on cruise-control for at least 3 days.
As an aside, for those still curious, the challenges posed by the Italian computer and keyboard have mostly been overcome. They are almost more natural feeling than my American laptop. That said I can’t figure out how to resize Media Player. It’s either in mini-player mode or full-screen with no way to place the pointer on a border and shrink it so it’s full-size but not full-screen. I can’t read the Italian interface to figure out how to shrink it. If you have suggestions please leave a comment below.
It’s coming soon and I’m sad to be missing it. We (no, I am not referring to myself in the third person, it was Dave and I) went last year and it placed the rest of the day pitch perfect. “Have a great time,” to all who participate.
A small triumph earned this week in my quest to learn Italian that gives me hope for the future. I had to go see my landlord to give him the rent. He is a doctor and told me I could just come to his clinic during office hours and drop it off. Since patients would be waiting he told me to let his segrataria (receptionist) I was a friend and not a patient and she would go get him and I could jump the line. Reasonable enough plan except that she doesn’t speak Italian. On the walk over to the office I rehearsed my lines and sweated. The way my nerves were acting up it was a good think I was headed to a doctor’s office. I walked into the segretaria (reception area) to find it full of waiting patients. Great, I had an audience. To my surprise and delight, I managed to utter my lines, she behaved herself and followed our little unwritten script as if we had been rehearsing for weeks and soon enough I found myself in the doctor’s office. I’m a big boy now! We chatted a bit, his English is only a bit better than my Italian so we get by on an amusing and confusing mixture of the two, and at the end he told me if I even need anything to see him, the care would be free. I don’t know if that’s because he’s my landlord and fried of Lothar or if that’s socialized medicine, but I’m thinking of learning the Italian word for Percoset.
I received a first hand report on what Eric was doing “right now” this past Wednesday. Jenn happened to be on Skype the same time I was and we were able to chat and trade gossip for a bit. As devout Luddites we both marveled at the wonder of us chatting live separated by thousands of miles yet immediately connected by some geek’s code, electricity, wires and voodoo. Jenn marveled at the fact that I was sitting in my office in Italy and I marveled at the fact that she hadn’t gotten out of bed yet. Lazy!
Twenty posts and a month and a half later I’ve received a few nice compliments on the blog and I just want to say thank you for reading and following along. Have fun at Meadows this weekend, Jerks.
This is the fabled pasta sfoglia ricoperta al cioccolato. Feel free to come visit and I'll take you out for one with a machiatto caldo.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
As I was having my saunter and challenging the local paradigm, a couple pushing a stroller with twins passed me. It was one of those double-wide strollers quite common in the States but apparently an apparition here. That the twins were adorable, flaxen-haired bambini in matching outfits eating matching gelato didn’t hurt, but everyone they passed did one of those classic double-takes made infamous by men everywhere. It was almost like Raphaella Fico herself was walking down the middle of the street in only her metallic bikini.
The roommates all went home for the weekend so I have the apartment to myself. I think I might mark the development by eating small amounts of all their food, just enough so that I know I ate it, but they don’t notice it missing. Yes, I really am that wild. They did a really nice job of cleaning-up before they left so I came home to a sad and empty but sparkling clean house.
We four roommates are bonding quite nicely. I am constantly being evaluated for how good an Italian I will make. We’ve devised a scale where I started out in Austria and the more Italian I manage to be the further south I will be placed. It's like one of those fund-raising thermometer signs, just upside down and shaped like Italy, not a thermometer. Following the success of a pasta dish this week I have managed to cross the border into Italy. Next stop, Bologna. We generally eat dinner together several nights a week and I really enjoy those meals. Sometimes Deborah will cook for all of us or everyone will try to make their own meal simultaneously, sharing space in the cramped kitchen. Conversation is usually a mixture of Italian, English, French and some German with good natured teasing, bizarre jokes that are lost in the switching of languages, hilarious misuse of words from other languages, and quizzes about what was learned in class that day.
I don’t know how it happened but I got really lucky to be sharing an apartment with Raimondo. I learned how to spell his name correctly; we get along quite well, easily tolerate each other, and share a common sense of humor. He’s a physicist doing physics research (I assume) at the university. I asked him if this means he spends his day rolling a ball bearing down a ramp into a spring and measuring how far back up the ramp the bearing goes. Something like that he said. He also likes to make jokes at the expense of mathematicians which all seem to start the same way, “There is a physicist, an engineer and a mathematician…” Deborah and Alice (it’s pronounced ah-li-chay in Italian, but she was named for Alice in Alice in Wonderland after her mother discovered the book while on holiday and pregnant with her) are very sweet, concerned that I learn Italian quickly and don’t remain single. They’ve both decided that their older sisters are perfect for me.
It was a good week at work. My team actually closed a couple projects which translates (get it!?!?) into income rather than expenses for the company. They were small but as most leading sales experts would agree, a small sale is generally considered better than a large non-sale. We also submitted our second large RFP. If we’re selected for any of these RFPs I’ll be able to go on cruise-control for at least 3 days.
As an aside, for those still curious, the challenges posed by the Italian computer and keyboard have mostly been overcome. They are almost more natural feeling than my American laptop. That said I can’t figure out how to resize Media Player. It’s either in mini-player mode or full-screen with no way to place the pointer on a border and shrink it so it’s full-size but not full-screen. I can’t read the Italian interface to figure out how to shrink it. If you have suggestions please leave a comment below.
It’s coming soon and I’m sad to be missing it. We (no, I am not referring to myself in the third person, it was Dave and I) went last year and it placed the rest of the day pitch perfect. “Have a great time,” to all who participate.
