Vanity, Thy Name is Dominic

To Market, to market

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig;
   Home again, home again, dancing a jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog;
   Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.

What could explain the Italian lifestyle more aptly than this little Mother Goose rhyme.  Again I go to market, once each day, and still every time I come home, I dance a little jig!  It's hard to just list all the quirks of an Italian shopping trip, so I'll just let you be a fly on the wall during a typical trip to the super-market.

I walk 3 blocks to the store, usually with kids in toe, but sometimes alone.  Upon reaching the parking lot, I decide whether I need a shopping cart (carrello) or shopping part, as Dominic calls it.  If I do, I must insert a euro as a deposit which releases the cart from the others that it's chained to.  If I don't need a shopping cart or can't use one because I'm pushing a stroller, I pick up either a regular plastic basket or a wheeled deeper basket, both conveniently and confusingly also called carrello. 

First is produce.  The produce department looks like a scaled down version of what we're used to in the US.  But don't you dare reach for any produce with your bare hands unless you want to incur the wrath (or disdain) of your fellow shoppers!  Stop.  You must get a plastic glove and the plastic bag to put the lettuce into.  All right, phew, now you can put it into the bag.  But don't forget to weigh it.  I have to put it on the scale, press the number that corresponds and wait for the label to print out.  I wouldn't recommend forgetting to do this as it will hold up the entire check out line while the cashier glares at you, then runs back to the produce department to print out the label.

Now on to the bread.  Take your pick of freshly baked type 00 bread.  I'm not really sure what "tipo 00" bread (pane) means yet, but it's delicious.  It's best when it's still warm.  Crunchy on the outside and soft of the inside.  I typically pick up a baguette for 57 euro cents and some rolls.   The only trouble is that the bread and produce are in the first part of the store so my basket now has several smashable items on the bottom.  Who designed grocery stores anyway?

All right, now I need to get some lunch meat (carne) and a roasted chicken (pollo da spiedo).  I've finally conquered the deli counter.  It took me 2 1/2 months to even work up the courage to try it!  But I've got it down now.  Not so for the fish counter.  Maybe next week...  So, I grab a number.  Then I loiter in front of the deli cases with the masses, always trying maintain the delicate balance of being close enough to see but far enough to be out of the main traffic, until I see my number flash on the screen or hear it yelled out, if the screen isn't working yet again.  I need to keep my ears perked and the stroller ready.  If I'm not up to the counter in a flash, no go.  They move on to the next person.  Once I got used to it, it's actually very convenient and keeps things moving.  "Hai bisogno?" they ask me.  Literally, "do you have need?"  Umm...yes.  Then I tell them what I want and how many "etti" of it.  (An etto is a tenth of a kilogram, or about 1/4 of a pound, as I just realized.)    I always pray that they don't ask me any questions otherwise I'm usually forced to just repeat my original request or resort to hand gestures.  After getting that, they ask, "poi?"  Literally, "then?"  I say, "vorrei un pollo da spiedo" or, "I'd like a roasted chicken."  After getting that, they ask, "poi?" and I respond, "basta" while making the "that's all" hand gesture (same in Italian).

Moving on.  Next, I go to the refrigerated dairy section for milk, yogurt, and cheese.   Not too difficult.  I just decide if I want whole milk (intero) or skim milk (parzialmente scremata). Yogurt is probably the easiest to choose.  They import German joghurt, but the containers look the same, and they always have pictures of the fruit on them.  You can also get chocolate-chip flavored (straciatella) or coffee (caffe) flavored yogurt, if you wish...  Deciding on a cheese can be very overwhelming.  Cheddar doesn't exist.  Stare all I want at the cheeses and their tastes will become no more apparent.  Something with holes probably is a form of swiss.  Anything else, squeeze it gently to see if it's a hard or soft cheese.  Besides that? I see if I can recognize any of the names or I just take a gamble.  Almost all the cheeses we've tried have been delicious.  One nice thing is that in addition to the commercial cheeses, sold in prepackaged wrapping like edamer, asiago, fontal, etc. the deli has a refrigerator section with deli-packaged cheese sections.  They sell an 1/8 of a round of brie or feta or gorgonzola.  They sell wonderful "grateable" cheese like parmigiano reggiano (the real parmesan cheese), grana padana, and pecorino romano, but you'd better own a cheese grater because you hardly ever find any grated cheese, only the hard blocks.  But the cheese graters are amazing here, just like in fancy Italian restaurants. Today I picked out some provolone dolce for sandwiches and a block of the original, authentic parmigiano reggiano (my favorite) for making sauces and sprinkling on anything that might taste better with it (just about everything).

