Burnt by the Tuscan Sun

Italian Stories: Groundhog's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Fri, 29 Jan 2021 08:00:00 +0000

What does an Italian Groundhog look like? A blackbird.

Turns out, while Americans wait and see if a groundhog will see its shadow, the Italians have their own mother nature equivalent: I giorni della merla - The blackbird's days which fall on the last three days of January and indicating the coldest days of winter. And although weathermen report that there are (often) days much more frigid, turns out that in the Old Country, Old Wives' Tales are tough to defeat. We'll just call them, Alternative Facts worthy of their staying power.

But leave it to the Italians and their gift for gab and you'll find that the legend has now morphed into a number of different tales, to be recalled by future generations, depending on your point of view. So, pick your tale:

I. During a very cold winter in Milan's Porta Nuova (I like this, my old stomping grounds)...a family of white birds took refuge in a courtyard of a palazzo. The father could not find food due to the cover of fallen snow. It kept right on snowing, so the father bird decided to fly out of the snowstorm looking for food. Before he left, he settled the mother & three baby birds near a smokestack for warmth. Able to return only after the storm had passed (3 days), he found his family black with soot. The sun came out in February, marking the end of winter, but by then even the papa bird had turned black and from then on, blackbirds were born.

II. ...It was so cold that the family - unable to even flap their wings - perched its nest atop the smokestack. Finally, after three days they could fly away - but by that time the white birds had turned black, and from that point on, the blackbird came to be.

III. This version becomes more dark (in tutti sensi): The papa bird left his family inside the chimney, and went out to search for food. Upon his return, finding his mate all black, he didn't recognize her and left. She died of hunger.

IV. Two young blackbirds return to the hometown of the young female in order to marry, situated beyond the Po River. Afterwards, once they left for home, back over the river, it got to be too late and too cold. So they spent two days more nearby with relatives. On the third day, their next attempt, it was so cold that the male died -- and that's why today you can still hear the lament of the female along the Po river each end of January.

One astute blogger reported the actual temperature indications. In fact, they found that:

The average temperature of the three days in question is 3.6 degrees celsius, while the average of all of January is 2.8 degrees. At nearly 1 degree more, it "proves" that legends and tall tales are just that, indeed.

Nonetheless, be sure to throw an extra blanket on your bed just to be sure...

Good Form

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sun, 10 May 2020 13:12:00 +0000

Why are you out and about? I'm out of paper and toner from printing out self-declarations...

A fab way to get around printing the forms...
From the folks who gave us t-shirts with a
seatbelt printed on it (used in Naples!) ;)

In the time of coronavirus, the Italian 'bella figura' has taken on new significance. No, I'm not talking about those designer facemasks coming out from Gucci or Prada. But the forms that have accompanied us during the crisis. Rather than simply asking a driver, "Where are you headed?" when the crisis hit, bureaucrats from the island of Lipari to Lodi in Italy's north (and the epicenter) quickly came up with 'the form'.
I have an entire chapter in my book dedicated to the 5-dimensional one-sided chess game that is Italian bureaucracy. In it, I describe how I believe these administrative contortions actually do a better job than the BrainWell app. They keep our Italian octogenarians as sharp as tacks.
And because Customer Service is also a challenge in the Bel Paese, every so often, out would issue an addendum to the previous form, essential to brandish should we have the temerity to exit our homes. Now that we're relatively free to roam in Rome, a new form accompanies our excursions.
I used to muse about the poor blokes in the back office of the Italian post office – the ones that took our 4 copies of receipts all duly signed for no apparent reason when we retrieved a registered letter. Who were these guys forced to match signatures with the i.d. cards that the poor clerk would take a copy of somewhere between the window and the break room (and from the time lag involved, stopping for an espresso along the way)? I'm certain they kept monks in monasteries well-employed for centuries. So who's checking your 'self-declarations'? I long for the days the cops could just pull you over and inquire, "Where are you going?" Because these forms - and, judging by the increase in traffic and pedestrians over the past week - are thankfully not putting a dent into our newfound freedoms. Just a furrow in our forests.

Collect the first volume of your Self-declarations!

The Coronavirus Blues

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sun, 22 Mar 2020 16:46:00 +0000

As the cases rise and rise and rise some more in Italy, the tragedy that has befallen our Bell' Italia has certainly made headlines the world over. The loss of life and systemic stretching of all our healthcare resources belies comprehension. Healthcare personnel, often paid less than your average Walmart worker, are in full force working 12 or 15 hour shifts, meaning they're getting paid even less than an elementary kid's corner lemonade stand earns, hour by hour – just to be where they were trained to be in our time of need. Tirelessly trying to save the predominantly elderly of our nation, a place where nonni – often the main caregivers of the country's bambini – are as revered as the Statue of David itself.

I count myself lucky. As a dog owner, I get to go out and about, to take in the stillness, and watch as some of my elderly neighbors brave the unknown as they make their way to the pharmacy or corner store. Ever defiant, they refuse to be stuck inside.
I cross the piazza, with ease and grace. For the first time in my nearly 30 years in Italy, I am not afraid of being run down by a distracted driver, who then gives me The Hand after nearly flattening me or my dog as they race to the red light ahead. That's because, there are almost no cars on the streets. And now, road blocks with police stops are keeping it that way.
The feeling in Rome is not unlike feeling as though you, and the handful of others who cross your path, making sure to avoid each other's gaze, are survivors of an H-bomb... which left buildings intact but disintegrating on impact most of the people. You don't know why you've been spared, but here you are, picking up your mozzarella at the corner store as if nothing had changed at all.
And while my life has been for the most part unaffected, with dog walks and remote working prior to the pandemic, there are many things I miss of my Italian existence pre-Covid19 (with trash strewn along all the streets and sidewalks not one of them).
Please feel free to add yours.

- Gaggles of old codgers lined up on benches engaged in vibrant conversations, day in, day out. It behooves me to think what they have to talk about 362 days a year, but there you have it.
- The old ladies, in the sun, not so far behind. This is a relatively newer trend over the last decade or so. As they were usually to market in the morning and then preparing il pranzo, cleaning up afterward. I think that between male mortality rates and women living longer have given them some liberties to afford bench sitting.
- The contented silence of the neighborhood. When it is this quiet, it usually meant that that the Roma team was playing soccer somewhere. And then, from the quiet, would spurt the occasional geyser of cheers or groans, or mostly shouts after a ref made a bad call or the other team scored. These days, no cheers ring through the condo complexes. Just silence.
- The hair stylist guy hanging in the doorway to have a smoke. We have watched our hair color change over the years, and I can't help but think each time I pass he wants me to step inside for a treatment. He's still waiting for me to become a customer.
- The florists burst of colors in the piazza. I don't think a day has gone by when I don't wonder how, exactly, the money laundering scheme on cut flowers works. Because these guys, open 24/7 have been my cold case for 30-odd years. Gone.
- The farmer's market, where everyone has their favorite market stalls. Where they still address me with the formal greeting, 'Lei', despite my having seen them grow from middle schoolers to vegetable sellers in their own right. A quick recipe suggestion and a handful of parsley thrown in for good measure.
- People watching at the post office. These days, people approach with trepidation (although I must admit, some things never change...). Their 6 inch thick windows made to block any productive conversation from ever transpiring, are deemed not thick enough. We now have tape to stand back even further. Just hand over the envelope and hope you don't need a pen to sign a document (4 times over) that no one will ever return to to actually verify your signature.
- The sound of coffee grinding in coffee bars across the land. If we could stand in a line for groceries, I don't know why we couldn't for cappuccino. But certainly, fewer people at their jobs reduces the rate of infection for all.
- And finally, grandparents escorting their grandchildren around, engaged in animated conversation, no matter how old they are (both parties, intended). Now, the kids can't see the nonno...or as one exasperated young man confessed, "If I can't even give my nonna a hug, then I'd rather just sit it out and not go over there for the duration of this lockdown." Of course, he shouldn't anyway.

What are you missing? Maybe tomorrow I'll give a tidy list of the things I hope and dream will never come back.

*If you would like to help out the medical personnel fighting on the front lines of the Coronavirus pandemic, here is a fundraiser for the hospital in Italy's northern town of Bergmao to go toward buying masks and ventilators. GOFUNDME BERGAMO HOSPITAL ASSOC.

PHOTO CREDIT: Patellani, Federico (1911/ 1977), fotografo principale - Roma (RM), Italia, 18/04/1943

Meet Italo - Italy's Other Train Line

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sun, 22 Mar 2020 09:17:00 +0000

I have long preferred Italy's sleek train line, TrenoItalo or Italo Treno (depending on their web master's viewpoint) to Italy's Trenitalia FrecciaRossa service. I still stand by this rave review (below), although I *wish* they would add to their groovy announcements to shoo people away from the doorways when they come into the station. The smokers stand - even on the steps - to cop a quick smoke, making you walk through their disgusting nicotine haze just to find your seat.

Back in the day, I had given it the white glove treatment, and on the whole, it came out in flying colors, namely red, like the Ferrari it purports to be. Only time will tell if it's the hullaboo of a big opening, or if their idea of putting service back into the train system will work [still going strong!] We can monitor their five-star opening, and see if the star eventually falls out of the sky, piece by piece, like the Red Arrow before them, or see, unlike Trenitalia, they're able to keep up the promise of You deserve better when you travel.

So, let's take my experience on the spanking new Italo train from the top:

Anyone who's lived in Italy knows that Italians love to have two wholly different brand names for any major thing -- like Fiumicino/Leonardo Da Vinci airport, or the Mona Lisa/La Giaconda. I'm not sure where this practice started, perhaps with Popes taking new names when they became the Big Formaggio. So with Italo Trains. The website says Italo, the trains are called Italo, the trains, company and other communications shout out NTV (which always makes me think that they're competing with MTV - Music Television and not Trenitalia/Ferrovie dello Stato).
Note: They *finally* got the memo and stopped with the NTV nonsense. So now up on the board you will see ITALO, as it should be.
The website reaches near-nirvana, with its easy-on-the-eye graphics, fun things to see and do, pages that actually go where they say they will, and the ease of making a ticket purchase without having to have a PhD in deciphering hieroglyphics just to see your options. I got two low-cost tickets for about 20 euro each to my destinations (Rome-Florence/Florence-Milan), half price on most fares. The English website, while needing some touch-ups, is pretty much as good as it gets.
At the Rome Tiburtina railway station, a greeter welcomed us in the bowels of the station and sent us seekers of all good things to the lovely waiting room up in the piazza. Open to all travelers - not just those who have paid an annual Club Card fee. Their friendly, informative staff helped all and sundry - and the best part was, dogs were welcome! I would imagine that if we still had luggage carts, they would have allowed them in as well, unlike the competition. Huge clocks right in the doorways made everyone's life easier as did the setup for laptops and recharge stations.

