- Italian Caffe: this is a short cup of coffee (espresso), that I find very strong to the point that I can barely finish one teeny tiny cup without feeling my heart race. THIS is what you want in a coffee. you don't have to over do it with a bath-tub size jug. This will stuff will get you Cozmo Cramer-ing in a way that lasts all the live-long day.
- Brioche: a pastry of some sort. Think croissant or cookie or, well just think delicious dough-based fairy kiss that comes in all shapes, colours, sizes and flavours usually involving jelly or chocolate.
you take the pastry - you dunk the
pastry - you eat the pastry
(if you know Sandlot, please read like
the large ginge who explains to Smalls what a Smore is)
Here we are eating colazione.
After the brilliant coffee in-take and
brioche, we both felt ready to take the day on, starting with a farmers’ market
not far from home. I picked up some gems including a pear mustard and asparagus
cream sauce. I realized while ordering the goods that there are major
differences between “sauce”, “salsa” and “mustard”, so while I may recognize
some of the words I’m seeing, the meanings are quite different across
languages. Specifically, “sauce” does not exist, from what I can tell; “salsa”
is the replacement. Mustard does not refer to the typical yellow stuff we’re
accustomed to, literally made from mustard seeds. Instead, it refers to what we
would call a jam or pepper, but not like the typical strawberry jam or jelly
consumed over breakfast either. The pear mustard I bought came with a warning
of medium-piquante. In fact, I chose it because the apple mustard I had
originally reached for came with a very strong warning from the vendor who went
so far as to say I shouldn’t buy it! Heeding, I opted for the pear, trying to
add together how this jelly could possibly be spicy. Once home, I realized the
spiciness comes from a horseradish flavor that is both delightful and painful
in consumption, similar to wasabi. We have yet to give the asparagus cream a
try, but I can’t wait to see what it brings out.
I’m finding my entire experience here is
truly centered around food. When Davide would say he loves going out for
dinner, talking, eating, drinking together, I always thought it was sweet and
genuine, but also kind of a given; who doesn’t like doing that? Now that
I’m living this culture, I’m realizing this isn't just a fun thing to do, or an
indulgence, the way a night out might be in North America. Instead, eating
together, drinking together, talking, letting your emotions dictate what you do
and how you do it and who with, along with the senses you ignite during –
really living the experience – is what life is about here. We
finish eating, do the dishes, take a nap and prep for the next meal by getting
groceries (the patio table, which acts as the second fridge in the winter, is always
over flowing with veg), heating up the oven (takes 20 minutes to get to 250)
chopping veggies, organizing spices, etc. I’ve started a new rule where I don’t
stuff myself to the point of pain. I’ve adapted a perspective based on guidance
from the family who have looked at me confused on numerous occasions as I reel
in the pain of being stuffed beyond capacity. They would tell me, “don’t eat so
much if you don’t want to! Only eat what you want.” This advice was laughable
considering the amount of food that was put on my plate at the beginning of the
meal (that’s right, straight from the stove onto your plate, which means giant
portions topped with fromaggio, always). I tell them, if it’s on my plate, I
will eat it. Now, they serve me tiny portions at the beginning of the meal, or
if the portion is “Italian size", they take it away halfway through
consumption. This teamwork-controlled approach is perfect. I embrace it with
open stomach.
On Sunday night, Davide took me to a
beautiful underground restaurant called La Cantina De L’Arena. It is literally
right beside the Arena in la citta centro of Verona. Google Verona and any
photo you see will certainly be of the Arena. The city centre stands out from
the rest of Italian centros because of this gargantuan stunning ancient
building that hosts the most incredible operas likely in the world. Right
across the square from its main entrance is La Cantina, found under the streets
of Verona. It's a huge cave-like restaurant that, on Sunday nights, features
live music and “Happy Hour”, pronounced “Appy Ow-Errr”. For 30 Euro you receive
entrance for two people, one bottle of wine and antipasti, primo e secondi.
Obviously we splurged and found ourselves two tables from the band, as the
waitress popped our bottle of Cab Sauv from the Veneto region. (Literally, that
was the vague description of the wine on the menu.) I was delighted when I saw
that none other than Nicholas Cage and the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street
would be serenading us this glorious eve.
