I'm sure you can list the stereotypes about Italian food
without my listing them here. I want to
share with you, however, my own experiences with Italians and their food, or at
least their attitudes toward it from what I have seen. I chose to do a homestay here in Perugia, and
when I first arrived, I think the biggest culture shock came not from the way
that Italians live as much as from their passion toward food. I speak specifically of my host mom who,
although our communication is only very slowly increasing, delivers her
messages about the proper way to cook quite effectively. The first day, we went shopping together, and
Luciana helped me to navigate the grocery store which mostly consisted of her
placing things into my cart. (I blame my
newly developed Ricotta addiction on her insisting that I buy it for breakfast.) I must admit that at home, I am very
passionate about eating healthy food that is cooked simply without
unnecessarily added ingredients. I do
not enjoy eating overly-processed foods and cook almost everything from
scratch. When I buy something that is
not fresh, I make sure that the ingredients are ones that will not affect my
health (quite often out of necessity rather than "pickiness") and
this often means just straying away from canned food. I did, however, want to buy a jar of tomato
sauce to keep in my pantry in case it's needed in a pinch. When I picked the sauce up from the shelf,
the horror that appeared on my host mom's face convinced me that the Rapture
was occurring behind me. Practically
snatching the jar from my hand, she returned it to the shelf and, from what I
could understand, insisted that the sauce be made by hand. She hurriedly marched me to the fresh produce
where I could buy tomatoes for that purpose.
I did return later to the aisle with the sauce and placed one jar into
my cart to the tune of Luciana's "tsking."
Just as
passionately, Luciana assisted with our recipe the other night when Connie and I
began to cut tomatoes for the eggplant pizza we were making for class. She shooed us from the stove, retrieved the
pot from the drawer, and began to scoop the tomatoes into the pot. I am able to understand her a bit better now,
and from what I could gather, she wanted us to puree them after they were
cooked. She had already put a fresh
onion into the sauce and was ripping the basil when I stopped her to explain
that we didn't need a puree, just for the tomatoes to be slightly soft but
still chunky. Again, the wide eyes made
me check over my shoulder before she exclaimed, "NON E UNA SALSA!!"(That's
not a sauce!) I will take the blame for my little Italian being able to
communicate that. For Italians, I learned,
a tomato sauce is a very specific thing cooked in a very specific way. Here's to learning through mistakes!
One of the
classes I am taking in Perugia is a class on Italian food and culture. (This was the reason that Connie was at my
apartment making eggplant pizza. It was
an assignment; never would I have picked up an eggplant without my grade
depending on it.) In this class, we
recently learned about Italian food psychosis that goes something like this: Not only do Italians believe their food is
the best in the world (my opinions on that will likely follow in a later post),
but they refuse to accept any other view than this and will consider anyone who
thinks differently as senile. It is not
a matter of opinion to them but rather fact, a fact which is not open to
discussion nor to debate. Take the movie
An American in Rome as proof of this
fact. The main character, Nando, has
tried to convince others that he is American in every way by adopting American
habits. When he rejects his
interpretation of an American sandwich by spitting it out in exchange for
Italian macaroni, it represents the Italian opinion that other cultures might
be better than Italy in many ways but never in food. Our professor encouraged us to test this
theory of the food psychosis, by talking to Italians and see what they
think. In speaking with some younger
Italians whom we've met through language exchanges and other events, they don't
seem to really feel as strongly as we thought they would. Some of them prefer Italian food but can
understand why we like other foods, for example. This weekend, however, we were returning from
a brief trip to Barcelona and encountered an elderly gentleman who asked me and
Connie if the approaching train was the one for Perugia. "Lo spero!" I told him. (I hope so!)
"Penso che si." (I
think it is.) As we waited, Connie and I were given an opportunity to experience first-hand the Italian food psychosis.
The gentleman began to speak to us
about the two companies he owns that manufacture petrol valves and how he has
been a businessman with those companies for fifty years. He has traveled to the United States only for
vacation but got a glimpse of American business practices which he could not
stop praising as "straight and honest" as opposed to Italy's, whose,
according to him, were just like Germany's business practices: broken and
uncontrolled. (These of course are his
words, not mine. As much as I'd love to
know more about the culture of this country, I have not learned much about the
business practices. The only thing I
have experienced to be broken thus far is the time schedule for the
trains!) To test our professor's theory,
however, Connie and I said, "How about the food?" His condemnation of his country immediately
changed to a bright smile, incessant nodding, and "Certo! Certo! La
migliore!" Although he told us that
from the food he had had in the United States, he thought we had good roast
beef, there is simply no question for Italian food. He proceeded to ramble off a list of his
favorites – local names of which we only recognized a few dishes. Although we did not understand everything, we
could tell from his enthusiasm that this man was affected by the Italian food
psychosis. Of course, I'm enjoying the
food quite a bit myself – I'm preparing to write a whole blog post on my rambling
at the artisans' market – but I felt privileged in my conversation with this
gentleman to be peering through the window straight into such a huge part of
Italian culture. I hope that through my
writing, I am able to provide something similar to you.
Thanks for reading, my friends. A presto.
Blessings,
Sarah
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