A small triumph earned this week in my quest to learn Italian that gives me hope for the future. I had to go see my landlord to give him the rent. He is a doctor and told me I could just come to his clinic during office hours and drop it off. Since patients would be waiting he told me to let his segrataria (receptionist) I was a friend and not a patient and she would go get him and I could jump the line. Reasonable enough plan except that she doesn’t speak Italian. On the walk over to the office I rehearsed my lines and sweated. The way my nerves were acting up it was a good think I was headed to a doctor’s office. I walked into the segretaria (reception area) to find it full of waiting patients. Great, I had an audience. To my surprise and delight, I managed to utter my lines, she behaved herself and followed our little unwritten script as if we had been rehearsing for weeks and soon enough I found myself in the doctor’s office. I’m a big boy now! We chatted a bit, his English is only a bit better than my Italian so we get by on an amusing and confusing mixture of the two, and at the end he told me if I even need anything to see him, the care would be free. I don’t know if that’s because he’s my landlord and fried of Lothar or if that’s socialized medicine, but I’m thinking of learning the Italian word for Percoset.
I received a first hand report on what Eric was doing “right now” this past Wednesday. Jenn happened to be on Skype the same time I was and we were able to chat and trade gossip for a bit. As devout Luddites we both marveled at the wonder of us chatting live separated by thousands of miles yet immediately connected by some geek’s code, electricity, wires and voodoo. Jenn marveled at the fact that I was sitting in my office in Italy and I marveled at the fact that she hadn’t gotten out of bed yet. Lazy!
Twenty posts and a month and a half later I’ve received a few nice compliments on the blog and I just want to say thank you for reading and following along. Have fun at Meadows this weekend, Jerks.
This is the fabled pasta sfoglia ricoperta al cioccolato. Feel free to come visit and I'll take you out for one with a machiatto caldo.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Another Week Means Another Weekend
It wasn’t a good weekend to be an American in Italy. The US women lost two matches to Italy in the Davis Cup (a big story here; besides football the only sports story to make the regular news) and in Moto GP, which is a huge deal here because of 9-time world champion Valentino Rossi, the Americans Ben Spies and Nicky Hayden were soundly beaten by Rossi in Valencia in the final race of the season. The air of a nationalistic feud is starting to stir between Raimundo and me.
I’m waging a silent, solitary, mostly unsuccessful fight over the organization of the silverware container. The holder has perfect, separate slots for cooking utensils, cucchiai (spoons), coltelli (knives), forchette (forks), and cucchiaini (teaspoons). I organized them all into their “proper places” one night after doing the dishes. If we keep them stored in their right place everything fits and everything is easy to find. To my dismay, no one else seems to have sensed this amazing new system and continue to store the flatware willy-nilly (a technical term). I regularly reorganize it with the hope that the structure will osmose (it’s a word!) its way into the hearts and minds of i miei coinquilini (my roommates). Today I caught Raimundo separating the spoons and forks. Progress!
As it seems happens most Friday nights I stayed late at work. I didn’t mind this time because it was to do an estimate for a new US client and since I was hired to increase sales in the States it seemed appropriate. The BDMs I hired in September are starting to gain some traction and while the numbers are small right now I’m feeling that momentum is starting to build along, with my optimism.
It had been raining most of the week but Friday night was crisp and clear as I walked home. The chestnut guy was doing a brisk business. By the time I got back to the apartment, Alice had already left for her parent’s house for the weekend but Deborah and Raimundo were staying. They were having salad for dinner and I chose to make a pasta with tomato sauce with zucchini, mushroom and prosciutto. When it was ready they both asked if they could try and some and declared it delicious and were optimistic that there was still a chance I might become a good Italian after-all. (A big step forward after my disaster a couple weeks ago when I made a quick snack out of a spaghetti and meatball sandwich and they decreed all hope for me lost.)
The weekend turned into what I guess is the typical Italian weekend – meet friends around 23.00 for drinks and to hang-out. Get home around 3am, sleep until Noon, relax and take care of things in the afternoon and then repeat Saturday night. On Saturday I had to go to the grocery store twice because I was thrown out the first time before I finished getting everything I wanted. It was 13.00 and that’s when they close for la pausa pranzo (the lunch break) so everyone out! Raimundo made a great clam and fish risotto on Sunday for lunch and the three of us ate together before watching the final MotoGP race of the season which Raimundo and I spent arguing (while Deborah rolled her eyes) about who is the better rider, Rossi or Spies. Rossi placed second to Spies’ seventh but this was only Spies’ third ever race in this division and he only had three hours total practice on the track. I spent the rest of the afternoon studying Italian, cleaning the apartment and watching snowboarding movies.
Sunday night we went to watch the Roma vs. Inter football match and have a pizza with Massi and Lorenza. There are lots of better places for pizza but none with televisions. The concept of the sports bar hasn’t really taken hold here.
Speaking of snowboarding movies, there may be better places to ride than Meadows but it is a little weird to not have a season pass and to think about missing the Oregon season. No weekend trips in Parkdale dragging Heinrich’s kids out of bed. No sneaking out of work for half days. No beers in the HRM parking lot. No sweet jumps. The season opened last weekend in the Italian Alps but that’s about six or seven hours from here by car. The nearest resort is in the Apennines about two hours away. They top out at about 3000 meters and won’t open for another few weeks. From the descriptions I’ve been given they are the Italian equivalent of Meadows. Some how, some way though I’ll get some days in this season.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
I’m waging a silent, solitary, mostly unsuccessful fight over the organization of the silverware container. The holder has perfect, separate slots for cooking utensils, cucchiai (spoons), coltelli (knives), forchette (forks), and cucchiaini (teaspoons). I organized them all into their “proper places” one night after doing the dishes. If we keep them stored in their right place everything fits and everything is easy to find. To my dismay, no one else seems to have sensed this amazing new system and continue to store the flatware willy-nilly (a technical term). I regularly reorganize it with the hope that the structure will osmose (it’s a word!) its way into the hearts and minds of i miei coinquilini (my roommates). Today I caught Raimundo separating the spoons and forks. Progress!
As it seems happens most Friday nights I stayed late at work. I didn’t mind this time because it was to do an estimate for a new US client and since I was hired to increase sales in the States it seemed appropriate. The BDMs I hired in September are starting to gain some traction and while the numbers are small right now I’m feeling that momentum is starting to build along, with my optimism.
