My Life Italian?
I miss my blog, but I've had a little trouble finding its direction since I came back home. One of the largest items stuck in my writing craw has been the title. This title promises stories of a girl finding her way in a new country, eating and drinking in the heart (my heart) of the culinary world. I'd hate to mislead, but I've decided to leave it alone, for this is the blog that tells the story of the formation of my current life. I'm back in Texas, adjusting to the American way after four and half years in my surrogate country, and trying to figure how to keep it Italian--how to have the best of both worlds. So this is my new theme, my new direction. I am here to preach the delights of taking risks and leaving all behind to chase a dream, but I know (believe me) how hard this is, and downright impractical for all but the nuttiest of us. I'd like to find the best way to keep a little Italiano in our American lives, how to find what we need right here at home to satisfy that craving that I know, for so many of us, will never go away. L'inizio
One night recently, a friend asked me what was the wine--that one, that inspired me along this path. Thinking about it, I've noticed that a lot of people have these passionate tales of a revelatory Barolo or Burgundy (or in his case, a Spatburgunder). It's all very romantic to have a such a beautiful story, or some one-word answer with a respectable D/AOC attached.
For me though, there wasn't one wine that turned the key that opened the door to this technicolor world. I didn't have such a tidy response. There was just a beginning, the first steps of a journey.
It's funny, but white zinfandel was my first wine, though I didn't stay there for long. My active curiosity quickly (and thankfully) swept me along on a current of new places and better wines.
My love for wine is one manifestation of this curiosita', a theme that has also led me away from home and back again. To me, wine has always been a stained-glass window to the world, a way to touch another culture and understand it's eno-gastronomic traditions; a way to travel that is much more visceral than vicarious. (Such a gift!)
Of course there have been special players along the way, wines which have made my ears perk...wines which have sent shivers down my spine...wines that stayed with me long after their ephemeral physical selves were poured and drunk.
Those have been special. But when asked to explain where my love of wine comes from, I have to say that it is the taste of an exotic place, connection with foreign geography right in my own home, and perhaps most thrillingly of all, there is always something to learn.
And for the thirsty ones out there like me, that's the key. What's yours? Not Again
What the hell, Gustav? While you're all headin' toward my hometown, all I can think is, am I gonna have to kick some hurricane ass?
'Cause I totally will. I hope everyone will be ok...please leave if you have to. My door is open.
Overheard at Texsomm
Me: Oh, that's way too extracted.
Other: No it's not!
Me: Yes it is.
Other: No it's not!
Would you expect anthing less than such brilliant banter from a group of wine people? Breaking news from Texas Sommelier ConferenceI just might be blogging today and tomorrow. I've tasked mahself with bringing you the latest gossip from this crazy group of enophiles.
Stay tuned... Quando mai!"One thing you can say about Italian men is that they never try to be anything they're not...except single."
--Martine, my dear friend and partner in Italian crime
Said during a conversation comparing American men to Italian men. As you can see, our cellular summit produced no solution, nor illuminating conclusion.
Mah! Lo AmmettoLook to the right of your screen. Can you guess what's different?
That's right, I changed the "location" in my profile. I've been so neglectful of this blog that it didn't even occur to me how confusing this all could seem. Not that I have any new readers, I still (thankfully) see a lot of you from the old days in the old country.
But, I came home in December, so I guess July is the right time for admission. There you go, I'm here. The summary will have to stay the same for a while, as will the blog itself.
I'll eventually change it, but for now my state of denial will continue to masquerade as laziness.
Works for me! Porco MioI know we are in pien'estate (full-on Summer) but I tailored my dinner to the wine that I wanted to drink. For me, this, or the reverse, is a regular occurrence. (Rarely do I go willy-nilly and not consider the interaction of the two (non-living) things I love the most.)
So I braised some pork chops (winter fare)! You must understand that the Chinon was staring at me--glaring, in that French sort of way that says, "Dare not consume me with a Summery salad."
Being easily intimidated by glaring inanimate objects, I lit my burners in a hurry.
Note to all: Smothered pork chops + Chinon = Sweet, sweet dreams
Buonanotte! Il DubbioThat means doubt. I've been so happy to be back, but after a few weeks of 100+ temps and no beach in sight, I'm questioning the sanity in trading one South for another.