[A note about the new redesign of Rome's Tiburtina train station: Someone finally made the connection, only after 160+ years, that people traveling by train actually carry luggage. They have built RAMPS up to the platforms. Traveling with a huge bag, doggy bag, computer bag & and other sundry items, there are no words to express my gratitude.]

On board the train, it thankfully had none of the features of the miserable Eurostar. Seats were comfortable, made for real people under 6' 1", and bathrooms were clean. I'll update this in a year's time (still fairly clean, especially in a Covid world). Internet on board works well, and you still don't need an internet connection, four aliases and a papal decree in order to log in and run it (see: Trenitalia).
We arrived in Milan about 20 minutes behind schedule. Which made me wonder about the NTV logo sporting a speedy hare. After all, even Italians grow up with the fable of the tortoise and the hare...But, I've said it before and will say it again, Italy is nothing if not brand image-challenged. Nonetheless, even if NTV did use a tortoise logo, I will look forward to never having to venture into a Trenitalia website nor on board a Trenitalia train again. Now, if NTV could just open up in the USA, offering hey - MTV videos as well on board, life would be a dream.

Postscript: While I love all the creature comforts, I pray that little by little they don't whittle down all these features as their TrenItalia brethren did. Back in the day, we were offered a banquet of customer perks from private meeting rooms to welcome drinks and free luggage check; only to see them all removed, one by one, once the customers came on board.
A 2020 Update: Well, they took away the waiting rooms and fab outlets in all the stations...no more greeters either. Their staff still remains friendly as always, and the smokers still perch in the doorways...

Pictures of my train experience can be found at Irreverent Italy Facebook page.

Mussolini comes to Washington

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sun, 28 Oct 2018 22:07:00 +0000

Propaganda • Politics • Public Works • the Bully Pulpit

Four Trump plays from the Mussolini handbook

At his mass rallies, President Trump likes to quip that maybe President for Life is a pretty good deal. From where I sit in Rome, it’s hard to tell on some days, who said it better? Trump or Mussolini?

Although little Benito started out in abject poverty, the differences between the two end there. As a child, he was considered unruly, aggressive and moody.

Mussolini grew up to become a media man who understood how much power properly placed propaganda held to prop him up. As he carried out his mission to establish a one-party state, fortunately, he would not achieve totalitarian rule because the monarchy and the papacy acted as a sort of check on his ambitions and power; not to mention the allies later running offense up and down the Italian peninsula, Africa and elsewhere to resoundingly put him and his fascist ways asunder.

But first, about that monarchy: The House of Savoy was beloved by the people – it's said that even the Margherita pizza was named after a Queen. Mussolini's Fascist party would eventually march on Rome forcing King Vittorio Emanuele III to dissolve parliament and make Mussolini not only Prime Minister, but Minister of the Interior and Foreign Affairs to boot. Mussolini, a great proponent of public works, quickly set off to clear the way for a massive avenue - the Via dei Fori Imperiali - so he might hold tributes in front of the huge white monument erected for Italy's kings.
But by the time the war ended, the Savoia’s would be run out of the country into exile in Egypt; their palaces and properties confiscated, and no male heirs or royal consorts permitted ever to return. This held up until 2003, when Parliament figured that by then, they were quite toothless, only to discover that the former Prince had used his idle time to start up a prostitution ring in the northern gambling town of Campione d’Italia. His son recently set up a street food stand in LA. I guess they could use the dough.

But why did popular sentiment turn on them so quickly? Italians, after the war, realized that the monarchy had not defended its own people – pretty much its only real job description, other than that of opening bottles of champagne for visiting dignitaries. Mussolini had enacted the racial laws and before anyone knew it, Italian citizens, Jews, were being rounded up from the ghettos, eventually to be hauled off to death camps to the North, most never to return. This was too much for the peaceful people of Italy – even for those who had so blindly supported Mussolini and his muscling in on their basic liberties.

At rallies—surrounded by supporters wearing black shirts—Mussolini caught the imagination of the crowds shouting, 'Viva l’italia!' Many Italians, especially among the middle class, welcomed his authority. They were tired of strikes and riots, responsive to the flamboyant trappings of fascism, and ready to submit to dictatorship, provided the national economy was stabilized and their country restored to its dignity. It would be declared:

“Either the government will be given to us, or we will seize it by marching on Rome.”

[source: Brittanica]

So how did Mussolini rise to wield such power over a people and get away with it…that is, up until he was hanging by his feet from a lamppost in Milan, marking the end of WWII? At least in Italy. And especially for him? When elected Prime Minister in 1922, his Fascist party held only 32 of 535 seats. This guy, who many considered a blowhard, and far too young and unprepared for high office, swiftly obtained ‘emergency powers’, garnering control over parliament. In his defense, he remarked, “It is really easier to give orders myself instead of having to send for the Minister concerned and convince him about what I have done.” Just one year later, he would introduce a law to gain absolute majority in parliament. By the next election, the Fascists would secure 66% of the vote.

“I have absolute right to do what I want to do with the Justice Department."

To gain support of the people, Mussolini operated a binary system: employing intimidation or threats to suppress his opponents, while at the same time pretending to be a moderate when it came to crafting deals. He would be the lone warrior against that ultimate evil, socialism: “Italy… wants peace, wants quiet, wants work, wants calm; we will give it with love, if that be possible. Or with strength if that be necessary.” But who said it best?

“It should be a bill of love,” Mr Trump said, but “it also has to be a bill where we’re able to secure our border. Drugs are pouring into our country at a record pace. A lot of people coming in that we can’t have.”

That split message, part conciliatory and part unyielding…

[Independent • Jan 9, 2018]

Mussolini set out to ban opposition parties and non-fascist unions; not unlike corporate America’s decades-long battle against labor and teacher unions – perhaps starting with Ronald Reagan’s mass firing of the air traffic controllers in 1981, and ending with Walmart’s utter disregard for workers, up to Wisconsin’s banning of teacher unions altogether. Mussolini picked off opposition Senators one by one with those finding themselves like a few Dems who today are on the wrong side of the NRA, or publicly humiliated after a particularly cogent grilling of one’s Attorney General.

Pocahantas…Flakey…Flunkey…”Except for one senator, who came into a room at 3 o'clock in the morning and went like that [gesturing thumbs down, ndr] we would have had health care too, think of that.”

But one of the most effective tactics was Mussolini’s private security detail; basically arresting people for any anti-party activity. In the USA, peaceful demonstrators get arrested, others intimidated or frozen out for their ‘anti-patriotic’ stance while drivers are encouraged to plow through demonstrations. And ICE – well, we know which party those families would belong to, if they could vote. Mussolini reintroduced the death penalty in 1926, with scores of ‘traitors’ in line for execution, declaring, “…It will be less and less easy to threaten the government’s existence and tranquillity of the Italian people.” I imagine hordes chanting at his rallies, “Lock them up!” Eventually, 12000 prisoners would be held captive on a remote island, picked up by the private military police and Mussolini’s personal ‘bodyguards’.

“We are going to take a strong look at our country’s libel laws, so that when somebody says something that is false and defamatory about someone, that person will have meaningful recourse in our courts,” adding,

“Our current libel laws are a sham and a disgrace and do not represent American values or American fairness.”

President-elect Donald Trump doesn’t seem to tire of setting new precedents. Despite being provided with a newly bolstered Secret Service detail
after the election, the president-elect has retained his own private security and intelligence force, breaking with tradition and creating operational and potentially legal problems.

[source: Prospect.org]

Mussolini knew that another pillar to take down would be opposition newspapers, so he started censoring them, harassing editors or forcing them into exile. He ultimately proclaimed that one could only report within the confines of the State – his State – and no one would be permitted to muddy its name or actions. While obstructing the opposition press, he used his own newspaper, Il Popolo d’Italia (People of Italy) to spread his State propaganda. Even military defeats would be portrayed as a win.

President Trump kicked CNN reporter Jim Acosta out of the Oval Office after the reporter badgered him with questions. “Out!”

While speaking about or tweeting about “fake news!” 153 times

in his first 11 months in office.

Enter Matteotti – who denounced this despot as early as 1924 -– “You want to hurl the country backwards, towards absolutism… We will defend by demanding that light be shed on elections” he challenged, culminating his impassioned speech with, “Now you can prepare my funeral oration.” Matteotti would be assassinated in short order, allegedly by Mussolini’s own private security force. In protest, 150 opposition members left the Chamber during one of Mussolini’s speeches. He quickly proclaimed that anyone leaving would not be allowed back into the House.

“The true believers who pulverize the search for truth are a fixture of American life. Their attachment to their heroes is absolute and impregnable. They have built themselves a big, beautiful wall. They have laid the cornerstones of absolutism. [source: The American Prospect]

On the Democratic Black Caucus:
“They were like death, un-American. Somebody said treasonous. Yeah, I guess, why not?

Can we call that treason? Why not?

I mean, they certainly didn’t seem to love our country very much.”

To further consolidate his power, he turned a blind eye to tax evasion by big business and introduced religious education in public schools. He brought the men of the cloth to his side by increasing pay for the clergy and banning contraception, while at the same time, locking his own former mistress and her child in a lunatic asylum, lest they speak out.

Trump signs new budget deal giving taxpayer money to churches
in direct violation of the U.S. Constitution.

It seems a swathe of people were still more inclined to protect the unborn than their own freedoms. Mussolini chirped from his balcony in Rome’s Piazza Venezia for every decree: “The truth is, the people are tired of liberty.” Once he determined he could govern by decree, he would hand down a dizzying 100,000 of them.

Trump issued more Executive Orders in his first 100 days in office than any president since Harry Truman.

By 1928, just 6 years after taking power, all new newspapers would be banned. Thankfully, in a digital age this is impossible, but terming any opposition article, “fake news” or insisting that journalists are the “Enemy of the People” while muddying the waters with real fake news, comes as close as you can to mirroring the nefarious deeds of the past in the new millennium. Soon, Italians would be ‘educated’ with pro-fascist viewpoints alone – resistance outlawed entirely.