It had been raining most of the week but Friday night was crisp and clear as I walked home. The chestnut guy was doing a brisk business. By the time I got back to the apartment, Alice had already left for her parent’s house for the weekend but Deborah and Raimundo were staying. They were having salad for dinner and I chose to make a pasta with tomato sauce with zucchini, mushroom and prosciutto. When it was ready they both asked if they could try and some and declared it delicious and were optimistic that there was still a chance I might become a good Italian after-all. (A big step forward after my disaster a couple weeks ago when I made a quick snack out of a spaghetti and meatball sandwich and they decreed all hope for me lost.)
The weekend turned into what I guess is the typical Italian weekend – meet friends around 23.00 for drinks and to hang-out. Get home around 3am, sleep until Noon, relax and take care of things in the afternoon and then repeat Saturday night. On Saturday I had to go to the grocery store twice because I was thrown out the first time before I finished getting everything I wanted. It was 13.00 and that’s when they close for la pausa pranzo (the lunch break) so everyone out! Raimundo made a great clam and fish risotto on Sunday for lunch and the three of us ate together before watching the final MotoGP race of the season which Raimundo and I spent arguing (while Deborah rolled her eyes) about who is the better rider, Rossi or Spies. Rossi placed second to Spies’ seventh but this was only Spies’ third ever race in this division and he only had three hours total practice on the track. I spent the rest of the afternoon studying Italian, cleaning the apartment and watching snowboarding movies.
Sunday night we went to watch the Roma vs. Inter football match and have a pizza with Massi and Lorenza. There are lots of better places for pizza but none with televisions. The concept of the sports bar hasn’t really taken hold here.
Speaking of snowboarding movies, there may be better places to ride than Meadows but it is a little weird to not have a season pass and to think about missing the Oregon season. No weekend trips in Parkdale dragging Heinrich’s kids out of bed. No sneaking out of work for half days. No beers in the HRM parking lot. No sweet jumps. The season opened last weekend in the Italian Alps but that’s about six or seven hours from here by car. The nearest resort is in the Apennines about two hours away. They top out at about 3000 meters and won’t open for another few weeks. From the descriptions I’ve been given they are the Italian equivalent of Meadows. Some how, some way though I’ll get some days in this season.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Yankees Win!
It felt like the 1920s having to follow the Series in the "paper", but maybe the really late 1920s since in this case, the paper was online.
There is now a man in Piazza Roma every night selling fresh roasted chestnuts. He looks a lot like the guy in this photo except a lot older and more Italian..er. It feels very Olde Worlde.
"sburocratizzare" means to reduce the amount of bureaucracy. It seems like a made up word.
At lunch today, a colleague of mine asked me how my Italian lessons were coming. Without really thinking about it, I responded in Italian and proceeded to describe my latest lessons and my teachers. Although just a brief conversation, when I think about where I was at when I arrived in September I get a sneaking suspicion that I'm actually starting to learn something. My mom told me that when we lived in Switzerland years ago that my sister (who was entered in a French school for the year) didn't say a word for six months and then one day began speaking fluently. Maybe that will happen to mio. (See, it's already happening.)
Drama in the apartment this morning! The girls went to a party last night and didn't come back until 4am. They were very good about being quiet, but being hungry, they used up my Nutella and Parmesan cheese while fixing a snack. (I'm guessing in separate dishes.) Between the dirty dishes on the table and in the sink and the missing food, my panties were all in a bunch as I left for work this morning. However, by the time I got home, they had replaced everything leaving me to unbunch my panties and needing to chill out a little. Maybe a tiny bit obsessive?
Next up, my first recipe for a newly discovered Italian dish. Hi to everyone in the New World. I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Italian Recipe 1
In an email, a friend asked if I’d come across any new recipes for dishes that had made an impression. This is my current favorite. I don’t know what it’s called, but I had it in a restaurant and loved it and have been playing around with versions ever since. It's very heavy and rich but the saltiness of the pork and the bite of the spinach are perfect together.
Start a pot of water to boil pasta. Meanwhile, sauté about 200 grams (um a little less than 1/2 pound?) of diced pancetta in a little olive oil (enough to keep it from sticking at first but not too much since fat will be released and you don’t want it to get overly greasy). Once the pancetta is nearly browned, add fresh spinach and quickly cook. Optional: season with nutmeg, garlic and pepper to taste. You can also add peas, mushrooms or any other vegetable that suits you. The pancetta and spinach are the classic combination. The goal is to get this mixture hot and freshly cooked just as your pasta is done.
Stop the pasta just short of done as you will finish cooking it with the meat and vegetable combination. Traditionally, long pasta is used. Drain the pasta (but leave a little moist), then combine it with the other ingredients and mix thoroughly over a low heat. Here, they add about a 1/2 to 3/4 cup of panna da cucina to make it creamy. Over low heat, heat everything through to finish cooking the pasta. Serve with fresh parmesan.
Panna da cucina is Italian sour cream except that it isn't sour but has the same consistency. You could probably use sour cream or maybe just a bit of heavy cream and reduce it. Good luck. Enjoy!
On a completely separate note, I was watching ‘The Shooter’ starring Mark Wahlberg with Raimundo the other night. He had never seen it and I had seen the American version so I knew what was happening even though it was dubbed. It’s a fairly decent if formulaic action/thriller movie that contains few surprises in the plot and comes to a satisfying and loud conclusion. As we were watching it though, I couldn’t help but be amused by Raimundo’s reaction to it. He was in constant fear for the hero’s life even though everyone knows the hero never dies. He also wasn’t sure if the main love interest and wise-cracking sidekick would make it even though they always do too. What I thoguht were obvious plot twists and story developments came as a surprise to him. I say obvious only because they followed the formula for most movies of this kind. And there were other moments in the movie that for an American who has watched hundreds of movies similar to this are pretty obvious but to him were completely surprising. I couldn’t decide if it was an issue specific to Raimundo or maybe since not as many American movies come to Italy if the formula still works more effectively here? At any rate, it made watching the movie much more interesting.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Start a pot of water to boil pasta. Meanwhile, sauté about 200 grams (um a little less than 1/2 pound?) of diced pancetta in a little olive oil (enough to keep it from sticking at first but not too much since fat will be released and you don’t want it to get overly greasy). Once the pancetta is nearly browned, add fresh spinach and quickly cook. Optional: season with nutmeg, garlic and pepper to taste. You can also add peas, mushrooms or any other vegetable that suits you. The pancetta and spinach are the classic combination. The goal is to get this mixture hot and freshly cooked just as your pasta is done.