Is there any way to have it all? I'm SO open to suggestions.
Signed,
Tempted in Texas
http://www.ischiaonline.it/ischia.php?pag=WCAS04&sez=WEBCAM&langiol=EN&mysty=blue Meet My Inner NerdToday I had a chance to poke around at some wine blogs that I regularly read and I saw De-Vino's latest post about the current Italian wine scandals.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, the short of it is this. SCANDAL No. 1: some Southern Italian producers of bulk wine were found to have added harmful acids to their product, SCANDAL No. 2: Brunello Di Montalcino producers were caught breaking their own D.O.C.G. rules by adding international varietals to make their wines more "palatable" to the American consumer (i.e. more fruit, more extract, less acidity, etc).
Relative to the addition of harmful acids, subversively stepping outside of a well-respected disciplina to make a wine more "palatable" is certainly less important. Scandal No. 1 has obvious implications, but some of you out there may wonder why the hell some of our panties are in a knot about No. 2. I'll tell you what, undies are a-twistin' because what's at stake here is tradition and truth.
I know that money is a powerful motivator, but I'm terrified that we're going to lose our wines that have a sense of place.
Examples?
1. The old-school Chiantis that are hard to enjoy out of the context of a meal (but what they do with braciole!)
2. The nebbiolo from the Valtellina that is dignified in its austerity and wholly a product of its unique environment, but may be a little too "thin" in the eyes of its Parker-educated beholder;
3. A fresh greco di tufo that DOES NOT NEED, for the love of God, to undergo malolactic fermentation
4. Dolcetto that shouldn't cost 60 dollars a bottle be what it is SUPPOSED to be (fresh, lively, and acidic), and appreciated as such
This maledetto palate doesn't want Brunello, and the powers that be have, unfortunately, responded. This palate wants a fruit bomb that tastes like every other highly extracted generic fruit bomb that may be labeled as cab/merlot/shiraz, etc. Does this palate ask for pinot grigio? Yep, but what it really wants is pinot grigio that tastes like new world chardonnay.
Seeing Italians who are typically so proud of their culture and traditions eschewing them in chase of marketability is a sad, sad thing.
At this point, you may call me naive, if you wish.
And here is where you should feel free to call me dramatic:
When I hear of producers shamelessly adding harmful substances to cheap wine, I view it as an acute symptom of an unscrupulous means to financial gain. But when I hear of Brunello di Montalcino producers changing their wine composition to please the international palate, I view it as an emergent symptom of chronic and augmenting greed/fear that could potentially erase all originality and placeful-ness (new word...watch out Webster!) and leave us with wine that tastes the same, no matter where it comes from.
Have some integrity, people! Didn't their mammas tell them that they should never try to be something they're not?
I am certainly not standing in judgment of those who want these modern-style wines nor am I suggesting that tastes should change across the board. I just hope that we will always have a choice between modern and traditional, and that centuries of wine-making wisdom that give all of us a peek into foreign earth and culture not be swept under the rug in the name of market viability.
If, at this point, you've labeled me both naive and dramatic, I don't care. My torch is burning and I can't help but carry it. Trust, I MustWow. I've discovered an entire blogging community of courageous people leaving their lives to find new ones in Italy. It's been wonderful to find that element out there of (mostly) women who are ready to make the great trade of the familiar for the unknown. Reading through these blogs lately, I find myself in an emotional conflict--I just can't believe that my life in Italy...my dream, that tenacious itch that needed scratchin', shall we say...has come to an end. Even to admit that in writing is a bit frightening.
Though reading about these folks who are pioneering this modern American diaspora definitely inspires a bit of incredulous blues-sangin' nostalgia in me, I remember this: I chose to come home for a reason, just as I chose to leave almost 5 years ago. Today I have my own new trails to blaze--they may be old beginnings, but they are new starts to a remodeled life, nonetheless.
This current version of myself, created by a crazy 27 year-old who left everything to chase her passion across the ocean with a backpack and an empty Austin apartment, has turned 32 and is ready to get what she finally knows she wants.
That (not-so) silly 27 year-old gave a gift of an unforgettable experience to me. One that has enriched me and given me peace and a DESIRE to be still, for a while anyway. She gave me permission to be home and enjoy family, friends, and hopefully success.
She trusted her heart then, as I'm trying to trust it now. She brought me back home. I want to be home.