More than 200 protesters arrested on Inauguration Day will face felony rioting charges

In just under a year, by restricting the freedom of the press, the Fascists were fully in control of the people of Italy. The result? Mussolini became ever more popular, convincing the populace that extensive public works projects put people to work while educating the masses in civic virtue. It was not long for people to see that a strong single governing body would create an even stronger, united Italy.

"I hope they arrest these people because they're really violating all of us," Trump said.

His fervor to ‘go it alone’ (up until joining Hitler) was legend. But who said it better? “We become strongest, I feel, when we have no friends upon whom to lean, or to look for moral guidance”.

“'America First' - we won’t be lectured by corrupt countries on the Palestinian and Israeli issue."
"I am a Nationalist."

This ushered in the attack on the Deep State or the Cucks, or both – purging them until a fervent 300,000 followers would swear personal alliance to Mussolini, alone. He needed to make sure that the most radical ones who wanted a revolution – say, the Bannon’s of the group – were not allowed near the halls of power. A former (socialist) colleague of his would provide the perfect metaphor for Mussolini: “He is a rabbit, a phenomenal rabbit. He roars – observes those who do not know him – and mistake him for a lion.” Of course – Mussolini was once a socialist. But it would not take long to hear him call out Socialism as “A fraud, a comedy, a phantom, a blackmail.“

“Based on the fact that the very unfair and unpopular Individual Mandate has been terminated as part of our Tax Cut Bill”

In the end, it was this trumped up fear of socialism that allowed Mussolini to cling to power. And even as he gained control over most parts of government, he continued his shenanigans, playing with propaganda, day in and day out, in order to garner more recognition and tributes. His mantra, “The people must accept obedience. They must and they will believe what I tell them…” would soon securely establish his influence over a people. It was, effectively, a one-party state.

“Sean Spicer, our press secretary, gave alternative facts.”

More propaganda tools were set into motion, including the publication, ostentatiously called, The Cult of Il Duce. Mussolini would be the first to appear in a talkie movie. Posters would be printed, and State control over businesses following the crash of 1929 were deemed ‘necessary’ to help prop up the banks. The Corporate takeover of Italy was well-established at this point. Mussolini himself, the ex-socialist, put it this way: “Fascism should more appropriately be called Corporatism because it is a merger of state and corporate power.” Just ask Tillerson. Or the Koch Bros. Or the Waltons, or virtually every cabinet member tied to a major corporation.

“You work for me, you don’t criticize me,” the president was reported to have told one major federal contractor.

Public works projects guaranteed full employment, with Mussolini summoning the ghost of Caesar to make his case. “A nation of spaghetti eaters cannot restore Roman civilization.” In other words, Make Rome Great Again. All told, it was the propaganda machine that gave him a comfortable, uncontested seat at the top. Britain’s Times observed, “Italy has never been seen so united as she is today. Fascism…abolished the game of parliamentary chess… it has given… national respect.”

According to Encyclopedia Brittanica, "Mussolini might have remained a hero until his death, had not his callous xenophobia and arrogance, his misapprehension of Italy's fundamental necessities, and his dreams of empire led him to seek foreign conquests.".

But what about that monarchy or the church as a check on his power? Although the Pope publicly upbraided Mussolini for his anti-semitism and his cozying up to Hitler in 1938, it was not soon enough nor emphatic enough; merely a slight tear in his iron-clad glove. It would seem that the Church still preferred a dictator over a socialist. And the die was cast.

As for the King, Mussolini would simply ignore advice doled out in their weekly meetings, limiting his interaction with the monarch. The King, in an effort to reestablish his position, welcomed the Führer to Rome instead of letting him meet with Mussolini. While still in control of the military, the King made his bed. He would eventually have to sleep in it – in exile.

Mussolini, in a rare moment of frankness, would concede he had had to share power, stating, “There were three of us: me, the King and the Pope.”

Alas, the United States cannot count on either of the latter two.

@irreverentitaly

Blogger & Author, Francesca Maggi

Has been commenting on Italy’s State of Affairs since 2007

Burnt by the Tuscan Sun • Irreverent Italy on Facebook

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Italian Espresso vs American Coffee...What not to order on your next trip to Italy

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Mon, 16 Jan 2017 22:34:00 +0000

I grew up watching those Hogan's Heroes episodes ... they'd stand around...wishing for something hot and then spit out whatever it was they'd be served, usually coffee. BC Comics called it swill. With all that bad press, it's a wonder how any of us grew up to be coffee drinkers. And while I'll take an Illy Caffè Italian cappuccino over any coffee in all 50 states (okay...well maybe excluding New Orleans), when you happen upon a good cuppa...it's really not so bad.

But ask any Italian, and for as long as I can remember...they would wince at the mere thought of taking a sip from that horrid cup of "extra long" used bathwater...And this, I believe, is the true reason why Starbucks didn't make such a swift move into the Bel Paese. In all these years, I never really got into the down and murky dirtiness...to convince Italians otherwise. Who was I to explain that the real reason they were disgusted by Caffè Americano had nothing to do with American coffee? At all.

But then, I was talking to a friend's teenage son who had just come back from NYC. When I asked him what he liked about his trip he said..with a note of surprise in his voice, "I thought the coffee was amazing." While I also think his tastebuds were distracted from the idea of camping out on a plush sofa with freewifi at a a local Starbucks...versus downing a 1 inch high sip standing at a bar counter...I could see his point. Up til now, his version of Caffè Americano was basically the water that is left at the bottom of my Bialetti coffee pot -- after I've already bubbled up the contents and poured it into my cappuccino.

So after 25-odd years, I'm going to finally come clean for the Italian people, and...for all the unsuspecting American tourists who come to Italy - begging for a super long Caffè Americano:

No...An American Coffee is NOT the end result of an espresso machine that's forced to urinate all the leftover water, calcium deposits and murky espresso bean slime until it's a faint yellowish piddle flowing into your cup.

Baristas still seem to think that that's what we do in America. Just add water. Instead, American coffees are left to soak up their Burnt Sienna grounds...percolate, so to speak. [We actually get a bigger hit of caffeine than from a standard espresso because of that.] So..you try an American Coffee at your peril. You begin to beg for something that represents prehistoric swill.

Recently, an American couple breezed into one of the bars on the Appian Way and asked for a big ol' cuppa Joe to Go. They grabbed their Monster-sized cups (by espresso standards, anyway) and took off before I could warn them that what they ordered...wasn't quite an American brew. I found their (full) cups in a bin not much further along.

And so I've now come full circle on the Starbucks in Italy idea...Because, if you could actually serve up real American coffee...who knows? It might just catch on.

POSTSCRIPT: It's 2018 & I just had the experience of ordering a 4.80 "Latte" -- Starbucks has only opened in Milano...and, as I predicted on my Facebook Page @IrreverentItaly , prices were going to be on the up & up -- It's started.

In any case, if you would like to make your own cuppa espresso –– check out the selection of the best of the best! Their team ground, tamped and frothed their way through market leaders to find which machines delivered expert results through an intuitive and user-friendly design. Check it out here
But, do the planet a favor...and stay away from the pods...per favore..

Shopping in Italy...What are they thinking?!

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sun, 18 Dec 2016 21:15:00 +0000

I've said it once. I'll say it again. The entire country is in dire need of Marketing 101. While Customer Service has greatly improved in this internet world (tho' you can still read replies to complaints if you want to get a big kick out of things in the world wide web), I still can't for the life of me understand why people continue to trust GoogleTranslate - rather than a mother tongue individual, or just winging it on their elementary English (Elementary, because they were 8 years old when they stopped learning it). But then, the everlovin' Rebecca Winke over at Brigolante Guest Apartments in Assisi posted this.

A new line of upscale, all-organic dog food hits the Italian shelves.

This will forever go down in the annals of consumer product marketing - right there, next to the place of honor - still holding strong decades long - and still the undefeated champ, SOFFASS TOILET PAPER*, the ultimate in 'straight-talking consumers'. My favorite comment on her thread following, each one better than the next was, So good, your dog will want to eat it - twice. My morning espresso shot straight out of my nose.

I'm convinced they had wanted to say B.A.R.K. I am also convinced, as with Soffass, that there is one highly disgruntled marketing manager, who definitely knows more than his boss (& Company owner), and most certainly knows English. Well. And this person...well, put out the Barf Bags, so to speak. On purpose.

It cannot be any other way. Just can't. Or, to think of another conspiracy theory, one commenter posted that perhaps they really just want to sell more paper towels...! I leave you with the Last Word posted by someone else: It seems dog groomers are to be found throughout the Bel Paese by the name of "Doggy Style". Maybe they know marketing better than I think.

*OMG-No longer undefeated...! It appears they have admitted humble defeat - And the Company has now demoted the best brand name in the marketing firmament and is now going with Sofidel, the Company name.

America Votes...and the World Trembles | #TheTrumpEffect on Italy

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Wed, 16 Nov 2016 22:24:00 +0000

I watched, stunned, from my balcony window as the streets started teeming with protesters, heading over to the American Consulate nearby. I was nervous my car - bearing Michigan license plates - would be vandalized in a day that left “Fuck America” writ on the Consulate walls. In seemingly a matter of minutes, the compassion that the rest of the world had had for the United States was far less durable than those graffiti marks. Down went the American flags that had been displayed in store windows and homes across Europe. Gone were passers-by spontaneously hugging my dog donning his American flag bandana…Heck, gone was the bandana itself. Just eighteen months after September 11th, 2001 America, under its simpleton of a swaggering president, would stumble into Iraq and moor us in the deepest quagmire of our existence. Capturing hearts and minds of the Iraqis? If we had, they’d been traded in from those of the entire population of the rest of the world.

Elections have consequences.

This usurper, who narrowly lost the popular vote, had become President of these United States. A mediocre student and “businessman president” (who was never successful in business) asked daddy to help him live out his boyhood dream of being town sheriff. What could go wrong?

Americans abroad know all too well the effects of America’s own decisions. So much so, each time there’s an election, headlines ponder the results if the entire world could vote right along with us. The Economist did as much during the Obama election (he won by a landslide). When Obama finally reached office, Italian kids in Obama buttons, t-shirts, and dog lore shared their love with the first family. A trip to Italy by Michelle and the girls with photo opps of them wandering out of the Pantheon and later bringing home a doggie bag from a top restaurant added to the panache -- and crushed yet another barrier for Italians; if FLOTUS could take her food back to the hotel, heck so could all the rest of us. Doggie bag shaming would end up in the Italian trash heap of history. But most incredibly, little girls across the continent would quip that when they grew up, they wanted to be President of the United States. Kids of all ages were engaged fully in the U.S. political process.