Stop the pasta just short of done as you will finish cooking it with the meat and vegetable combination. Traditionally, long pasta is used. Drain the pasta (but leave a little moist), then combine it with the other ingredients and mix thoroughly over a low heat. Here, they add about a 1/2 to 3/4 cup of panna da cucina to make it creamy. Over low heat, heat everything through to finish cooking the pasta. Serve with fresh parmesan.
Panna da cucina is Italian sour cream except that it isn't sour but has the same consistency. You could probably use sour cream or maybe just a bit of heavy cream and reduce it. Good luck. Enjoy!
On a completely separate note, I was watching ‘The Shooter’ starring Mark Wahlberg with Raimundo the other night. He had never seen it and I had seen the American version so I knew what was happening even though it was dubbed. It’s a fairly decent if formulaic action/thriller movie that contains few surprises in the plot and comes to a satisfying and loud conclusion. As we were watching it though, I couldn’t help but be amused by Raimundo’s reaction to it. He was in constant fear for the hero’s life even though everyone knows the hero never dies. He also wasn’t sure if the main love interest and wise-cracking sidekick would make it even though they always do too. What I thoguht were obvious plot twists and story developments came as a surprise to him. I say obvious only because they followed the formula for most movies of this kind. And there were other moments in the movie that for an American who has watched hundreds of movies similar to this are pretty obvious but to him were completely surprising. I couldn’t decide if it was an issue specific to Raimundo or maybe since not as many American movies come to Italy if the formula still works more effectively here? At any rate, it made watching the movie much more interesting.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Sexy Night
“Ragazzi, tonight is the sexy night!” Appropriately, they were yelled by a great guy named Vito. And with those words kicked off my first big, Italian dinner party last weekend. As usual, on Friday, if I don't have plans I happily eat a little dinner, watch some mad Italian TV and go to bed. The normal end of the week crash. Some things never change and I’m glad I got the extra sleep because I would need it on Saturday. However, for the first time since I arrived here, I left my camera in the apartment so there are no pictures to include. The leaden eloquence of my words will have to suffice.
Saturday morning, I slept in and woke to an empty apartment. All three of my roommates had gone home for the weekend which is common in the apartment and for a lot of Italy I guess. Since the country is relatively small and easy to get around, many people find jobs away from their hometowns but still regularly visit their family by taking the train home Friday after work and back to their job early Monday morning. That’s what my roommates do most weekends meaning I have the place to myself. Taking advantage of this, I did laundry (four people, one small lavatrice means it’s always in use during the week) and some cleaning in the morning.
Mid-afternoon, my friend Vayla from work came by and picked me up. He grew up in Ancona and wanted to show me some of his favorite places around the city. We went driving along the coast to Porto Nuovo (New Port) and then we went shopping. I bought some shoes. My first Italian ones. They are hideous so everyone here likes them. Most importantly for me, they have velcro fasteners so I'm ecstatic. After this excitement we went for an apperitivo which is the mid-afternoon, early evening drink and snack that carries you through until you have a late dinner. It’s pretty much Happy Hour, but in a custom that began in Milan as a way to bring in business from office workers during the hours between the end of the day and dinner, many bars now put out a buffet of small sandwiches and other finger foods that are free and all-you-can-eat if you purchase a drink. It puts American Happy Hour to shame. While at the bar we happened to start talking with the two women at the table next to us. They were visiting Ancona for the weekend from Holland. Tickets from Dusseldorf were 40 Euros so they booked a long weekend. Vayla was the perfect person for them to have met because he knows everyone and everywhere in town. He put them on the guest list for a private club and got them dinner reservations. In return, we got email addresses for if we ever happen to find ourselves in Dusseldorf.
Vayla had invited me to a dinner/birthday party for three of his friends later that night so we said our goodbyes to the Dutch girls in order to make it to dinner in time. Everyone dressed to the hilt like I sort of suspected they would but luckily I wore my new shoes so I fit right in. There were about 30 people for dinner and they all knew each other quite well and had grown up together. No one but Vayla really spoke English so I spent most of the night trying to guess at the conversations and not stare at boobs. By dressing to the hilt, for the girls that seemed to mean very low-cut tops. If you can't speak the language at least enjoy the scenery. (This is when I forget my camera at home!) But it was a really nice evening. By the end of it I suspect I was partially fluent in Italian and had made plenty of new friends. Or not. We left the restaurant a little after 1am and most of them were going dancing. I went with another group to another restaurant for a nightcap (is that what they are?) and didn't get to bed until after 3:30. It was my first sort of real Italian event and it was a lot of fun. For the first time I felt like I was experiencing a real, authentic part of the local scenery. I have yet to be invited to someone’s house for a meal cooked by their mom but I’m dropping as many hints as I can.
Tonight Inter plays Barcelona in a Champion’s league match so we’ll probably go watch that.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Saturday morning, I slept in and woke to an empty apartment. All three of my roommates had gone home for the weekend which is common in the apartment and for a lot of Italy I guess. Since the country is relatively small and easy to get around, many people find jobs away from their hometowns but still regularly visit their family by taking the train home Friday after work and back to their job early Monday morning. That’s what my roommates do most weekends meaning I have the place to myself. Taking advantage of this, I did laundry (four people, one small lavatrice means it’s always in use during the week) and some cleaning in the morning.