On my first shopping trips, I was so perplexed about eggs.  They're not in the refrigerator section.  Where are they?  I'm not really sure how or why, but they store them on the shelf, next to the "shelf milk".   It's a section with sugar, eggs, milk, and then coffee and tea.  Very strange.  So far we haven't gotten sick, though.  The eggs do have very orange yolks but otherwise they seem perfectly normal.  I prefer the "refrigerator milk" because I'm a little skeptical of what must go into this shelf UHT milk, but it does taste okay if you put in the fridge (room temperature milk still weirds me out).

The kids are getting a little antsy, so I'm going to keep this a short trip.  I'll buy a lot of the other things we need like canned tomatoes, pesto, pasta, boxed juice, and wine at Prix, a discount grocery store across the street.  I maneuver my way to the check out line.  If I have the kids and only a basket of groceries Italians will frequently tell me by their words and gestures to go ahead of them.  I can't tell you how many times I've gotten to skip the lines.  Let's just say that preference for women and children still exists here.   So now there's just one person in front of me.  With Dominic's help, we put everything up on the conveyor belt, being very careful to leave a large space between our groceries and those of the person in front of us.  And, most importantly, as soon as a divider stick is available we immediately put it between our stuff and theirs.  And again, as soon as possible, another one behind our stuff.   I haven't quite figured out the rationale for this but Italians are like hawks about this divider stick.  It's almost like a game that everyone plays--except that no one is aware it's going on.  If their is only a gap of 3 inches between your stuff and theirs they anxiously watch you, wondering when you're going to get it together and grab a divider stick.  Or if they're fed up they might ask you to pass them one, if they're still more brazen they might simply reach over you to get one, and if they're passive-aggressive, they will just re-pile their stuff to be farther from yours.  Are they afraid your groceries might eat theirs?  That the cashier will inadvertently ring up theirs with yours or yours with theirs?  Then what?  Can they not reverse this?  And where are they planning to go in the two minutes it takes to ring up their groceries? Won't they notice if Giovanni's sugar is rung up with their stuff? Or won't Giovanni notice if his lettuce sneaks up to the cashier and is placed in Mariana's bag?  It's bizarre.  But don't forget.  Not unless you want the death stare.

Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.

A few recent "Dominic's"

Here are some pictures of Christmas Eve and Christmas.  After that, I listed a few of the funny things Dominic has been saying lately.

• We heard Cate screaming a sort of muffled scream.  Matt ran in to check on her and found nothing suspicious.

     M: What's going on in here? What'd you do?

     D: Nothing.  I'm just being her protector.

      It happened again just a minute later.  Matt went in.

     M: What's going on in here?  What happened?

     D: Nothing.  I'm just trying to help her be a good...uh...boy.

•  After cousin Michael was born, we were discussing this with Dominic.  He told us, Michael came out of Aunt Sarah's belly.  Then Dominic rubbed his belly.  I fully expected Dominic to say something about having a baby in his belly.  Then he started rubbing his chest.  "I have Jesus in my heart. Mommy, you have Jesus in your heart.  Daddy, you do too."  

• I was chopping up spinach and Dominic was standing on a chair next to me watching.  He kept saying, Mommy, be careful.  You'll chop your fingers off.  I told him, of course I'm being careful.  I have lots of practice and am very careful.  He insisted, Mommy, be careful.  You'll chop your fingers off!  I was having great trouble resisting the urge to laugh at his concern, but I managed to respond by thanking him for his concern, but again, I reiterated, I'm being careful.  I know just how to chop vegetables with sharp knives.  Mommy can do this.  Then he reached out and took my hand (the one without the knife in it) and pulled it away from the spinach.  No Mommy.  You'll chop your fingers off!

A little feasting

We had decided to combat all despair and Christmas blues that might try to surface in the midst of our Christmas celebrations from missing everyone and the typical robustness of the holiday.  We were hoping that the reverse of the old adage "the more the merrier" was not true, which would leave us a very un-merry party of just two adults and two small children.

About a week before Christmas we made a family trip to the supermarket to pick out our Christmas tree. We decided on a lovely tree of 150 centimeters.  We also picked up some expensive Christmas lights (12 euro when not on sale!) and gold and red ball ornaments.  Savvy as we are, we got everything during their 50% off sale.  We got home and put up the tree, then as soon as we put the Christmas lights on it, Dominic shrieked, "Oooooo!!!" and was very, very excited.  It was all worth it.  Catie kept alternately standing on her tip-toes trying to grab the ornaments and puffing her cheeks while trying to blow out the Christmas lights. We completed the night by eating some homemade chocolate cookies-- after all, what celebration is complete without food?--and listening to some Christmas music. 