After Bush & Co.’s policies had not only tanked the U.S. economy, but along with it, Europe’s and most of the world’s…we breathed a collective sigh of relief - so cathartic that Barack Hussein Obama received an undeserved Nobel Peace Prize - his take home trophy just for showing up onto the world stage.

But this brief moment in history would prove to be as ephemeral as gelato under a scorching sun. It would not be long before women were being rated by their looks, added to political gatherings for eye candy, and fish-lipped hotties with bulging breasts and ultra-thin resumes were cropping up in European parliaments and city councils across the country. With their 6-figure incomes, expense spending and jet setting, they shined in the media spotlight - an Italian Miss Universe Barbie goes to Brussels. Parents were thrusting their daughters into the poltical lair, and girls not quite 18 were in line for boob lifts and nose jobs by the hour. It was an epidemic.A media mogul, and the man who gave us desperate housewives stripping off their clothes on prime time became Prime Minister. There are plenty of posts comparing Silvio Berlusconi to Donald Trump but suffice to say, it appears that Silvio has bequeathed his personal How To List to The Donald directly. Berlus - errr — Trump even announced he would not take a stipend for his civil service. Silvio had done that. Kept his Milan Villa, check. Kept his beach hide-away. Check. Spoke highly of Putin. Check. Paid bribes (in the U.S. they’re legal) to make his troubles go away. Check. All Donald needs now is to adopt a little dog and we’d check that, too.
And just as beauty is more than Melania’s shiny complexion deep, the damage visited upon a generation of children being raised in this testosterone-laden brave new world, will be keeping historians busy for millenia to come.

While Donald and all his brashness and lousy sense of humour makes Silvio look like Gandhi (Beppe Severgnini says Churchill), this tag team built on media might and white blight are (almost) one in the same. Although divorced playboy Silvio did not even pretend to be on the religious side of things…he did take pains to line up a girlfriend to take out on public appearances, often dressed in white for the visual effect on voters.

Aside from the cosmetic similarities, hair-plugged Silvio hated being harassed by the media, comedians and random bloggers. He tried and succeeded on passing Gag Laws for bloggers and attempted a fire wall on journalists who might cross his path. He was embroiled in all kinds of lawsuits and claims (some his own) of ill repute. Berlusconi’s brother heads a newspaper that would smear anyone who opposed him, reaching right up to the very thin line of defamation but never crossing it (a right defended much more vigorously in Italy). Silvio flew in his own plane back and forth from Rome. Silvio never did make a blind trust (allowing his kids to run his businesses, as if, over a plate of pasta “How’s business?” might never come up in conversation.) But while calls for his daughter to run in his stead were made, even his kids had the good sense to stay out of politics.

In what may serve as a horrendous premonition (who says things in Italy occur well after America?) Silvio and his rubber-stamp parliament started passing laws that benefited his businesses or media interests, or more blatantly, kept him out of jail. In something that I am sure would not be below The Donald, he attempted at every turn to achieve immunity from all prosecution.

The demeaning of women rose to such a crescendo that the usually passive women of Italy came out in the millions to protest him - just for being Berlusconi. He would flippantly tell students, at the height of Italy’s brain drain, that to get ahead, they’d need to “marry one of my sons.” (only PYTs need apply). His bunga-bunga parties, underage harems, taped recordings, misogynistic comments and idiotic jokes…thankfully, finally garnered him his walking papers. He is far less a public figure - while Bush dumped his Texas ranch stage set, Silvio dumped his “fiancèe”.

But Italians have never truly had the racial tensions that other European countries have. Italy has historically been quite a welcoming place, very Christian (and not in the American hypocritical sense of the word). They now complain they’re being overrun with immigrants (they are), but in a country with 46% youth unemployment, there are no jobs for immigrants to take away. So Silvio never quite turned up the anti-immigrant sentiment to full throttle Donald.

Berlusconi may have been a pit bull with his adversaries, or maybe not (he is rumored to have paid many of them off) - but he was not a bully. He was personable. He enjoyed a good joke (albeit usually on women). But by the time he was heading out the door, we were disheartened to discover that little girls were now saying they wanted to either “go into politics or become a showgirl.” In Italy, post-Silvio, they were one in the same.

People always inquire, when they find out I’m American, ‘Why do you stay here?’ But now, I think they know why. The country that to all and sundry seems like a giant movie set, with its bad guys firing automatic rifles, its music superstars, its 'can do' attitude that would make Ferris Bueller proud…has descended into Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Italians, who have kept the American Dream alive for well over a century, have finally been shaken awake. From the lore of the "Uncle in America” posting dollar bills to relatives in war time, to the success stories of Grom gelato and Luxottica eyewear…This most recent election has snuffed out the pipe dreams of each and every Italian, no matter where they are and how many generations they've been there.

Elections have consequences.

What will be the lasting legacy of a cast of white supremacists and bullies making policy for an entire nation? And what will be the ripple effect (or tsunami, rather) on those of us abroad? Finally, after these less-than-perfect Obama years and the regeneration of our economy, people were optimistic. Today, as I'm stopped in the streets by my African, Middle Eastern and Bangladeshi acquaintances, even Italy’s own immigrants feel the struggle ahead is palpable. And once again, I am overcome with shame.
The writing’s on the wall.

*Coming soon: what America can learn from running elections the Italian way

Italian Fashion: Dress for Success

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Fri, 04 Nov 2016 21:15:00 +0000

A woman recently posited over on Facebook:

Why do I dress 'nicely' for a quick trip to the market just to go out for some bread? I mean, I love dressing up, but really? When you just need to step out for a second? Does anyone know what I'm talking about?

Bella Figura. That's what she's talking about.
As I state in my book, if *only* Americans took the time to get out of their pjs to go to Walmart, KFC or - heck - on a plane...Italians look good even when they're wearing faux-ripped jeans and a pair of Vans. So, they've let their guard down when it comes to honoring their dead...but, I still enjoy the whimsical scarf-wrapping which 25 years later I am still unable to replicate. A friend now living in Malta says that she used to ask an Italian neighbor to "do that thing you do" every time she went out of the house and wanted to wrap a scarf round her neck.
I saw an elder woman leaving her low income housing unit the other day. There she was, with her green loden wool skirt and matching jacket. Perfect hair and shoes to match. I stopped just to admire her as she got into a waiting car. It's the last vestiges of an age where unemployed men would don hats and berets in fine silk suits just to queue up for the unemployment line. I was watching history turn a page.

Photograph by Alexander Beyer of an Italian lady 'vestita di tutto punto" - dressed to the nines - as featured in the street fashion blog Advanced Style.

The rant continues:

I was completely casual and comfortable and about to run out of the house but then stopped myself. I knew I would get "the look" from everyone had I done so. I turned right round to put on some make up, change my shirt, slap on a blazer and cute shoes...Only because this is the norm where I live. Honestly, in LA you could wear your pajamas out and no one gives a crap. But, here... I had on jeans, a t-shirt, sweater, and ugg boots and still had to do a double take and just say No.

The outdoors of any neighborhood all look like it's gangland territory. But the people behind those graffiti-splayed walls....well, I pray they never let that go..even when just stepping out to pick up a loaf of bread. But speaking of bread, just don't get me started on the French and how they look with a golden baguette tucked ever so neatly under arm...

Italian Weddings: Three Weddings & a Funeral

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Wed, 05 Oct 2016 19:54:00 +0000

In Italy the film went by La Sposa Cadevere

I always like to see what's in Italy's "basket of goods" pegged to track inflation in the country...the basket changes almost yearly, to make good on items going in and others out of fashion. Like say, adding SmartPhones and removing land line-type telephones. Or adding little robot vacuum cleaners instead of the famed Folletto (little elf) sold door-to- door [a necessity for sure, so Italian housewives can keep dust from gathering even under the usual 24 hours on their floors.] Announcements of the new and improved basket of goods generally makes headlines.
And so it was, a few years back, when women woke up to the fact that not even Armani's shoulder-padded power suits of the 1980s was bringing them any closer to power...that we collectively ditched our tailleur - or fabulous-fitting work suits.
Year in / year out, I usher them from closet to closet when I change over for the seasons, another tried and true Italian tradition; Hoping beyond hope that they make a comeback lest my treasured Chanel herring bone ends up in the trash heap outside my door.
But the other day, I heard of the most uncanny of traditions - it was so amazing on so many levels, that I couldn't believe it:

Up until not so long ago, on her wedding day, the mother-in-law to be would gift a beautiful tailleur - by Ferragamo - to the bride. Understood by all as something quite wonderful, so that she may have a one perfect outfit to wear at said mother's-in-law funeral.

My Italian friends stated emphatically that it had always been a wonderful thing to receive; after all, couples starting out would not have that kind of disposable income. So for formal events (like funerals) the young bride would always look impeccable. More recently, I have been stunned to see that this particular practice in the land of Bella Figura has more or less gone the way of Americans wearing pajamas on airplanes.
Friends were asking if it was true that Americans still wore black to funerals. I don't think so, but I do think they still don their Sunday bests. In Italy, I have seen ripped jeans and tennis shoes galore...and that was the family of the deceased.
But moving back to dear old mother-in-law, I couldn't help but think up a Saturday Night Live skit for the practice: I mean, here it is, the happiest day of your life, and La Mamma hands a giftbox to you. Marking her death. It sure gives new meaning to the You haven't lost a son you've gained a daughter platitude. The hidden message being, I want you to look good now that you've driven a spike straight through my heart. But don't worry about me...
So now that the tailleurs are no longer in fashion...and marriage is no longer as well, what's a designer - or a mother-in-law to do? Please share your gift ideas for a mother-in-law to give to the bride...in our very own update of a basket of ungodly goods!

Sophia Loren visits the Chanel tailleur show (okay, so they're not Ferragamo)
but thanks to the blog, Come Eravamo

Italy's Fertility Day Gives Birth to Brilliance

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Fri, 23 Sep 2016 20:54:00 +0000

After years of proffering their unique brand of slap-stick humor (reaching its zenith with Johnny Stecchino, Alberto Sordi and I'd say, La Messa è Finita) it took an inane piece of legislative propaganda to make an entire nation find its sarcastic funny bone. Italy's Fertility Day may not have created the bump it was aiming for, but it certainly made for a nice bump in Twitter stocks.
Here's the best of the bunch - delineating the best uses for a woman out there -- after which I'll break down the whole insipid debacle bit by bit:

Basically, Italy's Minister of Health (headed by a woman whose closest brush with laws and healthcare was in reading the Patient Bill of Rights once in a doctor's waiting room), decided that - instead of working with her buddy over at the Ministry for the Economy to improve work conditions and markets -- they would just give women a job to do: make and raise children.