And for that I tell her thank you. Part 2?Well so much for "catching up." Forgive me for deciding not to recite every boring and delicious reason for my absence. Let's just say that I came home with so many recent good times at my back that I was reminded why leaving is so damn hard.
I closed Italy with the very same person who helped me open it. I let go of dying relationships, some with people, others with places. I thought I would return to Italy to live, but knew I wouldn't.
Please don't ask me what this all means because I'll have to tell you that my life is no longer Italian. But...I'm on to a new adventure.
You coming? The walrus said...I'm never going to get this done if I don't start typing. I have a lot to tell and I guess the there's no better way to begin than "jist gettin' after it," as we say here in Texas. The last year near-year of my life has been filled with so much change and many goodbyes. Let us begin with the Italian side of things.
Part 1**
I decided that it was time to push my Fiat of life, shall we say, out of its stagnant, festering mud puddle. (For those of you gagging on that metaphor, I am sorry, here's some cold wine. Drink it down.)
It was time for a change. Time to be productive. Time to make money and pay off a long-forgotten credit card. Time to go home and re-enter the lives of those whom I love. Time to have roots again and time to answer the call of my Texan ones.
But most importantly, it was time to get my ass a job.
Let's rewind a bit to last summer (Cue rewinding tape noise). I was absent because I was having fun (Cue background summer music). Beach fun, dance fun, meeting new people and socializing again kind of fun (Cue noise of many flirtatious Italian boys).
I soon realized that all of this incredibly satisfying blogging was taking the place of a missing social realm and boy was I ever going to make up for lost time...
**I'll be back with more installments. Blogging muscle is cold, must not "over-do." Bittersweet"I'm leaving on a jet plane...
...don't know when I'll be back again..."
So much to tell, sorry I haven't, but I'll be back.
A presto Tracie, you are too...
precisa: preh-CHEE-suh (adj) precise; for most Southern Italians, one of the most annoying qualities a human being can posses
I have quite a bit to catch up on. Maybe if I were a bit more precise, or simply owned a computer, I would have let you in on all of my little secrets by now.
I want to bring up this topic, because I've had the "precisa" discussion with many an Italian, many an Italian with his or her own unique sense of the passage of time.
Precisa, it turns out, seems to be one of the qualities that created such ill will between my last boss and me, that I will not be working at the yacht marina this year. I thought that arriving to work on time, and leaving on time were perfectly acceptable--perhaps even desirable qualities to have in an employee, but just in case I forget from time to time that I am living in a very different culture, something like precisa comes along to remind me.
I had a discussion last year on my last day of work with the boss's girlfriend (the girl who created our positions of yacht marina hostesses), and she confided to me that maybe if I hadn't left at precisely 8 pm every evening (never did it without asking if boss wanted me to stay), or maybe if I had just let one or two of those overtime hours slide when I scored a good tip (I was making at the MOST, 800 euro a month, but for two months I was making 400-600), that maybe things would have all gone more smoothly.
Right, maybe if I hadn't religiously written down every extra hour and half-hour (I made 10 euro an hour for overtime) that I was owed, someone may have been able to rip me off and wouldn't that have been fantastic?!! For them?!!
I may not be the sharpest tool in that thar shed, but I sure know when I'm swimming with sharks I'll kick their bums if they try to bite me.
So that brings me to my present status. As I was waiting to hear from the same people and whether or not I would have the same job (I should have chewed up that pride better before I swallowed it), my old friend Pierpaolo who owns the wine bar offered me a job. Ex boss and girlfriend finally told me that they hired another girl and that they weren't sure...whatever. I happily accepted the job at the Cantina del Mare, and couldn't be more pleased.
Now I have turned my life upside-down and my usual routine inside-out to accommodate my new work schedule. I'm not used to keeping late hours, but since I've accepted the brief change of lifestyle, I'm actually having fun. We have lots of English-speaking tourists who come to the enoteca and are genuinely curious about wine.
I am sleeping shamefully late (I mean, what sane girl can get out of her of bed before noon when she has worked until 1 the previous morning?). Getting out of bed I open my windows to the seagulls and take hours to get ready while listening to my new CDs. Sometimes, I go to the beach down the street, but that requires an earlier wake-up time, so my risk of remaining a mozzarella all summer is dangerously high. I spend no money on neither food nor wine, since my wining and dining takes place at work. I miss my kitchen, but it's just for the summer.
