You can play and download the full The ABCs of Italian Cheese episode below:
May 21, 2020
Guest on the Ciao Bella podcast
I was thrilled when my friend Erica Firpo invited me to talk about my passion for cheese on her Ciao Bella podcast. I naturally steered the conversation towards blue cheese.
You can play and download the full The ABCs of Italian Cheese episode below:
You can play and download the full The ABCs of Italian Cheese episode below:
Apr 26, 2020
Bella Ciao!
April 25th. In Italy this date marks the liberation from Nazi-fascism. Festa della Liberazione is a public holiday, schools and businesses are normally closed and people get the day off. On this day we normally go on a picnic, or take a walk in the park. We snack on the first fava beans of the season, pairing them with sharp aged pecorino romano. We snooze after a few glasses of wine. We each celebrate the recurrence in our own way. One thing that's common on venticinque aprile however, is signing "Bella Ciao!"
Younger generations may know the song from La Casa de Papel. People my age and older know it's actually the anthem of anti-fascism.
"Bella Ciao!" was originally a protest folk song of the mondine women, protesting against the harsh working conditions in the paddy rice fields of Northern Italy, in the late 19th century. The song was later modified and adopted as the hymn of the anti-fascist resistance by the Italian partisans between 1943 and 1945 during the Italian Resistance against Nazi German forces occupying Italy. The author of the modified lyrics is unknown.
It's a song we all know the words to. My friend Laura's mother would sing it to her as a lullaby. I used to hum it to myself when I was racing down the dark corridor in the big house where I grew up.
"Bella Ciao!" is a song about Rememberance and Courage. It's a song of Resistance, of Sacrifice. It's a song that talks about the invader and of death.
A new kind of invader has recently entered our lives. It has broken our courage. It has us locked us into our homes, divided us from family. It has ruined our life. The enemy, silent and faceless, has taken away our jobs, our freedom. It has taken many, too many lives. This year there were no picnics, no naps in the park. We sang "Bella Ciao!" from the window, confined in our homes.
In addition to the difficulty of living in lockdown, I personally am still in shock for having lost someone I knew to the new invader. Matteo was an old love and for the past 17 years a dear, dear friend. He was a romantic, an artist and an epicure. Matteo was handsome, witty, smart, talented, kind and gentle. Anti-fascist to the core, he was dearly loved. He leaves behind one big incredulous and heartbroken family spread across Bari, Sydney, Puerto Rico, New York and Rome. Yet, he died alone in an ICU unit in New Jersey, unconscious. A true partisan fighting in a battle that he lost in only 4 weeks.
It was surreal singing "Bella Ciao!" this year: a song about freedom as prisoners. I opened the window at 3 pm and sang. Shyly, a little choked. Then the somber remembrance of the victims of Nazi-fascism––with every word I uttered––turned into a loud, hoarse scream against the cruel new invader that took the life of so many, including my friend's.
"Bella Ciao!" is the hymn of the partisans who helped liberate Italy from fascism 75 years ago, giving their life for freedom. From now on "Bella Ciao!" has a new, added significance: it's also the anthem of all those that are still fighting against the faceless enemy, and I will continue singing it in remembrance of those victims defeated by the new invader of 2020.
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| "Bella Ciao!" album cover |
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| Partigiani in the mountains, along the Gothic Line |
"Bella Ciao!" was originally a protest folk song of the mondine women, protesting against the harsh working conditions in the paddy rice fields of Northern Italy, in the late 19th century. The song was later modified and adopted as the hymn of the anti-fascist resistance by the Italian partisans between 1943 and 1945 during the Italian Resistance against Nazi German forces occupying Italy. The author of the modified lyrics is unknown.
 |
| Valentino Petrelli / Public domain |
It's a song we all know the words to. My friend Laura's mother would sing it to her as a lullaby. I used to hum it to myself when I was racing down the dark corridor in the big house where I grew up.
"Bella Ciao!" is a song about Rememberance and Courage. It's a song of Resistance, of Sacrifice. It's a song that talks about the invader and of death.
A new kind of invader has recently entered our lives. It has broken our courage. It has us locked us into our homes, divided us from family. It has ruined our life. The enemy, silent and faceless, has taken away our jobs, our freedom. It has taken many, too many lives. This year there were no picnics, no naps in the park. We sang "Bella Ciao!" from the window, confined in our homes.
 |
| Banner in Bergamo: "Freedom is like air: you realize its value when you're short of it. Thanks to those that resist. Now and always." |
In addition to the difficulty of living in lockdown, I personally am still in shock for having lost someone I knew to the new invader. Matteo was an old love and for the past 17 years a dear, dear friend. He was a romantic, an artist and an epicure. Matteo was handsome, witty, smart, talented, kind and gentle. Anti-fascist to the core, he was dearly loved. He leaves behind one big incredulous and heartbroken family spread across Bari, Sydney, Puerto Rico, New York and Rome. Yet, he died alone in an ICU unit in New Jersey, unconscious. A true partisan fighting in a battle that he lost in only 4 weeks.