Mid-afternoon, my friend Vayla from work came by and picked me up. He grew up in Ancona and wanted to show me some of his favorite places around the city. We went driving along the coast to Porto Nuovo (New Port) and then we went shopping. I bought some shoes. My first Italian ones. They are hideous so everyone here likes them. Most importantly for me, they have velcro fasteners so I'm ecstatic. After this excitement we went for an apperitivo which is the mid-afternoon, early evening drink and snack that carries you through until you have a late dinner. It’s pretty much Happy Hour, but in a custom that began in Milan as a way to bring in business from office workers during the hours between the end of the day and dinner, many bars now put out a buffet of small sandwiches and other finger foods that are free and all-you-can-eat if you purchase a drink. It puts American Happy Hour to shame. While at the bar we happened to start talking with the two women at the table next to us. They were visiting Ancona for the weekend from Holland. Tickets from Dusseldorf were 40 Euros so they booked a long weekend. Vayla was the perfect person for them to have met because he knows everyone and everywhere in town. He put them on the guest list for a private club and got them dinner reservations. In return, we got email addresses for if we ever happen to find ourselves in Dusseldorf.
Vayla had invited me to a dinner/birthday party for three of his friends later that night so we said our goodbyes to the Dutch girls in order to make it to dinner in time. Everyone dressed to the hilt like I sort of suspected they would but luckily I wore my new shoes so I fit right in. There were about 30 people for dinner and they all knew each other quite well and had grown up together. No one but Vayla really spoke English so I spent most of the night trying to guess at the conversations and not stare at boobs. By dressing to the hilt, for the girls that seemed to mean very low-cut tops. If you can't speak the language at least enjoy the scenery. (This is when I forget my camera at home!) But it was a really nice evening. By the end of it I suspect I was partially fluent in Italian and had made plenty of new friends. Or not. We left the restaurant a little after 1am and most of them were going dancing. I went with another group to another restaurant for a nightcap (is that what they are?) and didn't get to bed until after 3:30. It was my first sort of real Italian event and it was a lot of fun. For the first time I felt like I was experiencing a real, authentic part of the local scenery. I have yet to be invited to someone’s house for a meal cooked by their mom but I’m dropping as many hints as I can.
Tonight Inter plays Barcelona in a Champion’s league match so we’ll probably go watch that.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Ancona-Piacenza 2-1
FORZA ANCONA! ANCONA PRIMA IN CLASSIFICA!
We are top of the standings in Serie B with 22 points after 11 weeks! The rest of the teams are rubbish. Ancona are the greatest. We will be the champions and next year play in Serie A. There is no stopping us now... Ok, now for some context for the ranting. Last night I went to my first Italian football match to watch Ancona play Piacenza with Raimundo and his friends Maxi and Lorenza.
That's them, Maxi in purple, Lorenza, and Raimundo (waving)
On the line was the three points from a win to put us top of the standings. With a 2-1 victory, we took the points and moved to the top, alone. Swept up in the passion and emotion, Ancona are now "my team" and "we" are going all the way. I might even buy a supporter's scarf.
(Unfortunately, this was only the 11th week and I think there are 42 in the season so the emotions might be a bit premature. The team has been known to falter in the past.)
Most years Ancona struggle to stay in Serie B and finishing in the middle of the pack is considered a success. Twice in their history they have gone up to A and didn't win a single game the whole season. For some reason they are playing well this year and have been near the top of the table and the local tifosi are rabid. Maxi and Lorenza (met them through Raimundo) have season tickets and can get guest tickets for just 1€.
The stadium is about a 10 minute drive from down-town. The main parking lot is at the end of a two-way street, essentially a dead-end the way people walk and drive, so hardly anyone uses it as it's calamintous trying to get in and out. It's a little odd to see a parking lot at a stadium half deserted. Anyway, we parked about a km from the gates and walked dodging double-parked cars, care-free scooters and other fans.
Picture a Soviet era stadium built sort of like Alpenrose velodrome. Built in 1992, it can sit about 25,000 maximum. It's dug into a bowl in the ground and only the top of the main grandstands are visible. The hillsides outside the stadium are overgrown with weeds. Overall quality is on par with a mediocre high school stadium. Since the team isn't that great they have a small corporate sponsor which means they don't have much money for anything.
Finding will-call was nearly impossible, and once we had our tickets, we had to pass security checks at three separate gates, showing ID and tickets ateach, just to reach the stands. Once in thouh, it was exactly like I expected and hoped it would be. The field has the hooligan fence around it so no one sits in the lower half of the stands because the fence is so dirty you can't see through it.
The north stands behind the goal is where the regular fans sit (like the Timber Army).
The south end is for the visiting team. Eight brave souls from the visiting team came last night. They don't travel well I guess.
The east and west sideline stands are for families and more expensive tickets, nicer seats. They also weren't very full.
We were in the North end and it was the most crowded. Everyone smokes. It's worse than being inside a bar. We stood the entire time. They sing and chant passionate songs about strength and support and courage for the home team. It's just like European football should be.
Following the win, I am considered a good luck charm and was told I have to be back on Saturday when the team takes on the third place rivals, Cesena.
The game was unusual. Two of the visiting players were ejected with red cards including the Keeper who was sent off for mauling someone in the box. They had used all their substitutions so when he went off, one of the defenders had to play in goal. He was a better Keeper than the real one. There were probably half a dozen yellow cards and two bench clearing scuffles. Ancona scored on a free-kick in the first and on a penalty in the second. Two minutes after going up 2-0 in the second half, with the crowd in full chanting mode, the other team scored on a counter-attack throwing everyone into the absolute pits of despair. Everyone wants the team to do well but no one believes in them. It's hilarious.
On the way home we saw another football team - an actual American Football team. Turns out Ancona has a professional team called the Dolphins. One of the girls in our office dates one of the players so I'm going to try and find out more about it. Maybe I can make the team!
Following the win, I am considered a good luck charm and was told I have to be back on Saturday when the team takes on the third place rivals, Cesena.
The game was unusual. Two of the visiting players were ejected with red cards including the Keeper who was sent off for mauling someone in the box. They had used all their substitutions so when he went off, one of the defenders had to play in goal. He was a better Keeper than the real one. There were probably half a dozen yellow cards and two bench clearing scuffles. Ancona scored on a free-kick in the first and on a penalty in the second. Two minutes after going up 2-0 in the second half, with the crowd in full chanting mode, the other team scored on a counter-attack throwing everyone into the absolute pits of despair. Everyone wants the team to do well but no one believes in them. It's hilarious.
