Canned Tomatoes?

          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