MonDAY is something for the record
books, and the sole reason will get many of you excited as it features the
return of one of our most popular and enjoyed characters, NONNA. Monday was my
first experience of life with Davide at work from 4p to approx. 9p. I asked
Manu, our second most popular supporting character, to accompany me to Nonna’s
for a coffee, followed by a quick pass through a couple stores I wanted to
check out on my hunt for cheap shoes for dog walks that typically result in
mud-covered boots. Manu, mann(u)ing up, gladly joined me. We spent two hours
talking with Nonna. Through broken Italian on my part, broken translations on
Manu’s part, and an unwavering Italian cadence from Nonna that flowed without
pause, I learned the following:
Nonna was married to Paolo for over 50
years before he passed away, I believe due to some kind of cancer and related
complications. From Nonna's gesticulations, I believe it was throat cancer.
Nonna, Olga, and Nono, Paolo, were married after WWII. Paolo was enlisted in the
army in his late teens (18-19), and fought for the Italians (history recap:
Italians + Germans = the enemy) in Russia. He was eventually caught by
Russians, who in their blinding rage towards Germans, separated the captured
soldiers by Nazis and Italians and killed the Germans right there on the
spot. There was no sympathy for the Third Reich, and this notably giovane
(young) lot weren’t given any kind of Prisoner of War consideration. Mentioning
this only to shed light on the terrors of war, not in any way to suggest the
Nazis deserved observation of the laws of war. Paolo and his troop were marched
from Russia to Siberia on a 40-day trek. I can’t imagine what that must have
been like, especially for Paolo, who helped a young friend for the duration of
the walk. Upon arrival in Siberia, Paolo turned to his walking companion who
must not have spoke a word for the duration of the hike, and said “We made it!”
to which his partner responded in German. What he said we’ll never know, but it
sounded a lot like “Heinz, shveinz, hitz!”. Nonna does a much better rendition.
Paolo and troop settled into life on the
working camp, picking cotton of all things! Ironic foreshadowing as he
would go on to become a very wealthy man making a living off of cotton back in
Italy, where he and Olga started and excelled in a clothing business. Although
he loved Siberia, he eventually returned to Milan and the Veneto region and,
after Olga insisted she was not moving to Siberia (ya, girl!), they settled
into life in Italia. Paolo’s parents bought him a bike and told him to get to
work, selling anything he could. He filled the front and back with socks, a
hook up I believe he received from a friend or family member who purchased them
from Milan, and returned at the end of the day without any inventory.
Successful as he was, a friend of his naturally started helping, thereby
expanding the business two-fold, and like most success stories that somehow
make sense because we see the fruit of the labour and not the elbow grease that
went into it, Olga was eventually filling every nook in their humble home with
clothing product for sale. She even remembers one Christmas Day when a woman
came knocking on the door asking for a pair of socks, “On Christmas day! Can
you believe that!” No, no I couldn’t. We laughed and laughed and laughed. But
gut-splitting jokes aside, I think the take-away is that Olga and Paolo and
their clothes were in demand, and people knew where to find them.
Nine years after returning from the war,
Paolo and Olga wed. Olga says it was one of the happiest days of her life, and
rightfully so. She and he waited a long time for that glorious day. The war had
changed everything in Italy and their lives. For example, Paolo’s brother, a
stunning young man, was driving to Verona from Milan one day with a carload of
textiles when his car was shot clear off the road by planes flying overhead.
This kind of reality is so far from anything I’ve ever heard growing up in
Canada. It’s so close to home, and as Nonna showed me the photo of the
brother-in-law she never met, hanging in a huge oval frame in her attic, the
gravity of my surroundings coagulated in my mind. This reality of lost family
members, by-products of global turmoil, brothers never met, cousins never had,
hit me like a ton of bricks. This reality is likely more common, and my utopian
upbringing is the exception on a Global scale. Anyway, Olga and Paolo
were married and from the way she speaks about it, and the photos she shares of
a stunning, beaming bride, she and he were very much in love. She, a picture of
perfection, with a warm smile featuring the perfect gap between her front teeth
(so in right now!), thick, wavy, glorious hair, and a waist line I would murder
for, rode her bike to work every day. From the photo we were looking at, her on
her bike with one leg up, two hands on the bars, and a big ear to ear grin, I
could see this woman’s energy exuding across the table had not aged a morsel
from circa 1930.