On the way home we saw another football team - an actual American Football team. Turns out Ancona has a professional team called the Dolphins. One of the girls in our office dates one of the players so I'm going to try and find out more about it. Maybe I can make the team!
Forza Ancona! I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Gnocchi
My roommate Deborah cooks like an Italian stereotype. That's a good thing. I don't mean like Olive Garden I mean like Chef Boyardee. No written recipe, everything learned by cooking with her mother, simple, fresh, fast, delicious. I haven't had to cook much lately because she cooks most evenings and very kindly invites me to join the meal. I try to contribute ingredients but I usually have the wrong kind of pasta (they are very serious about having the right pasta for the right dish.), so I just eat and wash the dishes. (Max, did you know that along with their pizza, Italians are known for their pasta? It's true.) Like I said, they are very serious about having the correct pasta to go with the dish. One time Raimundo almost threw out what he had started to cook because he didn't have any short pasta and he had to have short pasta. Somehow I managed to convince him that just this once we could eat spinach and cece with long pasta. But even flat long pasta can be wrong when the dish needs long, round pasta.
The other night, Deborah made gnocchi from scratch. Maybe you aren't impressed. Maybe in your house you whip up batches of gnocchi from scratch the same way you can quarts of summer peaches or sneeze in your hand. But it impressed me. She was just making it for three of us so she noted that you only have to use half a kilo of flour; she said she is used to making it for her one sister and seven brothers at home when she uses upwards of three kilos of flour. Ahhh. Of course. Also, 90 grams of uncooked spaghetti is about right for an adult woman but a man needs more like 100 to 120 grams. Got it.
Back to the gnocchi. First you make a well of flour and add the eggs:
Then you knead it into a dough (she also added ricotta cheese), cut and roll it into the shape of a snake and cut it into gnocchi sized pieces:
After it's cooked, you add a sauce of ricotta and smoked salmon finished with rocket:
The other night, Deborah made gnocchi from scratch. Maybe you aren't impressed. Maybe in your house you whip up batches of gnocchi from scratch the same way you can quarts of summer peaches or sneeze in your hand. But it impressed me. She was just making it for three of us so she noted that you only have to use half a kilo of flour; she said she is used to making it for her one sister and seven brothers at home when she uses upwards of three kilos of flour. Ahhh. Of course. Also, 90 grams of uncooked spaghetti is about right for an adult woman but a man needs more like 100 to 120 grams. Got it.
Back to the gnocchi. First you make a well of flour and add the eggs:
Then you knead it into a dough (she also added ricotta cheese), cut and roll it into the shape of a snake and cut it into gnocchi sized pieces:
After it's cooked, you add a sauce of ricotta and smoked salmon finished with rocket: (I just failed my audition as a food photographer, I know.)
I try not to think about the exchange rate. Especially with what the dollar is doing right now. Otherwise, if I did the math, the 6 euro beer that seems like a good deal would freak me out because it's 9 dollars! I can easily spend 15 dollars at lunch. Just stick to the euros and don't think about the dollar equivalent.
Go Yankees! I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Musings
Is it a stereotype for a blog to have a post called 'Musings'?
When I came to Europe in the spring of 2008 there seemed to be a lot of stories about America's perception abroad and even suggestions to travel as a Canadian. (Which besides putting a Canadian flag on your backpack I'm not sure how that's even done. Maybe saying "Excuse me" whenever someone knocks you over or cuts in front of you in line. Canada, America's hat.) But the travel advice was to do anything in order to avoid being labeled an American. I never noticed anything overt, but with that history in mind I was a little curious about how I would be received here. It's been nothing but positive. And to my surprise, I've even been told Italians love Americans. Go figure. I guess they grew sick of all the Canadians. It's true that most people upon learning I'm from Portland, Oregon, get a confused expression on their face. Once they learn Oregon is near California they excitedly tell me about how they've been to New York or Florida. California automatically links to Florida and New York somehow. My roommate Deborah has a friend who lives near Bellingham, WA but as far as she is concerned that is Seattle and won't be convinced otherwise. Oregon doesn't exist, but the US is great, English is great, Obama is great. Toronto sucks. Haha.
Recently I wrote, and you might have read, about my progress in learning the local language. Well, on that front, I've recently started trying to join real live conversations. I emphasize the word trying in that sentence. When I think of a question to ask or a phrase to add, by the time I've sussed out what was said, realized I understood it, and formulated my part of it , they are no longer talking about the color of their socks but have moved on to discussing the new wines from this season's harvest or something. At that point, my startling and brilliant revelation that my socks are indeed black (i miei calzini sono nero) is either irrelevant and unstated or brings the conversation to an abrubt and confused stop if stated. But progress nonetheless!
I have a new criteria for classifying people (I'm still using the one about how they look in a short skirt or might look in a bikini but this new one supplements it) - it's how they react to my attempts at mangling Italian. I'm still working on it but it basically ranges from obnoxious (rolling their eyes and dismissive) to saintly (just let me prattle on with only slight corrections and cheerful encouragement) and in between are people who correct every single freaking syllable in an attempt to be helpful to those who speak so quickly I don't have a prayer of understanding and making no attempt to adjust. I have to frequently remind myself that I have been guilty of the same or worse with non-English speakers and besides, it's their country and my job to learn the language not theirs to come down to my level. But they are still being graded. So either be nice or shorten that skirt!
As always, my favorite reaction is when I do say something and people look at me with a mix of wonder and awe like the brilliant little baby who just learned not to poo in his own pants. Or the puppy who gets an extra treat the first time he sits on command. I'm a puppy with a new trick. My teacher was so excited about something I managed to say in class today that she started clapping before she realized what she was doing and stopped herself and apologized. Frankly, I was so amazed by what I'd conjured that I was clapping too and couldn't blame her. As they say, "di niente". (They really do say that.)