It was surreal singing "Bella Ciao!" this year: a song about freedom as prisoners. I opened the window at 3 pm and sang. Shyly, a little choked. Then the somber remembrance of the victims of Nazi-fascism––with every word I uttered––turned into a loud, hoarse scream against the cruel new invader that took the life of so many, including my friend's.
"Bella Ciao!" is the hymn of the partisans who helped liberate Italy from fascism 75 years ago, giving their life for freedom. From now on "Bella Ciao!" has a new, added significance: it's also the anthem of all those that are still fighting against the faceless enemy, and I will continue singing it in remembrance of those victims defeated by the new invader of 2020.
Apr 3, 2020
The New York Times "36 Hours in..." column
It was one of the bad days.
One of the days during lockdown when you can barely get out of bed. Sink full of dirty dishes, laundry piled high in the bin. Those days when not even food picks you up.
I dragged myself to the computer and, like every day, braced myself to read the news.
In browsing The New York Times' Travel section for some escape therapy, I spotted a call for entries.
The paper's popular 36 Hours series was launching their first ever reader-generated itinerary. The first with no actual traveling
Without thinking I filled the fields in the contact form and sent without even doing a spellcheck.
I've always dreamed of having my writing published in The New York Times. The Holy Grail of journalism and reporting.
Lesson number 4,937,583,262,543 that I learned during quarantine: dreams do come true. Even on bad days.
36 Hours in… Wherever You Are ~ a weekend of traveling you can do from home.
One of the days during lockdown when you can barely get out of bed. Sink full of dirty dishes, laundry piled high in the bin. Those days when not even food picks you up.
I dragged myself to the computer and, like every day, braced myself to read the news.
In browsing The New York Times' Travel section for some escape therapy, I spotted a call for entries.
The paper's popular 36 Hours series was launching their first ever reader-generated itinerary. The first with no actual traveling
Without thinking I filled the fields in the contact form and sent without even doing a spellcheck.
I've always dreamed of having my writing published in The New York Times. The Holy Grail of journalism and reporting.
Lesson number 4,937,583,262,543 that I learned during quarantine: dreams do come true. Even on bad days.
36 Hours in… Wherever You Are ~ a weekend of traveling you can do from home.
Mar 16, 2020
Italy on pause
This is actually happening.
Italy is in lockdown. Zona Protetta, as Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte defined the country: a protected area.
The day after the decree was issues with hashtag #iorestoacasa (I'm staying at home) as national directive for people to stay put and help stop the contagion from increasing, the World Health Organization elevated the outbreak to pandemic.
I have to keep reminding myself, this is actually happening.
The perception abroad, given the media coverage––both domestic and foreign––is of Italy's deserted streets and monuments, hoards of people fleeing home from Lombardy, Emilia-Romagna and Veneto aka "red zones" where the contagion and casualties are higher, and general hysteria at the supermarket.
It's a lot more than that.
Being here and living this surreal situation feels more like the country is on pause.
We are living in one of those strange nightmares. The ones where time is prolonged and everything feels unknown, like a heavy burden. Trying to run away from the monster with lead in your legs.
What exactly is a lockdown? And why are we in it?
What: Lockdown means the entire Italian population is asked to stay home and only leave the house for absolutely necessary errands like buying food, going to the pharmacy and taking a short walk with our kids and pets. Italy is essentially shut down at least until April 3.
We don't congregate, we keep 3-ft social distancing and we wash our hands much more than usual.
Why: We are closed off from the outer world so that we don't infect others and put countless people at risk, and by the same token we potentially avoid contracting the virus from others who may be infected. That's because coronavirus is sneaky, its symptoms appear after a 2 to 14 day incubation period.
A monumental effort. But necessary.
I feel proud that I'm doing this for our elders, our community and our country.
We can no longer go to the bar for espresso (or a grappa, or both). It was tough enough grabbing a coffee while maintaining the 3-ft distance between barista and other customers, given our average personal space is much smaller than the rest of the world's. Now I miss my cornetto like it's crack.