We closed the Dalfini/Tomelleri history
lesson for the day with photos of Ornella, aka Mamma. A true beauty, who knew
it, and still does to this day.
Next time, I’m promised more photos of
Giorgia (Davide’s older sister) and Manu. I can’t wait. As we parted, Nonna and
Manu checked the kitchen balcony window to check for rain, and seeing that it
was coming down, she quickly hunted down a giant umbrella. After two baci on
the cheeks, she followed us to the front door and instructed Manu to open the
umbrella and for me to link my arm under his. As we walked through the garden
on our way home, I turned and saw her huge smile and waving hand in the doorway
watching us until we were out of site. For those of you out there who have an
affinity for the elderly, I can only hope you get your butts in gear to come
visit. If not for me, for Olga.
Turning the page brings us to Wednesday!
After a two hour lunch where I prepared zucchini parmigiana (Gianna, do you
hear your name every time people say that word?), baked mini-onions (don’t
knock’em till your try!), insalata and spinach and ricotta tortellini, Davide
went to work and I excitedly suited up for a much over due and undeniably
necessary work out. Shoes and jacket on, hyped to tackle the only thing
I had on my list of things to do for the day, I burst out the front door and
into the sunshine! Finding a path Mamma showed me the night before, I started
runnnnn-iiiing Gump style, post leg braces.
Obviously exercise is the key to
life, the elixir to aging and the uncontested shoulder to cry on when the real
deal is an ocean, neighbourhood or car drive away. Continuing my dry-land
training at home with sit ups as Jay-Z blared in the background, I was
invigorated and inspired. When I checked my email, out of routine (email me!),
and saw that I had sold my first table, I was elevated to such a high
that I almost chucked my beautiful child (MacBook Air) across the room, off the
balcony and into the glowing, stunning, all-connected world to fly away,
capsizing in a mighty EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY AND LIFE IS THE BEST roar
to the billions of restless minds that await an answer to that implied
proverbial question.
INSPIRATION, VALIDATION, STRENGTH, FUEL!
I’ve got ‘em! I’ve worked out, I’ve got
someone who wants to buy my work, I’ve got a beautiful boyfriend, family,
extended family and new-found family, I’m supported and have the ability to
support; I’m a surviva! cue D-Child!! (think superbowl halftime show if this
reference is lost on you)!!
Which brings me to yesterday – V-day,
Valentino Day, Valentine’s Day, in the land from which romance was born, from
whence Romeo and Juliet made it so, from the LAND OF LOVE! I wrote this
entry from a bar while awaiting Davide. I was in the citta centro
(city centre) and wearing out my battery until the very last drop. Yesterday
afternoon I joined Manu and his girlfriend Federica for a walk downtown. We
wound through the streets of the city that is painted red for St. Valentino.
There are hearts, balloons, chocolates, roses and wine everywhere. Second potentially only to Paris (although I've never been),
this must be the home of this Halmark Holiday. Federica is as young as
Manu, and smart as a whip. When teachers tell you to apply yourself, they are
asking you to emulate her. Today she told me: “We never stop learning
Jenna”. She makes a great point, thank you Fede, you 18 year old inspiration.
She took me on a tour of the entire citta a piedi (walking), including a pass
by her school, located in the middle of the stunning centro, and every major
church in the vicinity, before leaving me to get some much needed alone time
and a chance to write.
Replying to a letter someone wrote
Juliet looking for a help landing a man. It was from Erica, 35. We told her to
do two things: 1. move to Italy, 2. be patient.
Juliet's balcony.
Davide bought me a gorgeous bouquet, and
we dined over Indian food, sitting side by side in a banquet. Exhausted from
the day, we called it a night and turned in around midnight.
I've officially been here for nine days, and can feel my footing gaining traction. Not a day passes that I don't
feel beyond lucky.
Tonight I'm meeting some of Davide's
closest friends, tomorrow we're taking in a soccer game followed by live music and beers.
Sunday we'll lunch with Papa, and hopefully next week only continues to get
better.
This post is extremely long so if you've
stuck with it, I applaud your commitment. I hope everyone back home is doing
well and keeping warm or at least hitting the slopes or rinks to take advantage
of the season.
Much love as always,
Jenna
xx
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