Every year for the past few years I've been fortunate enough to be invited to my friends' children's school for Friends & Family day. The day came around again last week and for the first time in a few years I wasn't able to go. This was the upshot:
Granted I wasn't even invited this time, so to be fair, both parties have legitimate complaints. The worst part is that Pidgeon did go and now she can claim (fairly?) the kids love her more. Dammit. Morgan, I can't believe you turned on me so quickly. No presents for you! I expected this from your mother but never from you.
Have a great Halloween everyone! I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
When I came to Europe in the spring of 2008 there seemed to be a lot of stories about America's perception abroad and even suggestions to travel as a Canadian. (Which besides putting a Canadian flag on your backpack I'm not sure how that's even done. Maybe saying "Excuse me" whenever someone knocks you over or cuts in front of you in line. Canada, America's hat.) But the travel advice was to do anything in order to avoid being labeled an American. I never noticed anything overt, but with that history in mind I was a little curious about how I would be received here. It's been nothing but positive. And to my surprise, I've even been told Italians love Americans. Go figure. I guess they grew sick of all the Canadians. It's true that most people upon learning I'm from Portland, Oregon, get a confused expression on their face. Once they learn Oregon is near California they excitedly tell me about how they've been to New York or Florida. California automatically links to Florida and New York somehow. My roommate Deborah has a friend who lives near Bellingham, WA but as far as she is concerned that is Seattle and won't be convinced otherwise. Oregon doesn't exist, but the US is great, English is great, Obama is great. Toronto sucks. Haha.
Recently I wrote, and you might have read, about my progress in learning the local language. Well, on that front, I've recently started trying to join real live conversations. I emphasize the word trying in that sentence. When I think of a question to ask or a phrase to add, by the time I've sussed out what was said, realized I understood it, and formulated my part of it , they are no longer talking about the color of their socks but have moved on to discussing the new wines from this season's harvest or something. At that point, my startling and brilliant revelation that my socks are indeed black (i miei calzini sono nero) is either irrelevant and unstated or brings the conversation to an abrubt and confused stop if stated. But progress nonetheless!
I have a new criteria for classifying people (I'm still using the one about how they look in a short skirt or might look in a bikini but this new one supplements it) - it's how they react to my attempts at mangling Italian. I'm still working on it but it basically ranges from obnoxious (rolling their eyes and dismissive) to saintly (just let me prattle on with only slight corrections and cheerful encouragement) and in between are people who correct every single freaking syllable in an attempt to be helpful to those who speak so quickly I don't have a prayer of understanding and making no attempt to adjust. I have to frequently remind myself that I have been guilty of the same or worse with non-English speakers and besides, it's their country and my job to learn the language not theirs to come down to my level. But they are still being graded. So either be nice or shorten that skirt!
As always, my favorite reaction is when I do say something and people look at me with a mix of wonder and awe like the brilliant little baby who just learned not to poo in his own pants. Or the puppy who gets an extra treat the first time he sits on command. I'm a puppy with a new trick. My teacher was so excited about something I managed to say in class today that she started clapping before she realized what she was doing and stopped herself and apologized. Frankly, I was so amazed by what I'd conjured that I was clapping too and couldn't blame her. As they say, "di niente". (They really do say that.)
Every year for the past few years I've been fortunate enough to be invited to my friends' children's school for Friends & Family day. The day came around again last week and for the first time in a few years I wasn't able to go. This was the upshot:
Granted I wasn't even invited this time, so to be fair, both parties have legitimate complaints. The worst part is that Pidgeon did go and now she can claim (fairly?) the kids love her more. Dammit. Morgan, I can't believe you turned on me so quickly. No presents for you! I expected this from your mother but never from you.
Have a great Halloween everyone! I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
Monday, October 19, 2009
I Did This
Nella stanza, c'è una finestra e dietro il vaso. Fuori dalla finestra c'è un treno. Il treno è sopra al mare. Ci sono quattro poltrone nella stanza. Le poltrone sono davanti ai tavoli, e il telecomando è sopra il tavolo. Il quadro è sulla parete non è sul tappeto. Ci sono tre piante nella stanza e ci sono due divani. Dove è la stanza? La stanza è nella casa e la casa è in compagna perche è molta tranquilla e non rumorosa. La casa della stanza è accanto alle montagne.
It took me over an hour to write that originally. The assignment was to do 60 words but I went way over that. For my efforts I received a "Bene!" and one smiley face which is about a B+ I guess. My teacher is stingy.
In other news...
There have been lots of questions about my two other roommates - the girls. Most of them have focused on shallow, physical subjects instead of about substantive things like personality and character. C'mon people, it's what's on the inside that matters. Before I left Portland I had been told that I would have two roommates - Raimundo and a Brazilian university student. A few creative souls convinced themselves and me that out of a country of millions, I had won the lottery and was fortunate to draw one of Giselle Bundechen's little sisters to share my apartment (I just lost 20 minutes of my life when I Googled Giselle's name to see how to spell it and got stuck on her photo search results). Where was I? Oh yes, when I arrived, much to my shock, my only roommate was Raimundo, the Brazilian had left and I had two women living with me not one. Neither of them related to Brazilian supermodles of any sort. They had been on holiday so it wasn't until last weekend that I actually me them. Deborah and Alice are their names and they are both Italian and come with boyfriends.
They are very, very nice, but slobs. You know how I am. Raimundo is the same way as me. The girls are both not. Every night I come home from work to their school stuff all over the dining room table and their breakfast and lunch dishes sitting in the sink. But that's the worst of my problems so I'll survive. They've only been there a week so I don't want to make any big assumptions but I think we'll get along fine but I don't know that we'll ever be super close which is ok. Raimundo is cool and we seem to be hitting it off.
I think one of Raimundo's friends got us tickets to the Ancona soccer match next weekend. The team plays in the second division but have been much better this year than expected and are near the top of the group so that's cool. They even made national highlights a couple weeks ago because one of their players scored a goal from mid-field. The games aren't on TV, but they are on local radio so on match day, all the shops and bars broadcast the game. It's prtty cool to walk around and see groups of people gathered around listening and discussing the game.