So, Fertility Day was planned. Italians scratched their heads on the terminology used for this piece of fascist propaganda, wondering if this meant that Brexit hadn't pulled out fast enough. For everyone else who figured fertility was close to fertilità, they either went out and watered their plants, or tuned into Pope Francis to see why he issued the statement- in English.

Women soon took umbrage at the idea that they were being asked to basically, lie back and think of Italia. Infertile women, single women who would like to adopt but can't, couples wishing to use surrogates (and can't) and all the other categories of ladies-in-waiting were irate...and not only because of the hormone imbalances as they shot themselves up hoping this time they'd fall pregnant.

Italy has cut 15% in education spending. There aren't enough day cares to meet even a fraction of the demand. And wage stagnation (steady since 1992) has eaten into incomes, with many couples struggling to make ends meet; and those are the ones with two jobs. Women's work is extremely low-paid, and the only fringe benefits are for the boss.

Women who strive to get through college (over 60% of the degrees, though our Minister isn't one of them) find themselves shut out of the job market due to plain and simple discrimination, or baseless fears that in the country with the lowest birthrate on earth, they'll be putting buns in the oven one right after the other. Like China, the single child home is a feature of the Italian landscape.
Men were not considered part of the solution, although my book illustrator, Gianfalco, offered up a pretty good one himself.

click on photo for full post redirect

The commentary was endless...and most of it was sheer brilliance. Except for the (men) naysayers who chose to rant on women who spoke truth to the power of the ill-informed.

So, after backtracking on their misconceived missive, they next double downed to issue a pamphlet on the topic of substance abuse.

Again, the Twitterverse was on fire: Showing sparkling white good families having fun in the sun, compared with the bad things that might happen if you surround yourself with dark people of course doing dark drugs.

It appears our Minister has let go of her communications specialist at this point.
And with that newfound Italian wit of days of yore, Italians offer a terrific turn of phrase which admirably sums up the entire fiasco:

The mamma of imbeciles is always pregnant.

Italy Road Trip - Travel Warnings

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Fri, 19 Aug 2016 21:07:00 +0000

Italians have consistently thought up *everything* from oh, I don't know, the discovery of the New World, to the fax, the telephone, right up to the Google search engine, but then lost it when some clever marketeer took it up a level, declared native Americans, Indians, and just went with it. Ask Galileo. Heck even the popes were in France for a time.
If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times...Italy is seriously marketing challenged. After all, these are the folks who gave us Malpensa (ill thought) Airport and Soffass toilet paper, the likes of which always puts a smile on my face. So lately, traveling a whole lot up and down the gorgeous Italian highways criss-crossing the boot like lovely laces (which, I might add, would put any roads to shame the world over), I can't help but be perplexed by the road signs on every digital board brought to you by the Road Guys responsible for our smooth rides.

This one reads Drive Safely. But sometimes they invite you to go online (whilst commandeering your vehicle at 90mph?) to check out road conditions - which would be seriously messesd up if you took them at their word, started searching the web, and ended up rear-ending the truck ahead of you. Inevitably, you are gifted with a Fasten Your Seatbelts sign when in fact, 5km up the road there's an accident and you just blew by the only exit that would have mercifully allowed you to avoid it. But I digress.
During my umpteen years of driving around the peninsula, nearly every time I see the ANAS logo up above, I get a mini panic attack. That logo (again, at 130 km/hr) looks to me like a car on fire every time I whiz by it. In fact, it tells me there's an entire line of cars on fire in a mass brush fire, just as I plunge headlong into the upcoming tunnel.
Coming face to face with this dot matrix logo is always a good way to get the adrenaline going on long drives. But, taking a closer look (when you're home and online...not calling it up on Siri while careening a curve) and the logo isn't so bad after all.

I'm guessing that it represents Mercury's helmet speeding down the highway, but not so fast -- that block above is basically our Mercurio stumbling to a complete stop in order to pay the extortionate tolls. Or, it symbolizes the long rest he'll take at the rest stop after miscalculating on gas and a glass of water at 1pm, feeding time for the entire country. My personal favorite is that it's Mercury looking for toilet paper.
I play this guessing game in my head just like back in the days before devices were a common feature on car trips...You had to spot the first cow / farmhouse / diner there from the back seat.
For everyone who will be sitting in traffic on their return from the August exodus, well, count this as a marketing freebie. So, thank you ANAS for the graphics. But I'm just wondering how I'll ever come to know when a car is up in flames just around the bend.

Summertime...the Season to Abandon your Best Friend

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Tue, 02 Aug 2016 20:04:00 +0000

A Dog Falls in Vulcano Buono There's been so much 'bad news' out there these days that I have been putting off my annual Dog Days of Summer post time and again. But August is upon us. And the streets of Italy (and many a European country) are emptied. Before long we will hear the mourning of dogs - abandoned - in the night. Or worse. We'll see them chained to lamp posts dying of starvation or lying - stiff - at roadsides.

But this sad story does have a (sort of) happy ending - and that's the undying love and fatigue and endless hours logged by the thousands of volunteers, veterinarians and good hearted souls who, summer after summer, take these poor creatures into their hospitals, their houses, their hearts.

And while it feels to me that this utter contempt for pets' lives has improved over the years, I am quite certain that dogs are still abandoned to their fate with - well, reckless abandon. Here's what it looks like:


This little guy was hit by a car and despite his crushed bones and probably internal bleeding, he kept his head held high for hours upon hours, waiting beyond hope - for rescue. His heart finally gave out and he died on route to the vet.

It is estimated that upwards of 100.000 dogs meet their end at the wheel or bumper of a car. Abandoned on roadways, they zig-zag in and out of traffic, trying to find any familiar scent that would carry them back to the very people they loved and trusted.
I know about this guy's story thanks to the Facebook Page of Gianna Senatore - She dedicates her life to saving these animals and finding them homes across Italy. Some don't make it through the operation, others are returned to her post-adoption. For every miserable story she posts, you can find many successes and smiling faces in the before & after shots of these traumatized pets.
While they are closing down these sorts of centers, while keeping others open that are nothing short of lagers for animals found starving in cages, the Associazione Zoofila di Nocera Inferiore is a beacon of hope.

So what can we mere mortals do?
Repost her photos. Help find forever homes. Donate to these centers. Offer to bring dogs with you to their new homes when you travel. Volunteer your time. And, above all, stop your car if you should see a dog lying - still with some life in him - at the side of the road.

When Will Italy get the Picture?

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Mon, 04 Jul 2016 17:49:00 +0000

In this group of pictures, can you spot the mistake(s)?*

Growing up, I would spend countless hours tuning my laser eyes on those brain riddles, mazes, word searches and drawings. So I admit, I may have a sort of pronounced proclivity for this sort of thing; or in the very least, an acute attention to detail. Whenever these ubiquitous thumbnails come across my screen, I tend to think they are stock photos sadly selected by an unpaid intern in some random social media room. Purposefully employed to promote every iteration of event, conference, meeting and launch. The selection above comes from a pit-stop on the site of the purported Wall Street Journal of Italy, il Sole 24ore. Touting themselves as warriors raising the battle cries of our age -- they purport to shed light on economic growth, education, culture, and more for my fellow paesani in the land of Sole. Except, time and again, it's only half the story; or 49% rather. Amazon warriors need not apply.

Italy is not the only country that runs a foul of mass misogyny (the Vatican, or Saudi Arabia come to mind). You don't need to look too far back when an all-male panel (a "Manel") convened in the US Congress to 'investigate' and weigh in on American women's reproductive rights (we lost...now how on earth could that have happened?). The scene was staight out of a Sharia Courthouse, except the women were spared stoning...But the geyser of misinformation-by-example spilling over and onto every little girl growing up in this culture, is crystal clear: only men can add to GNP / GDP / or be eligible for public office. Any gains we've ever had in this regard have been at the hands of indefatigable women plugging one by one, each and every wellspring of male privilege.

While Italy is going through one of its worst periods of economic recession in modern history (sadly, since about the day I arrived in 1992), youth unemployment at 51% and a brain drain to match Syria's...You can meander on over to the foremost economic journal in the country only to find "experts" wringing their hands over what counter measures could possibly be employed to reverse course. Almost never do these measures involve the empowerment of women; unless they are taking measurements of the pole dancers for the after-party.

A top lingerie company in Southern Italy with worldwide exports boasts that out of 700 salesmen, they have - count - 700 salesmen.

They blithely turn up their noses of the wealth of studies and information put under their very noses by real experts -- like their very own Abramvel (author of Meritocrazia and Regole), who, while heading up McKinsey & Co., demonstrated that companies with over three women in the boardroom outperformed the competition 9:1. Nine times.

Men in power (and that's pretty much all of them) still haven't cottoned onto the fact that there exists in Italy a rather strong continuum that starts with keeping women out of public and economic life to women-as-(near naked) adverts to women as plastic surgeons' grostesque fantasy dolls, to women being massacred -- in their homes or on the streets where they live on a nearly daily basis.

Italy is the country that has brought us lasting imagery as it excels in cinema, staging, sports culture, the arts, big businesses, and even aerospace. When will the daily newsfeeds catch up with the rest of us, and depict women as they truly are. And then, all of us, along with il Sole24ore can truly claim our enlightened country as the Land of the Sun.

