Ahh, Italia…
…where questions of
what to eat for dinner are passionately debated over lunch, where hands flail
about as gracefully and as expressively as the nuances of a person’s voice,
where coffee is as dark and powerful as a single, swift punch to the nose, and
the time is always right for a little bit of zealous yelling—-in short, Italy
is a country of confidence and passion, of commitment to certain good things in
life such as food, wine, and conversation, and of highly valued stubbornness.
…which is where I
come in. I arrived in Italy as dramatically as I could, sobbing on the airplane
to the horror of several Danish children who kept peeking at me over the seats—-crying
in joy to be returning to my former home.
Since then, I have been sampling the culinary delights of Italy—-risotto
alla Milanese, tiramisú dusted with dark cocoa, gnocci served in a light red
sauce. My friend Lorenzo tells me that it is the simplicity of an Italian meal which is so attractive. “To eat simply is to experience the true
flavor of something,” he says, his hands opening in front of him in a gesture
of purity. “We Italians never over-season our food.” Dreamy, I know. This little gem of conversation came forth in
a heated discussion on the superiority of Italian pizza over “la schifezza che fanno i americani.”
(Translation: the crap we make)
I am here in Milano
only until I can find a farm to volunteer at.
I have a few leads, and hopefully I will get situated this coming week
in a nice farm in the south of Italy, perhaps in Puglia. I would like to be by
the sea, milking sheep…
No comments:
Post a Comment