This weekend is some kind of festival in Ancona. A map was published marked with all the best restaurants to buy beer (cool map!), there is going to be some sort of city tour or parade led by a group that calls themselves 'the faggots' (I may have messed up that translation), there are live bands in the different piazzas, all the shops will be open late and there is a big flea market in the main piazza. It's been raining all week but is supposed to be nice this weekend so it should be good timing. Of course, I may have completely misunderstood the brochure and there is nothing of the sort going on so we'll have to see.
I got my first haircut in Italy this week. I don't speak Italian. Marco the Barber doesn't speak English. Lothar tried to explain what I wanted done. It could have gone a lot worse. It looks ok but is a lot shorter than I am used to. That's why we have hats!
Is purple a popular color for clothes this season in the US?
Work was good this week. I received my first project from a client, I sent out my first estimate to a new prospect, and my reps submitted their first requests for estimates. Starting to have a little traction. Hoping it keeps building. What's with this economy?
I wonder what Eric is doing right now?
What Everyone Else Around Here Learned In Kindergarten
A frequent question is how is the Italian coming? Well, it is and it isn’t. On the one hand, if you judge by the stack of flash cards I’ve made and memorized, it’s coming along quite well. On the other hand, if you judge by my ability to form complete sentences then it’s coming along quite poorly. On the other hand, if you judge by the eloquence and quality of the conversations I have in my mind it’s coming along quite well. On the other hand, wait, there is no other hand. So like I said, it is and it isn’t.
I judge myself pretty harshly so most days I’m frustrated with the pace that I’m learning Italian. I would describe it as glacial but even glaciers show signs of forward progress if you stare hard enough. Honestly, I know a lot of words, a fair number of verbs, some adjectives, a few prepositions and even an article or two. But for every word there is the masculine and feminine form plus singular and plural. Don’t get me started on conjugating prepositions or creating the possessive form. That was an entire week of classes.
A couple things that are hard to wrap the mind around...Italian, when spoken correctly, sounds just like when you're making fun of people speaking Italian. That's probably the wrong way to put it, but it's all I can come up with. All the vowels are pronounced. Most words end with a vowel and you say the sound so you end up sounding just like a cartoon version of yourself. And everyone really is called Marco or Paulo, or Gino and you say Ciao and Prego a lot. They're serious even if it doesn' t sound like it. And conversations sound like arguments so you think two people who just a moment ago were having a lovely conversation are now about to kick each other's ass. Also, 'i' is pronounced 'e' and 'e' is 'eh' and 'c' makes a 'ch' sound while 'ch' makes a 'k' sound. That causes some pronunciation confusion while reading aloud. Fortunately, the language is very phonetic so spelling is pretty straight-forward and there aren't many spelling exceptions. But like any language there are exceptions to rules: you work "in una banc" or "in una posta" but you live "a una casa". You just do.
Every day I leave class vowing to use some of my new knowledge on the unsuspecting locals. But seriously, when was the last time you had a conversation describing the contents of your bedroom or describing what you were wearing. The person is standing right in front of me, they know my pants are blue and my shirt is black and they really don’t care that I have a garbage can but no rug in my room! The few sentences I do get out are so badly mispronounced that my listener just has to shake their head in confusion and then switches to English in sympathy. On the rare occasions when I ask a question or respond to something correctly and see the look of surprise and pleasure bloom on the listener’s face, a feeling akin to my third kiss bubbles up. There’s nothing like saying “Anche a te” (And you too) to someone who has just wished you a good evening and seeing them smile proudly at the little trick you just performed.
It is a real shock to me how isolating not knowing the language actually is. When I first arrived I had to have a co-worker write out instructions for how to order prosciutto from the butcher because I had no idea how to tell them how much I wanted. In the beginning, if someone started speaking to me, I would stop them and tell them I didn’t speak Italian. That was one of the first phrases I made sure to learn. Now, I've stopped telling people I don't speak Italian because they don't care, they just keep talking. So I nod and smile and feel like a complete idiot. I go out with Raimundo and his friends and just sit there as conversations go on around me. My roommates speak Italian together even when I’m in the room and I swear they are talking about me. Not only am I ignorant but also paranoid. That part is hard, not being able to engage in the everyday occurrences and conversations.
It's actually good that I'm in a small town because not a lot of people outside my work speak English. If I was in a big city it would probably be easy to fall back on it but here it's sink or swim. So far, glug, glug, glug. It doesn't feel like it yet, but I think it will really help with learning the language. To be fair, I can get through minor interactions like ordering lunch in a restaurant or buying something at the bakery.
That said, I live in fear of people going off script. You see, for many interactions, I feel like I can prepare in advance for them by memorizing my lines. For example, before going to the deli counter I memorize the name of the meat I want and exactly how much. Simple, right? What if what you thought was the name of the meat was actually just the region all the meat in that section happens to come from? Now you’ve just ordered 200 grams of Ungherre but they’re all Ungherre. Which Ungherre do you want? Well, then it’s back to mumbling and waving the hands about until they figure you out. I always take care to stand where I can see the read-out of the cash register because no matter how much I practice my numbers, I still can’t catch them when spoken at normal speed. No problem, but what happens when you hand over your fifty euros and the girl gets distracted and forgets to give you your change? That simple transaction turns into a silly pantomime wherein you helplessly try to act out that you need your change because you don’t have a clue about how to say, “I still need my change” or any variation of that sentence and the only charades you know how to play are perverted charades learned at a drunken party on Thanksgiving two year ago and frankly that’s not going to help all that much right now. So once again, mumbling and waving the arms.
I realize none of this is spells the end of the world, but it is frustrating and it does wear me down from time to time. Some days I come home and want to scream if I have to hear another word of Italian. And then one day you’re walking to lunch and laughing at something someone said and you realize they said it in Italian and you understood! Now that’s cool. Give me a couple more months at this and we’ll see.
I wonder what Eric is doing right now.
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