Being precisa has, in a way, shaped my short-term destiny and has put me in a work atmosphere where I am surrounded by good friends and opportunities to be more active in my wine education so things are definitely working out for the best.
There's another chapter to this incredibly tedious catch-up story which will explain my brief visit to Positano to see Nicki, but I'll get back to that soon...
Space InvaderI had to come all the way Positano just to use Nicky's computer... Italians Quoted #7Ciao Tracie..come stai...everything ok in Texas? You really need to get some sun.
--every single tan-obsessed Italian (pretty much covers the entire population) since I've returned
It's still May, and I'm already being harassed. It must be very easy to to get that late-August tan so soon when all you have to do during the day is drink espresso and smoke cigarettes.
As for me and my mozzarella, we gotta go to work. A presto... Saturday Photo Scavenger Hunt: Childhood
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 Look at my 3 sweet nipoti! And little Tobey there in the middle of his sweet big brother and sister looks like he already knows that his childhood is going to be good.
It's That Time Again I'm going back to Italy today and I want to share an image with you that shows you why...I'll miss my family, but I'll be back in Texas. For now though, I'm off to enjoy another beautiful clam-filled summer on my island. See you there!
Talking in Texan, Lesson FourWe are moving along at a neck breaking pace. I believe that y'all can handle these intense lessons just faahn, so let's move along, shall we?
I'mona: pronounced, ahmOWNa, lazily drawlin' in place of, "I'm going to."
Weensdee: meaning Wednesday, pronounced "Weensdee" (In Texas our other days of the week are Mundee, Toosdee, Thuuursdee, Frahdee, Saturdee, and fahnly, Sundee.)
Contextual example: I'mona go back thar ta It-lee on Weensdee, y'onna (do you want to) come? What about yer mamanem?
Well, I will be headin' on back to It-lee Weensdee, much to the dismay of my mamanem, but I'll missem (and here's another straight from my grandmother) "lahk aw gitout."
And if you weren't sure, that means a lot. Happy Birthday MomSo today is my mom's *%th birthday and this is the first time in years that I've been lucky enough to spend it with her. I wanted to post earlier with a picture of her, my sister, and me, but getting photo approval from the 3 of us would have been a miracle on the scale of organizing world peace.
I was faced with clenched-teeth threats such as, "I BETTER not find this on your blog tomorrow." Even the hint of death by Big Sister never fails to intimidate me.
If we had just taken one more, I'm sure that we would have looked like three luscious super models. Unfortunately, the home-made coconut cake staring at my dad through the camera lens turned him into an impatient 2 year-old with a world class sugar jones.
Oh well.
Happy birthday anyway, Mom. I love you :) Ain't That the TruthThis is a brief exchange that took place between a student and me as I was looking over his shoulder at some recent prom pictures.
me: Is that the prom queen?
student: No.
me: Oh, I thought that was her because she's wearing a tiara.
student: No ma'am, they just all think they're queens.
And you know he's right :) Very Smart and Totally Sincere Student QuotedVery Smart and Totally Sincere Student: Are you our sub(stitute teacher)?
Me: Yes
Very Smart and Totally Sincere Student: You're too pretty to be a sub.
Me: Well...thank you! Flattery will get you everywhere.
See? This girl is smart, if not a bit myopic. Maybe this gig isn't so bad...
...HA! Gotcha. Talking in Texan, Lesson ThreeAfter last week's challenging footnote, I hope you're ready to move on. Here we go!
boll: boil, pronounced...well, "boll"
contextual example: We done ate 'bout 200 pounds of bolled crawfeesh thuther day.
thuther: the other, pronounced "thuuuuhther "
contextual example: (you may also see the example for boll)
Person A: You wont thiswin?
Person B: No, I wont thutherwin.
Do you smell that? I think my spell-checker is burning... ForesakenI've entered what appears to be Hell, and upon its foreboding office door in pubescing script are the words "substitute teach in your local high school!" I feel that I must have conducted cruel scientific experiments on innocent third-world children in my past life, because I seem to be paying off some wicked karma...
...nasty 9th grade karma that cusses like a seasoned sailor who's been ripped off by a one-legged hooker.
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