Life in Italy - #LifeHacking the Post Office

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Thu, 16 Jun 2016 21:06:00 +0000

Anyone who comes to Italy for even about 36 hours finds out sooner, rather than later, about the notorious Post Office. Their misdeeds are the stuff of legend. Day in, day out when coming across Facebook posts of new arrivals unloading about the umpteenth miscarriage of mail justice that has befallen them, I sort of smirk to myself, smug in my knowledge that while it's cathartic to vent, they ain't seen nuthin' yet.
The Italian Post Office is a singular institution hellbent on making lives miserable. So much so, that I dedicate an entire chapter in my book to it: The Postman Never Rings Even Once. But I truly believe that desperation breeds innovation and it's why we now have email.
And this is 2016. The Poste Italiane has been growing by leaps and bounds in efficiency, branding, banking, heck even free wifi - better to allow you to bide your time while dozens of octogenarians cash their pensions and then stand in front of the clerk for those 98 additional seconds to tuck away in a safe place their cash, or while people fill out the form - three of them - whilst standing at the counter, because to put them out would incite ~~inmates~~, errr, clients to take and waste untold stacks of them. Things have changed so much that they're even charging us about 6 times other countries just for the luxury (and it is a luxury brand in my book) of mailing your letter.
But recently, like many of my compatriots, I had to submit my declaration that I do not, indeed, own a television. I went to the post office for the express purpose of mailing the registered letter. Let me just say that the clerk was super nice [another humongous improvement on the days in which she would have instead refused a letter because the address was written in green pen, or you stapled rather than slathered mucky goo all over the envelope to close it, or that your stamps were crooked, or that you wrote too many lines on a postcard, or you wrote below the line clearly demarcated on the postcard, or you requested far too many stamps, or the box was too big, or too small, or there was a slight bulge in the envelope, or that you wrote a note on the envelope, or you wrote England instead of Gran Bretagna...] I could go on. And on. And on. This is no exaggeration.
And so I was quite taken aback when she told me that I couldn't send my letter that way - meaning, in an envelope. I was quite used to the practice that if you sent a letter in an unsealed envelope, it cost less. So we all used to do that. But..no envelope? This was not in my personal annals of inane postal practices. And then...she did this: Risking her electric blue manicure, she set out to carefully craft an envelope out of my letter, employing scotch tape, stamps & staples. It was an engineering marvel. Standing there, it was as if witnessing a surgeon put one final stitch into a dying patient, or Betsy Ross sewing that last star on the flag...It was pure poetry in motion (and I'm sorry, but my surreptitious video does not do it justice...Did I mention it? No cellphones allowed at the counter? You can imagine where they draw the line on actually videotaping employees.)
Italy often has a lot of wild workarounds for what in other places would be straightforward, standard practice. Like the traffic lights all flashing yellow at midnight (click here for Midnight Run post), to keep people from running red ones. Or, side streets alongside major thoroughfares which I am quite convinced are so guys can pick up prostitutes with ease - without causing traffic jams (anyone riding up the Via Salaria will know what I mean). Recently, our Prime Minister decided that since so many people pat ignored the heinous TV Tax, he would simply tack it onto our electric bills. I don't own a TV and if you want to get my taxation without representation vibe going, this is a fairly good place to start. Thus my registered letter.
Flummoxed, I had to ask the clerk, just what this was all about. And with a straight face she stated that otherwise, people would pay for and send the registered envelope, empty. Basically, it was nipping a he said / she said accusation assault in the bud. They'd have proof of having delivered a declaration, when in reality, nothing was truly signed and sealed. By forcing you to provide the contents via a document-cum-envelope, well, then it had to be legit. I thought it was so you wouldn't send anthrax or bullets to our friends at the tax office for this highway robbery of a TV Tax - I'm sure they get plenty.
As someone who once paid a car accident of $103 in pennies (which is also illegal, btw), I had to admit, this was one genius move on the part of government. Now, about those Panama Papers??!

glide your cursor on colored parts above for more!

Fact Checking Michael Moore's Movie: Where to invade next? ITALY.

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sun, 05 Jun 2016 19:39:00 +0000

A friend living and working in Italy put it best to his Facebook followers: Michael Moore is, after all, a propagandist, not a journalist…He deals in hyperbole, which is why he’s a terrific social commentator and I am a fan. [Albeit by today’s standards in journalism, one could argue that the media's only currency is hyperbole]. And while his focus on Italy filled the collective with a shot of momentary pride, once the effect wore off, it was time to ask…Veritas?

As someone who has visited dozens upon dozens of companies, large and small, across the calf, heel, foot and toe of this boot, I feel the need to fully examine some of the holes that permeate Moore’s footholds. At first blanch, the piece felt a bit too canned, the people a bit too trite for ‘off-the-cuff’, and the supposed candid conversation so circumspect that it reminded me of a Barilla pasta spot, with Bella Figura just oozing out of every pore. Michael Moore is legend here. Knowing your footage might be seen by millions worldwide? Italians rarely show their pock marks and warts––you’d think with that kind of positive spin that Italians would be the happiest people on earth. So much for The Secret.

So, let’s get down to brass tacks:

We are a family — While I’m sure there are many family-owned businesses that treat their workers like a family (so much so that they even share the same bed with a few of the office hotties during those fabulous lunch breaks), the “I love it when they punch out and take 6 weeks vacation - it’s good for business” is a pile of porchetta droppings. I had but one other person in my tiny office and when she’d bolt to the door every day at 18.01 like Barney & Fred, even in the middle of a huge deadline, I would have a mini-meltdown. No matter, I was the only one at the office who would see it. How do you say Yabba dabba doo in Italian?

The man who stated that these incredible workers’ rights were fought for with blood, sweat and tears speaks the truth. In the 1970s, anarchists were cutting down company heads and just a few years back a leading economist was struck down for merely suggesting labour reform. The consequences of business’s antipathy toward workers has lead to Italy’s amazing automation of factories, from Torino to Detroit. My (Italian) boss would quip that America, with its millions of workers, was effectively pre-industrial, while Italy had brought robots in to do the job of dozens of people - post-industrial. Stop to take a look at garbage collection, with 1 guy in 1 truck pushing a button versus Americans pitching bags into the back of a truck and you'll see there is a lot of truth to that.

Photo credit: Daniele Leone / LaPresse

Factory upon factory, owners would proudly claim how technology had allowed them to replace 70 people with just a single robotic line - and with this technology, came a 50% jobless rates besides. All in the quest to avoid the cost of hiring employees who later can't be fired - even if they end up in prison.

Lunch Breaks - While it’s true that companies still break for lunch and provide veggie-laden cafeterias, go to Milano, where it’s far more commonplace to wolf down a sandwich with an espresso chaser. Street food has taken off here for a reason, and not just because it’s all people can afford now that unbridled tourism has heralded in $18 pasta plates. Notwithstanding, it still beats the herd of employees across the USA waddling to their cars to drive across the 5 lane highway to McDonalds & KFC drive-thrus on a daily basis.

Salaries — The young couple was correct. Their paltry salaries may allow them a modicum of quality of life, but let's face it: the average city councilman in a lovely hill town makes the same as Barack Obama, while the 600 strong bloated parliamentarians (in every way) take home two or three times as much, and that's before bribes, lifetime pensions (that carry to spouses and children too) lining offshore bank accounts well before retirement age. It's no wonder most youth aim to "enter politics" - it's the only money-making scheme in the country.
Just as in the USA, wages have been stagnant since 1992. Nonetheless, Italians manage to live better than your average American working three jobs. I believe it's due to their sharing of living quarters with mamma and papa’ up into their 30s. Salting away their pay, while someone else covers all your living expenses (even clothing and Thai resort vacations) and then coughing up the down payment on your house or buying it outright, definitely allows for handy disposable income with which to treat yourselves benissimo.
As for the 13th paycheck? Yes, it’s true. Sometimes it’s even 14 (an extra one in August in order to enjoy your 4 week holidays all the more). But it’s a psychological tactic on the order of David Copperfield: Your annual labour-contracted salary is divided into 13 slices; allowing for gift giving and holiday meals all together as a family. I always liked the concept, but I still beg to differ when people quip how they get an “extra” month’s pay. No, you don’t. Pure and simple.

Labour laws providing for honeymoon time off is a wonderful family-friendly practice. You’d think that Italy would have transformed itself into a Mormon colony just to get those extra 2 weeks. [I mean, this is the place where the “legally blind” are regularly caught behind the wheel.] But pregnancy benefits have gone way too far. A new mother needs two months off before the baby is born? To what end? In Italy, it is oft-seen as bad luck to buy baby stuff prior to the birth, and baby showers are unheard of…All this time off means that young women are not welcomed with open arms into companies that is, unless it's into the open arms of the Company owner.
The rub is, that while Italian women have given up on giving birth altogether (another sign of economic distress), they still don't get hired. Go figure.

Health Care - I haven’t seen enough of the movie to weigh in on whether or not Moore tackled Italy’s healthcare, but it was recently reported that it had one of the best in the world. Not sure about that (living in Italy, I'm healthier than the average American and don't have a general practitioner) but certainly, Italy’s physicians are top-notch and ply their trade worldwide, saving lives in both research and in the operating room. Not a day goes by that another Italian research team doesn’t come out with yet another amazing discovery. When an esteemed Italian doctor I know living in the USA needed a liver transplant for his son, he came to Italy. Imagine what they could do if they were actually funding R&D instead of lavish homes of politicians and government bureaucrats. Nonetheless, it makes it all the more risible when Berlusconi, waxing prolific on the wonderful health system we have, jettisoned straight to the USA the moment a cancer cell appeared on his sun-kissed skin (or maybe we just have better plastic surgeons in the USA? I mean, compare the stunning Sharon Stone to Donatella Versace...)

It is my experience that Italy does, indeed, take quite good care of its citizens, offering them regular checkups and so forth (it’s what the elderly do instead of playing bridge). On the downside, it is said people needing a mammogram may have to wait months, and beds are allotted to the highest bidder--an illegal practice which I hear goes on in the USA as well. But at least, people do not have to sell their house to undergo life saving treatment. Physical therapy - and even spa treatments - are considered part of recovery. In a country where a slight breeze or air conditioning unit can cause every sort of malady, people are allowed to stay home when they are sick, with no reprisals (other than the surprise doctor visits to make sure you're not in Capri instead). In the USA, you have to use up your ‘sick days’ and vacation time to bring a new life into the world. Sure, old people are lined up in hallways on stretchers, families need to bring in bottles of water, and waiting rooms are eerily reminiscent of an Iranian torture chamber, but I suppose you can say that on the whole, national health care in Italy is as humanitarian as can be. Americans should only be so fortunate.

Live links in color above

Sidelined at Komen Race for the Cure

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Mon, 09 May 2016 10:00:00 +0000

...or, why I won't be racing in this Main Event of the Year.
The Italians have totally embraced the incredible importance of the Komen cause. Its branch is the oldest international organization in the league, and I believe pretty much the most successful. If nothing else, the Komen race did something absolutely Herculean (or Amazonian, rather) – It raised awareness of women and their breasts from both women and men alike [Plastic surgeon's office and reality TV aside].
All in all, we get a magnificent day out, with families, sponsors and lots of smiles - starting at the Circus Maximus and pretty much winding thru the main sights of Rome before ending with ice cream, games and loud music. It doesn't get much better than that.
Except for one thing. A recent article - to cite support for the race and underline the importance of the dire situation and promise of a cure - suggests that breast cancer cases in Italy will go UP by about 50% in the next few years. Making it all the more important to run our butts off so sponsors will donate more money, right?