Buses are still running, but the few I see driving by are always empty. We can no longer visit museums, watch a match at the football stadium, attend a concert. We can't hug our aging relatives. We can't go to the gym. We can no longer do impromptu pizza night with friends. We'll hold off on going to the cinema, theater, ballet, getting manicures, haircuts. You'll just have to accept my grey roots showing.
No more day trips to the lake or the countryside. In order to leave our region of residence, we have to carry a signed self-certified declaration stating the reason for the transfer. Work and emergencies are permitted, trespassers without the signed form (or a not good enough reason) outside of their region/province will be fined up to €290.
Don't think martial law. Just strictly applied rules.
The general feeling is of melancholy. A strange new sadness.
So many questions are flooding our minds.
Will my family and I stay healthy?
Will cancellations continue to pour into our mailboxes?
Will I have to homeschool my teenage son who in June is supposed to take a major final written and spoken exam to advance to high school?
We're so used to multitasking and going about our busy daily routine that all this "spare time" is also, quite frankly, driving us a little nuts. But we Italians are also creative, resourceful and never forget our sense of humor.
Lack of work and restricted activities are obviously causing everyone trouble. The travel industry is on its knees. People's livelihood is at risk.
My heart goes out to Venice, my beloved Venice. After the acqua alta in October, now this.
Forza Venezia, we can do this!
As soon as the quarantine lifts, and when it will be safe to travel again, I personally will go to Venice and support its artisans, guides, gondoliers, restaurateurs, bartenders, hotel managers and the general population with my presence, my money, my love. I will do the same with my friends in Bologna, Parma, and other gravely affected areas.
This suspended time will furthermore allow us to do all the things we had previously put on the back burner in the name of fast-pace stakhanovism.
Little sister and I will teach our 82 year old mother (who lives 2 blocks away) to use Skype and Facetime, so we can do video-calls.
I'll make it a habit to check in with family and friends more regularly.
I'll have more time for writing.
I can polish off the book pitch.
Get free pet therapy with our new puppy.
I'll beat my son at scopa.
He will defeat me at Monopoly, as per usual.
I'll finally have the time to read, work out, and do nothing––rare commodities for self employed entrepreneurs…
We will beat this.
We'll find solidarity, our sense of compassion and community––all at a distance.
We'll wash our hands for 60 seconds humming the alphabet or "Tanti Auguri a Te" twice.
We'll try not to touch our face.
We'll stay at a safe distance from others.
And we will make it through this moment.
There is a silver lining to all this (because I always try to see the glass half full).
The air smells amazing. Smog levels have dropped. In the early morning when I take the dog out for his first walk, the dawn smells of flowers and springtime. Reminds me of when I was 17.
This is not going to last forever.
We reach out more and talk to each other on the phone/FaceTime instead of messaging.
Banding together as a community and following the rules feels empowering.
It will be fun to declutter
There will be time to learn a new language... Russian is high on my list.
We Italians, so famous for our love of sharing food, have made no visible effort to raid shelves and panic buy. We've left enough for everyone.
If across the web you've been seeing photos of handwritten sticky-notes and rainbows on banners hanging outside windows, you may be wondering what Andrà tutto bene means.
Literally: "Everything will go well."
Italy is in lockdown. Zona Protetta, as Prime Minister Giuseppe Conte defined the country: a protected area.
"The country needs the responsibility of each and every one of you, it needs 60 million little big sacrifices. Let's keep a distance today to hug each other more warmly and to run faster together tomorrow. All together we will make it through."
The day after the decree was issues with hashtag #iorestoacasa (I'm staying at home) as national directive for people to stay put and help stop the contagion from increasing, the World Health Organization elevated the outbreak to pandemic.
I have to keep reminding myself, this is actually happening.
The perception abroad, given the media coverage––both domestic and foreign––is of Italy's deserted streets and monuments, hoards of people fleeing home from Lombardy, Emilia-Romagna and Veneto aka "red zones" where the contagion and casualties are higher, and general hysteria at the supermarket.
It's a lot more than that.
Being here and living this surreal situation feels more like the country is on pause.
We are living in one of those strange nightmares. The ones where time is prolonged and everything feels unknown, like a heavy burden. Trying to run away from the monster with lead in your legs.
What exactly is a lockdown? And why are we in it?
What: Lockdown means the entire Italian population is asked to stay home and only leave the house for absolutely necessary errands like buying food, going to the pharmacy and taking a short walk with our kids and pets. Italy is essentially shut down at least until April 3.
We don't congregate, we keep 3-ft social distancing and we wash our hands much more than usual.
Why: We are closed off from the outer world so that we don't infect others and put countless people at risk, and by the same token we potentially avoid contracting the virus from others who may be infected. That's because coronavirus is sneaky, its symptoms appear after a 2 to 14 day incubation period.
