'Tis the Season

I have to share a secret with you . . . shhh, don't tell anyone, it's actually quite embarrassing . . . but when I first arrived in Italy, I had no idea that vegetables had a season. I know, pretty pitiful. And, I was an adult when I moved here. Like 28. Not a clueless little child or an irresponsible teen, but a grownup who had been cooking for herself for years. 

So, what was wrong with me? Obviously, a large part of it was that I wasn't paying any attention whatsoever to the natural rhythms of the earth . . . and all that. I have always been a city girl. The kind who thinks milk creates itself spontaneously in a cartoon and that eggs come from the egg factory.

Well, not really that bad, but almost.

The fact of the matter is that having grown up in the US, I was accustomed to going to the supermarket and buying just about whatever fruits or vegetables my heart desired at whatever time of the year that urge hit me. If it wasn't in season in my area, it was surely in season somewhere else in the world and had been shipped in for my convenience.

When I first arrived in this small provincial city in southern Italy some 20 years ago, there were no large supermarkets. At all. None. Oh, they had places they called "supermarkets," but there was very little "super" about them. They were tiny little claustrophobic spaces with three, maybe four, overcrowded lanes you could barely push your child's toy of a cart through . . . and a very limited selection of produce.

The place to buy your veggies here is at the fruttivendola, your greengrocer. These can range from a smallish hole in the wall to a chair outside someone's front door on which they have set the offerings from their plot of land out in the countryside.

No genetically modified food here!

When you see a set-up like this, you know that food is fresh! Fresh, yes, but it's a rather limited selection. If your heart's desire is asparagus, but asparagus season has passed, you're just out of luck, aren't you?

That's why I have learned to cook with what's in season. It makes more sense to eat what's locally available, freshly picked from the fields, anyway. Better for you, too, I'm sure.

So, what's in season here in Puglia right now? Green beans! I've got a fast and easy pasta recipe for you over on Charming Italy. All you need to do is throw some green beans, cherry tomatoes and seasoned ricotta onto your spaghetti and you'll have yourself a fresh, light and delicious Italian meal.

Try it and let me know what you think, ok?

Mowing the Lawn, Italian Style

I have lived so long in Italy (18 years now) that it's often hard for me to pinpoint the cultural differences between life here and life in the US. Everything here, which was once so interesting and different and even very strange at times, just seems normal now. Italy has become my normal.

But, every once in a while, there's a special moment that you know you'd probably never see repeated in the US.



That's my husband, mowing the lawn in his bathing suit! Don't tell him I showed you this video...but I couldn't resist!

My parents used to live in a high-rise building where a lot of gay men resided. And that's wonderful, quickly let me say that gay men are wonderful in my book, just like everyone else! But the funny thing was that my parents would have a minor panic attack about Francesco's very European speedo style bathing suits every time we came to visit. They even went as far as to buy him a boxer style bathing suit because they were afraid that their neighbors would make a pass at him in the condo pool! Too funny.

They're not too comfortable with me wearing a bikini either, now that I think about it. But, hey, I'm sorry, you're not going to catch me dead in a skort! No way, no how!

Service with a Smile?

Waiters and service people in Italy tend to be quite personable and friendly. Although the speed and rhythm of the service is different from what you would expect in the States (translate that as "slower"), I usually have little to complain about. But, then again, maybe I have just been here so darn long that my standards have changed...

BUT (as Peewee Herman once said, "everyone I know has a big 'but'"), I do have one complaint I'd like to set forth at this time. It drives me nuts when I have a comment to make about something I've been served, and the service person tells me I'm mistaken.

Case in point. Today I met up with a friend at a lovely bar on the harbour for a coffee. She ordered an espressino freddo, which is a sort of ice-cream-like concoction with blended and frozen coffee and milk.

Looks good, doesn't it?

I ordered what should have been a much simpler drink to prepare: cold coffee. Do I need to explain what it is? Coffee, previously brewed, then sweetened and stuck in the fridge to get cold. Pretty simple, huh?

And tasty, too. Usually. Not today. I think they forgot to sweeten it before they chilled it. Or maybe they did some other strange coffee procedure...one definitely not involving sugar. It was as bitter as plain black coffee.

So, no problem. I figured I'd just get some sugar and sweeten it up for myself. I did not even ask the waiter to do this for me. I got up from our outdoor table, walked into the bar and politely asked for some packets of sugar, since, I explained, the coffee was a bit bitter.

"That's impossible!" said the waiter. "There's coffee ice in it and that's pure sugar!" He reiterated this several times...animatedly.

Okay, great. There's coffee ice in it. But, for me, it's still bitter. Can I just have some sugar please? It's not like I was complaining. It's not like I asked for a refund. Or threw the bitter potion in your face, or anything.

And, excuse me? I'm mistaken? How can I be mistaken? I'm the customer...I'm always right. Right? Apparently not. Apparently that little service motto has not made it down to the heel of the boot.