Wrong. I believe we should be Racing Against the Cause not racing for the cure.

Untold millions have been spent annually on funding research trying to come up with a cure. But until Komen puts their oodles of money into fighting Monsanto protection laws, removing the lead in our lipstick, cutting the flow of rivers of antibiotics poured into our poultry, combating the cancer-causing ingredients in most everything we put in and on our bodies, they can – and will - continue to raise untold amounts of money - which we'll always need more of as cases rise, and rise and rise.
So no. I won't partake in this un-Merry-go-Round of receiving hush money from sponsors and support from survivors while mad-with-greed multinationals carelessly (or is it carefully?) pour cancerous agents into our skin, onto our products, over the soil, high in the skies and down into the seas.
[A major sponsor is Johnson&Johnson. That's right, the Company now found to have convinced millions to put talcum powder on our babies, in their diapers, in our panties and panty liners...and who is now facing an onslaught of lawsuits on behalf of the thousands of Ovarian Cancer victims. It's one thing to allow Philip Morris to support the Arts. It's quite another to have as your main sponsor a company causing the very thing you are up against.]
Komen needs to put an end to this rat race to the bottom and put their money into politicking and policies that will stop these nefarious profit-driven societal cancers right in their black-ribboned tracks.

In Vino Veritas? Not in Italy

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sun, 01 May 2016 20:59:00 +0000

For a fully wine-producing country (whose output has just outpaced France), truth doesn't seem to flow out of the carafe all so easily. In fact, anyone who has read my book will know that I entertain a number of theories on why Italians play so fast and loose with the truth [Spoiler Alert: I think it goes back to Judas or Brutus...and their lofty place in history]. And while these attitudes flummox newcomers and tourists in equal measure, I must say that decades on...It sometimes gets the best of us old-timers, especially when you're faced with a flurry of truthiness all at once.
And so it was, when I woke up and went to my wondrous bar and noticed they no longer touted my brand, Illy Caffè, which is the only reason I would pay as much as a bag of espresso beans for a single, solitary cuppa. No more snazzy cups, no cute little lists of ways you can drink a flavored Illy coffee that would put Starbucks to shame. And worse, the coffee sucked. So I mentioned that I noticed the brand had changed...Emphatically, they insisted that no, it had always been this coffee...but maybe a while back under previous ownership...so on and so forth. So earnest was their protest, I started thinking I had the wrong coffee bar.
Returning home, the doorbell rings. It's one of a posse of faux Energy Utility guys telling me that my contract needed to be revised if I would just sign the dotted line...I rebutted that if the Company had something to tell me, they knew where to find me. By mail, or email. Then, in a case of 'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em', I lied. I said it wasn't my contract to begin with. At which point he threatened me saying that if I didn't sign up a new contract, I'd be paying four times the amount and it was illegal to have a contract not in my name...and so on. I shut the door, called my utilities company who told me to --- shut the door on these jokers.
My neighbor's pipes broke, staining three walls of my office. Upstairs I go. She admitted it, but raising her hands in the air and giving me 'The Chin', said she wasn't the one responsible. Or, that she'd get someone to look at the damage the next day. Or that it was the building admin's job. Or... We'll see how long it takes to get someone to repair the damage.


Pinocchio...an Italian DOC Photo by Walt Disney Studios

Out again at the marketplace, I surveyed some clothing items, on sale at season's end. Some items looked nice, but on closer inspection, I found the stitching coming out on each piece I happened to pick out (okay, they were on sale, after all). The retailer, like a hawk, swooped in to tell me how fabulous these items were. When I pointed out the problem with them (aiming, I admit it, for a hefty discount...) I was met with, "No, these aren't defective! This is just how the items are made!" She was insulted that I would dare suggest that her custom may be somewhat, say, of low quality [did I mention I was at a market stall?].
I walked away...scratching my head and recalling the words of my former [Italian] boss who loved to quip that Italians didn't quite beat you at the game, as much as simply wear you down...

Nuns on a Bus

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Fri, 01 Apr 2016 20:43:00 +0000

Picture from Treggia's Blog

I've said it before, and I'll say it again (and again!), Italians have a lot of superstitions. Some of them are endearing only 'cuz it reminds you of your granma...or nonna...as the case may be. Others, because the Italians - having had to put up with all sorts of indecencies over the centuries, heck, millennia, always seem to find the wherewithal to pull through, perhaps laughing about the matter along the way.
And so you hear that

if you step in dog poop, it brings good luck.

If your pooped on by a pigeon...it brings good luck.

If it rains on your wedding day...it brings good luck (naturally)...

but I think these are all just to make one feel better about their apparent pitfall.

And so, it came as a surprise when I discovered that it has become somewhat legendary that should a Green Prinz car cross your path, it brings bad luck. That is, if it's full of nuns. These nun buses in fact are legend, long before Nuns on a Bus became something of a Big Deal in American politics and culture. [They even have a twitter account and hashtags, right up there with #PopeonaPlane!]

So, just one more thing to worry about on the roads of Bell' Italia...! Or as the picture I recently posted on my @IrreverentItaly Facebook Page read – ADULTS ON BOARD...We want to live too.

Buona Fortuna!

One of Life's Great Italian Mysteries....Solved!

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sun, 21 Feb 2016 20:16:00 +0000

Well, this is embarrassing. For 20-odd years I have invented every sort of superstition known to man in my head to explain the odd practice I found in every town from top to toe of the Italian Boot: That is, the placing of plastic water bottles - full of water - in front of one's doorway. Aside from the flag it waves reading "We're not home! Come in and make yourself at home!" I couldn't - for the life of me - figure out what those bottles meant. I asked little old ladies, even my own great-aunt who - religiously placing them out the front door - couldn't tell me why and what for. I was flummoxed, to say the least.


Okay...It's usually just a bottle or two, but these guys must seriously mean business (photo from Tenace Concetto Blog)

And, I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I never actually thought about asking Siri what she thought about it. I mean, really? She can't even pronounce Giuseppe or Stefano properly - what would she know about it? In any case, while running around Deruta (home of gorgeous Umbrian ceramic works), I was gifted with a personal tour of the Antica Fornace Maioliche & Museo of Giovanni Baiano (The Ancient Kiln of Umbrian pottery - and thru the outrageous museum in his store choc-a-bloc filled to the rim with pieces and sketches of the works since man first found fire and then heated it up to a few thousand degrees...)
Leaving the premises, I happened to ask casually, not truly expecting a real answer, what the bottles were doing there on the doorstep. And Giovanni's wife stated, "I know what they're for!!!". Incredibly, I discovered a superstition that never made its way into my book (look out for a new print run...!)...Drum Roll, please....

Turns out...it's to ward off kitty cats (or their pee, to be more precise).

As an unbridled cynic, of course, I couldn't just let that simple explanation stand for itself. I mean, really. Twenty-plus years, and that's all there is? [Cue Peggy Lee here]. So off to google I went.

To lighten my dismay at not googling it in the first place, I was heartened to find that the question is debated as vigorously by Italians as what the best cut from a pig is or whether or not you should add oil to your pasta water (you shouldn't). So, not even Italians knew what was up with the cat bottles. But, you can't blame them. After all, plastic water bottles haven't been around all that long (and they gotta compete with the 10 million- plus other superstitions already on file).

In my search I found that many vets thought it was a silly waste of time. And...I gotta admit, I'm pretty much on their side. I have had cats my whole life, and I have never seen a cat want to pee on a doorway - like never ever. I mean, how would they cover their tracks? But hey, ask anyone who side-steps a ladder or a black cat...What can a few bottles outside the door hurt? Right?

Advertising in Italy - A Course in Cross-Cultural Living

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sun, 14 Feb 2016 21:58:00 +0000

Seeing that it's awards season, I thought I'd bring one of my periodic Advertising Age round-ups on where Italy stands in communicating their special gifts to the masses. I'm afraid to say that if it weren't for plastering posters all over every single surface in town, no one would pay attention to any of it, really - Even moreso now that they're no longer allowed to show T&A just to sell fruit juice and bathroom fittings. So, here are a few of the most recent adverts to catch my eye and tease my brain:

Now, I get this ad, I really do. But that's because I know English. Since I first came to Italy and was old enough to notice these things, Italians putting English script into every ad they make has always behooved and bewildered me. I mean, very few people know all that much English so so well; least of which the now grannies who do most of the food purchasing and cooking. As for guys looking to join the Navy? Maybe. After all, the Italian word, nave - meaning boat - is quite a close match. But I just hope these job applicants aren't thinking they'll be joining a cruise line and get to play laser tag or paint ball in the evenings.

This ad promoting Pope Frank's special Jubilee Year in Rome definitely did the trick in grabbing my attention. Especially in this season that countries - Italy among them - are engaged in controversial and often heated debates over gay rights and civil unions and all. So while vatican ~~blowhards~~, spokesmen run off on the abomination that is homosexuality, while getting caught time and again in a host of scandals from pedophilia to, defacto liaisons, well, this image basically drives the point home -- on bus tickets and posters on all the buses besides. The two popes, cuddling so joyously in a horizontal frame...leaves very little to the imagination.
Personally, I think the genius who came up with this ad is the same guy who thought up the name Soffass for a toilet paper line and entire personal products company. There simply is no other explanation.

Make Payments, Don't Make War

I love this company. And their brilliant adverts. In fact, around the world funerary companies are making the most sense (or, given the costs of funerals, the most cents, rather) in their witty ads. Taffo is the gift that makes anyone's morning commute come alive, so to speak. Ikea used to have ads like these, and so did the City of Rome - but both now have a serious sense of humor failure - don't ask me why. But, really? How poor can advertising be when the best ones are for no laughing matter? Regardless, this wins the day along with a lot of their other ones. You decide.

Italian Fashion for Kids in Italy - Seriously Mini-Me's

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sat, 26 Dec 2015 19:19:00 +0000

Even Benetton's World of Colours are often muted.

