Italy made me a Hobbit
Posted 07-08-2012 at 09:55 AM by Urban Sasquatch
There is something in me which seeks comfort, and one of the surest displays of comfort is a well-set table.
I suppose this is part of my personality. I'm the kind of person who enjoys a relatively tidy, orderly home and who hates crowds but loves gatherings. Given my druthers every holiday would be filled with people and decor and foods enough to be truly called a feast.
Sometimes when I think of food in general there seems to be a theme, something seasonal or holiday-based, revolving around perpetuating a certain atmosphere.
I'm a sucker for Christmas as a whole, truly adore the holiday. Left to my own devices I would decorate for the winter holidays in a manner somewhere between modern technology and a certain flair for the "primitive". Lights and candles and leaves and vines woven in, lanterns, garlands, berries, bulbs and baubles, tinsel and faux icicles.
But the food... that would be where things really pulled together.
I think some of this stems from my time spent in Italy, where I learned not merely about cooking and foodstuffs, but most importantly how to dine.
In Italy, dining can be as simple as a half hour of wolfing down enough fuel to get back to work (although this is rare) OR can be an hours-long venture filled with multiple courses, good conversation, open affection and even song.
That, in my book, totally rocks.
Once in the place where I lived, San Vito dei Normanni down in the Puglia region, I stayed late in a restaurant just to watch how a family gathering conducted itself throughout the course of an obvious gathering.
There were the initial courses of antipasti or gli piatti primi (first course). Then gli piatti secondi, often either a soup or pasta; then there was MORE than ample time for this to be eaten.
There was NOT a bunch of bread on the table as in American restaurants where they charge you and then you sit around filling up on the cheap stuff. Drinks were small and room temperature unless they were meant specifically to be hot or cold because Italians consider iced drinks to be bad for digestion and bad for the meal itself.
Often after the second course there was some form of small alcoholic drink which I've yet to identify, somewhere between an apertif and a digestivo, to help "settle" the foods already in the stomach.
Throughout all this time the conversation rolled along wonderfully and there was much merriment.
Then came third courses, such as chicken or fish.
And more time. This was usually the longest stretch of time and the dining was actually slow as the conversation continued quite heartily throughout.
At last would come the offer of dessert. Some would take it, some would not. Many would opt for an espresso and a digestivo such as Amaro, an herbed liquor which I personally think of as Amaretto's great grandpappy, designed to truly settle the stomach and aid in digestion.
I'd never have believed it, save that when I finally tried this digestivo after an enormous meal I actually felt everything inside just sort of "settle down", and anything resembling discomfort simply vanished. It felt so wonderful that in true American fashion I was going to opt for the more must be better approach, but an Italian friend waved me off of this, aware that I had no idea what the hell I was doing.
Evenings on the veranda, beneath almond and fig trees with my landlord's family taught me that this is how meals are supposed to be, and how family life is supposed to be a refuge from the stress, the hustle and the bustle we so avidly construct here in American lifestyle.
Truly, it was nothing unusual for children or women to break into song and for everyone to simply join in as though nothing could be more natural.
When I think of food I think not only of gastronomic satisfaction, of titillating the palate with tastes, flavour and sensation; I think of comfort and I think of occasion, season, feelings and pleasantry.
I think of comfortable chairs and elevenses and second breakfast. I think of cheese rinds and strong coffee, of fresh herbs and tea, or steeped mushrooms and marinades.
I think of a culinary realm where the grandiose is laced with simplicity and time nearly stops.
That is how Italy made me a Hobbit.
I suppose this is part of my personality. I'm the kind of person who enjoys a relatively tidy, orderly home and who hates crowds but loves gatherings. Given my druthers every holiday would be filled with people and decor and foods enough to be truly called a feast.
Sometimes when I think of food in general there seems to be a theme, something seasonal or holiday-based, revolving around perpetuating a certain atmosphere.
I'm a sucker for Christmas as a whole, truly adore the holiday. Left to my own devices I would decorate for the winter holidays in a manner somewhere between modern technology and a certain flair for the "primitive". Lights and candles and leaves and vines woven in, lanterns, garlands, berries, bulbs and baubles, tinsel and faux icicles.
But the food... that would be where things really pulled together.
I think some of this stems from my time spent in Italy, where I learned not merely about cooking and foodstuffs, but most importantly how to dine.
In Italy, dining can be as simple as a half hour of wolfing down enough fuel to get back to work (although this is rare) OR can be an hours-long venture filled with multiple courses, good conversation, open affection and even song.
That, in my book, totally rocks.
Once in the place where I lived, San Vito dei Normanni down in the Puglia region, I stayed late in a restaurant just to watch how a family gathering conducted itself throughout the course of an obvious gathering.
There were the initial courses of antipasti or gli piatti primi (first course). Then gli piatti secondi, often either a soup or pasta; then there was MORE than ample time for this to be eaten.
There was NOT a bunch of bread on the table as in American restaurants where they charge you and then you sit around filling up on the cheap stuff. Drinks were small and room temperature unless they were meant specifically to be hot or cold because Italians consider iced drinks to be bad for digestion and bad for the meal itself.
Often after the second course there was some form of small alcoholic drink which I've yet to identify, somewhere between an apertif and a digestivo, to help "settle" the foods already in the stomach.
Throughout all this time the conversation rolled along wonderfully and there was much merriment.
Then came third courses, such as chicken or fish.
And more time. This was usually the longest stretch of time and the dining was actually slow as the conversation continued quite heartily throughout.
At last would come the offer of dessert. Some would take it, some would not. Many would opt for an espresso and a digestivo such as Amaro, an herbed liquor which I personally think of as Amaretto's great grandpappy, designed to truly settle the stomach and aid in digestion.
I'd never have believed it, save that when I finally tried this digestivo after an enormous meal I actually felt everything inside just sort of "settle down", and anything resembling discomfort simply vanished. It felt so wonderful that in true American fashion I was going to opt for the more must be better approach, but an Italian friend waved me off of this, aware that I had no idea what the hell I was doing.
Evenings on the veranda, beneath almond and fig trees with my landlord's family taught me that this is how meals are supposed to be, and how family life is supposed to be a refuge from the stress, the hustle and the bustle we so avidly construct here in American lifestyle.
Truly, it was nothing unusual for children or women to break into song and for everyone to simply join in as though nothing could be more natural.
When I think of food I think not only of gastronomic satisfaction, of titillating the palate with tastes, flavour and sensation; I think of comfort and I think of occasion, season, feelings and pleasantry.
I think of comfortable chairs and elevenses and second breakfast. I think of cheese rinds and strong coffee, of fresh herbs and tea, or steeped mushrooms and marinades.
I think of a culinary realm where the grandiose is laced with simplicity and time nearly stops.
That is how Italy made me a Hobbit.
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