A monumental effort. But necessary.
I feel proud that I'm doing this for our elders, our community and our country.
We can no longer go to the bar for espresso (or a grappa, or both). It was tough enough grabbing a coffee while maintaining the 3-ft distance between barista and other customers, given our average personal space is much smaller than the rest of the world's. Now I miss my cornetto like it's crack.
Buses are still running, but the few I see driving by are always empty. We can no longer visit museums, watch a match at the football stadium, attend a concert. We can't hug our aging relatives. We can't go to the gym. We can no longer do impromptu pizza night with friends. We'll hold off on going to the cinema, theater, ballet, getting manicures, haircuts. You'll just have to accept my grey roots showing.
No more day trips to the lake or the countryside. In order to leave our region of residence, we have to carry a signed self-certified declaration stating the reason for the transfer. Work and emergencies are permitted, trespassers without the signed form (or a not good enough reason) outside of their region/province will be fined up to €290.
Don't think martial law. Just strictly applied rules.
The general feeling is of melancholy. A strange new sadness.
So many questions are flooding our minds.
Will my family and I stay healthy?
Will cancellations continue to pour into our mailboxes?
Will I have to homeschool my teenage son who in June is supposed to take a major final written and spoken exam to advance to high school?
We're so used to multitasking and going about our busy daily routine that all this "spare time" is also, quite frankly, driving us a little nuts. But we Italians are also creative, resourceful and never forget our sense of humor.
Lack of work and restricted activities are obviously causing everyone trouble. The travel industry is on its knees. People's livelihood is at risk.
My heart goes out to Venice, my beloved Venice. After the acqua alta in October, now this.
Forza Venezia, we can do this!
As soon as the quarantine lifts, and when it will be safe to travel again, I personally will go to Venice and support its artisans, guides, gondoliers, restaurateurs, bartenders, hotel managers and the general population with my presence, my money, my love. I will do the same with my friends in Bologna, Parma, and other gravely affected areas.
This suspended time will furthermore allow us to do all the things we had previously put on the back burner in the name of fast-pace stakhanovism.
Little sister and I will teach our 82 year old mother (who lives 2 blocks away) to use Skype and Facetime, so we can do video-calls.
I'll make it a habit to check in with family and friends more regularly.
I'll have more time for writing.
I can polish off the book pitch.
Get free pet therapy with our new puppy.
I'll beat my son at scopa.
He will defeat me at Monopoly, as per usual.
I'll finally have the time to read, work out, and do nothing––rare commodities for self employed entrepreneurs…
We will beat this.
We'll find solidarity, our sense of compassion and community––all at a distance.
We'll wash our hands for 60 seconds humming the alphabet or "Tanti Auguri a Te" twice.
We'll try not to touch our face.
We'll stay at a safe distance from others.
And we will make it through this moment.
 |
| We will resume complaining about traffic and crowds. |
There is a silver lining to all this (because I always try to see the glass half full).
The air smells amazing. Smog levels have dropped. In the early morning when I take the dog out for his first walk, the dawn smells of flowers and springtime. Reminds me of when I was 17.
This is not going to last forever.
We reach out more and talk to each other on the phone/FaceTime instead of messaging.
Banding together as a community and following the rules feels empowering.
It will be fun to declutter
There will be time to learn a new language... Russian is high on my list.
We Italians, so famous for our love of sharing food, have made no visible effort to raid shelves and panic buy. We've left enough for everyone.
If across the web you've been seeing photos of handwritten sticky-notes and rainbows on banners hanging outside windows, you may be wondering what Andrà tutto bene means.
Literally: "Everything will go well."
Dec 16, 2019
What makes a good Italian coffee bar good?
Given how picky and demanding Italians can be regarding food, furiously sending back a dish if the carbonara has even a hint of heavy cream, it's curious how patient they are when it comes to espresso, sometimes settling for pretty awful brews. Why is that?
Are we Italians just impatient?
Have we gone too long without heavy-duty caffeine, so anything will do?
Do we not want to make a fuss, since a bar is far more public and intimate than a restaurant?
Maybe it's steadfast loyalty to our neighborhood barista—a loyalty that can be deep and wide and sometimes last decades.
Romantic notions aside, no one should ever settle for a bar that fails to cut it, whether because the coffee is mediocre or the morning pastry too dry. A bar holds a crucially important, practical, and cultural role in daily life—in that way at least kin to an American "watering hole." If your local bartender can't mix drinks, there's trouble in Dodge.
But how exactly do you go about rating an Italian bar? What makes a good bar good?
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