A friend of mine with a newborn was opening some gifts left at the office. She said, Now wait for it. They will be the most gorgeous clothes you've ever seen - but all in greys and blacks. I mean, the clothes here in Italy are so beautiful - you can seriously imagine yourself wearing them. But...what if I want some rainbow colors on my kid? I had to laugh. So I started paying attention to store windows, and in fact, the clothes are so stunning...but she's flat-out spot on (not polka-dotted). Greys, blues, blacks, mini-scarves looking less like Winnie-the-Pooh on a blustery day and more like what the guy was wearing in UP. Just try and Google Armani Junior: Okay, okay...It is Armani but, they are kids, aren't they?
No wonder Benetton flaunted all of their myriad colors. And it was such a break from tradition. One look around (well, okay, if you happen to be in any other city than Milan), and you get to feast your eyes on our Eastern Europeans and Latinos brightening up any dark day's color palette with their unbridled embrace of anything bright - from head to toe. It's as if you've waltzed into some sort of Alice in Wonderland at the mall moment, but in your looking glass you get to gander the gorgeous fabrics more reminiscent of the days of Soviet Empire threads.
In the end, of course, the Italians are weaned on these stunning ensembles. Once grown up, they get to strut their fabulous linen stuff to the awe of all who behold them. While we Americans, with our bold colors and outrageous get-ups, and items that double as pajamas, or throw-ons (or throw-aways) as fashion, end up with People of Walmart sites instead.

Fashion for the whole American family! At Kohl's

Word: Style.

It's the Great Pumpkin - Or make that...The Grande Watermelon in Italy!

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sat, 28 Nov 2015 16:43:00 +0000

Halloween may have come and gone, but for many of us who want to relish the gorgeous fall weather (even if we can't enjoy the trees changing colors before our eyes - we still have umbrella pines - ha!), it's never too late nor too early to love Peanuts. On a recent trip to Milano I visited the outstanding Comics Museum, or WOW! Spazio Fumetto, worth going off the beaten track just for their bookshop alone. They were hosting an outstanding collection of Peanuts old and new, with amazing interactive tables revealing past cartoon strips and movies, original prints and letters from the inimitable Charles M Schulz, the first "Chuck", as Peppermint Patty would no doubt have had the audacity to call him to his face.
Italians have always loved Peanuts - even producing their own catalog of cartoons, Linus. Not as popular as Topolino (Mickey Mouse & friends), but he's a tough one to beat: I believe it outsells the Bible 'round these parts - with or without our beloved Pope Francis.
So the collection also revolved around Italian lore in the world of the tiny characters. And as the Curator took me through the rooms, I was stunned to learn that the Big Great Watermelon - Il Grande Cocomero as it were - was not a mistake in translation, but actually intentional.
This was disappointing for two reasons: First, because I have long held up the Grande Cocomero as an example of what gets lost in translation...We can only guess what the Bible stories originally held for the masses...When it went from ancient Aramaic, to Ancient Latin, to Ancient Greek and back again before going into Italian then English. I mean, pumpkin to watermelon? I shudder to think of the generations of young children who saw pumpkins here and there, and insisted they were watermelons. To say nothing for the mistaken seasons. I mean, watermelon in November? It reminds me of my college Italian prof - who I am convinced delighted in leading us seriously astray - telling us to always ask for the gabinetto, when we needed to go to the loo. Turns out, I asked many a hostess if I could use her outhouse until some good samaritan finally corrected me on that account.
Secondly, the translators actually chose it - because they wanted a masculine version of Babbo Natale, or Santy Clause...and thus they sneered at the Grande Zucca (feminine). They felt they had to come up with a macho veggie that grew in patches in the great outdoors. I find this explanation quite ridiculous. First and foremost, for the visual cue that is hiding in plain sight, much like the Great Pumpkin himself. Green watermelons / orange pumpkins, but hey, who can tell? But I'm irked by the fact that Italians, much earlier and more prominent than ol' jolly-faced St Nick, an import, have always celebrated their own gift-giving lady...La Befana. Clearly they could have made the Zucca a Zucca and everyone would have been the wiser.
Anyone who follows my blog or Twitter account knows that I am relentless in sticking up for the invisible women of Italy. Our society chooses to ignore them unless of course it's mealtime (Master Chef excepted) or when they feel amorous, or worse, like killing someone.
So, just like Linus learned...an invisible force of women...is much like the Great Pumpkin: Everyone says you don't exist...but I believe in you. So to the publishers in 2015, I would say, bring us the Grande Zucca once and for all.

Thanksgiving in Italy-Fine Feathered Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Wed, 18 Nov 2015 20:00:00 +0000

This Thanksgiving, I bring my annual tradition of posting one of my earliest entries on celebrating this very American tradition as an expat...Today, or more likely, over the weekend, people are breaking bread (well, actually stuffing) with their native friends and many foreign faces as well. So, wherever you are, enjoy your own Festa di Ringraziamento!

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. And it's something that we American 'expats' celebrate pretty much the world over in our adopted countries. In much the same way that Italy (and Europe, for that matter) have adopted Halloween as their own, in industrious Milan or Geneva or London, store owners start stocking up when Thanksgiving comes around the corner. It's become so popular, you now need to order the bird in advance. Those same stores stock their shelves with many items that ordinary Italians would probably have fed to their pigs if they had them.

Although Italians eat lots of turkey, they seriously don't eat - much less prepare - the 12-15kg version –whole. But right around the last week of November, you can ask your butcher to purchase - and then hold onto - the entire bird. And this is terrific. Aside from providing the butchers and cashiers a bit of holiday entertainment, you (along with your bird) become the center of attention. One year, they were so confused by our request, a friend ended up with an 11kg bird for the price of one kilo: €3.95. Even after questioning the amount, they insisted the price was right...Let's just say, given the cost of things in Italy (and a bird that size would have run upwards of €60), we had lots to be thankful for that year!

Surprisingly, Thanksgiving in Italy brings one lots closer to the original Thanksgiving feast. First, there's the shipping of all the canned foodstuffs, probably not unlike the stuff our forefathers brought in huge wooden crates to and from the New World. Americans start filling up empty suitcases with goodies like cans of pumpkin and cranberry, Stovetop stuffing mix, and packs of Jiffy cornbread (because polenta just doesn't do the trick).

Me with one bird that doesn't need
de-feathering!

But with a nod to those original pilgrims, I must say, it's the turkey that is the star of the show. While we don't have to quite break its neck and clean out its gizzards (although, if you forget to request it, you might just end up with the whole thing, head and all), we all get a bit tripped up by something never quite seen in an American home – all those feathers. Or, feather tips, rather.

In the USA, when you pick up a turkey, you generally wind up with something very remotely resembling the animal from whence it came. In Italy, you're reminded that this was, in actual fact, a bird – feathers and all. And so, you learn how, exactly, one rids oneself (or one's turkey) of his down without actually peeling the whole skin off, feather tips and all. I can just imagine those early pilgrims trying to figure this one out: with Native Americans furious that their guests were trying to trim away the feathers along with the tasty (and fatty) skin. No wonder so many died of hunger. To get it right and ignoring old traditions of plucking, you find your best gas-powered flame thrower, and start torching the turkey feathers away.

Unfortunately, no matter how long you painstakingly go about de-feathering, there are always a few tough ones left over – kind of like those grey hairs you try so hard to dye. And, while I must say, this process does not make me nostalgic for the huge butterball turkeys with a self-popping thermometer inside, it does add a bit to your preparation time.

Once your table is set for a feast, there's another key issue to handle in serving your feast to your Italian paesani. And that is, contrary to popular belief, Italians do not actually feast. That's especially the case given a non-Catholic holiday, and in the evening in particular. So, your fully expected annual pigging out fête sort of falls a bit flat; with each Italian guest carefully choosing their primo (mashed potatoes & stuffing), secondo (turkey), and contorno (veggies) while questioning why one must eat 'family style' and not one dish at a time. They barely fill their plates and skip second helpings. Stuffing is seen as an alien life form and desserts, well, whoever heard of a dessert made from a vegetable?

So, while the rest of us heap up our plates again and again, and then start loosening our belt buckles, well, judging by our girths, we can see why Thanksgiving is a wholly American phenomenon.

Guess who's coming to dinner? Dining, Rome-Style with BonAppetour

noreply@blogger.com (Irreverent Italy) — Sun, 11 Oct 2015 19:59:00 +0000

When I stop and think about it...how many times have I or pretty much everyone I iknow enjoyed truly memorable meals in Italy? Or wherever I've traveled? Sometimes, a restaurant 'experience' is so terrific, we go back a second night. Once I ordered the eggplant parmesan for the first and second course. And then there was that to-die for menu degustazione at that over-the-top-place in Florence...but as good as it was, I recall needing a defibrillator only after I saw the bill (mercifully, I wasn't paying).
But let's face it: The best meals - ever - have been the ones where, out of the blue, you were invited into someone's home and fed - to the gills - upon every local flavor there was fit to feast. In Morocco, a super nice guy who worked at the hotel where I was staying invited me to his family's home where his mother proceeded to make a cous-cous the old-fashioned way...hours later she served us a spectacular dish, just like in that movie, Cous-Cous. The next eve, again, his Uncle served tagine that I still can taste every morsel, ten years on. Needless to say, we are all still good friends.
So, leave it to a few foodie engineers (from Singapore!) and the internet no less, to bring the in-home / out-of-town experience to all and sundry and BonAppetour was born.

Al fresco dining on a stunning Roman terrace

Our terrific hosts, Stefano & Federica

Stefano's outrageous peach & pear dessert with amaretti cookies

We were treated to an aperitivo upon arrival, and served up a luscious drink made with elderflower and prosecco. You can pick a menu, pick your party, and, whether you're a local or not, you can ply your hosts with all kinds of questions about their lives, their lifestyles and whatever (they spoke English). Our group put our dynamic duo hosts in a bit of a pickle, between gluten-free, nut-free, vegan, and other requests...but Stefano the chef proved that he could still get the dishes right, that would appeal to all of us.
I think this is a terrific concept, like other 'Sharing Economy' initiatives, especially Air B&B. I mean, really, people have been sharing meals for millenia...and the idea that this is something "new" kind of tickles me pink. I'm still on the fence in terms of the reasons we had taxi medallions and so on (for the uber-crowd), and restaurant health inspections to sort of lean on...But then, we realized...that they weren't really inspecting and taxis are hit or miss like anywhere...So, actually, being able to rate your hosts, takes the concept of tipping one step further, really. You're most likely guaranteed to receive terrific personal service. And BonAppetour actually tests the servers, so to speak, before including them as hosts on their server.
Dinner was served in courses, with plenty of time to linger between them. All in all, the next time someone asks me for reservations...I may suggest they try dining in a beautiful Roman home instead. Now, if we can just find the right app to remove food allergies...