We celebrated Christmas Eve in style with smoked salmon, shrimp over linguine in a white wine sauce accompanied by salad and roasted zucchini and carrots. The only hitch was the shrimp still had tails...and shells...and legs!  So, we had to spend a little time at Christmas Eve dinner in the messy, somewhat nauseating business of taking the shrimp out of their crustacean wrappers.  Then we had homemade apple pie for dessert with a mound of whip cream.  And, of course, everything was washed down with white wine.  We each opened one present that night.  It was nice that Dominic and Cate opened a present from Grandma and Grandpa over Skype.  Technology can sure be great!   Dominic got a toy camera that flashes and makes various noises, including, "hello" in a Chinese voice.  He walked around for about an hour pushing the buttons and telling us to smile and look at him.  Cate got a little telephone on wheels, and she loves to hold it to her ear and babble.  It was hard to get them to bed after all that excitement, but they finally nodded off and Matt and I were left to clean up the mess from our festivity. 

Christmas day we had our traditional "special" breakfast of french toast, or fridge toast, as it has since become, with powdered sugar and cinnamon and sugar on top.  Yes, both powdered sugar and white sugar. That's why it's special.  A few days ago Dominic was looking into the refrigerator for something to eat and asked me, "Mommy, can I have some fridge toast?" After breakfast, we let the kids open up all their presents.  Dominic and Cate were quite the team.  Dominic busily opened everybody's presents, and then Catie reveled in ripping the wrapping paper into little shreds all over the apartment.  We were showered with love, even from afar.  There ended up being plenty of presents under our little tree. 

 Then we cleaned up and got ready to go to church at St. Anthony's Basilica, the really famous and gorgeous Romanesque-Gothic church here in Padova.  We were all bundled and ready to go an hour before church--quite a feat with two little ones--and trundled down to the bus stop two blocks away, only to discover that buses weren't running at all on Christmas day.  Oops.  Fortunately they were having services almost every hour all day, except during siesta, so we just decided to go later that day, giving ourselves even more time to get there by foot.

So we ate our Christmas meal.  We ate it in courses.  While this may seem like a rather posh thing to do, it was actually--like most traditions begin--an entirely practical decision.  With only 2 burners and a little stove, I could only keep so many things hot at once and keep the lights on.  So, we began with an Italian aperitif (a spritz: aperol and prosecco) and a salad.  After eating this, we took a little break and I finished getting some things in the oven.  Then we had duck consomme (broth) with prosciutto tortellini.  Again, we took a little break where Matt danced with the kids to Christmas music, and I finished cooking the rest of the food.  Then we reconvened at table for the third course of  roasted duck,  turkey, and mashed potatoes.  I was happy to learn that duck is surprisingly easy to prepare and very tasty.  Dominic especially liked the duck.  To end the meal, we finished the apple pie and ate too many cookies, just as it should be. 

After cleaning up from dinner, we sat around for a little while, then we re-bundled and put the kids in the stroller to make our way to church.  About an hour later, about 10 minutes before church started, we arrived at St. Anthony's to find standing room only.  We were standing with about 500 other people.  The place must have had 2,000 people in it!  It was amazing, kind of like being ushered into heaven.  The unseen choir regaled us with the Hallelujah chorus (in Italian), and the church looked and smelled just like a heavenly celebration should.  To top it all off, Dominic slept through the whole service (a bit sad that he missed it, actually, but nice for us!) and Catie acted as much like a doll as she looked in her Christmas dress.

It turned out to be a pretty lovely Christmas, despite missing everyone so much.  I'm just glad we don't have to do it again.  We can muster enough strength to make it through one Christmas away, but more would be pretty hard.  Thanks for all your prayers and love.  Merry Christmas!

Abbiamo il nipote!

Fresh babe, still pink from mother's womb;
By pain and prayer worked slowly out;
Our Advent child, the coming one,
Was born at last this Friday morn.

Our nephew and godson, Michael Lawrence was born on December 18, 2009.  He weighed in at 7 lbs. 7 oz. and was already 21 1/2 inches long!  Sarah and Stephen were overcome with joy in welcoming a healthy son into this world after the nine months of expecting and then an unimaginable labor lasting 57 hours. Italy is great, but right now we wish more than anything that we were in South Bend to meet and hold you, Michael.  We love you.  Happy Birthday.

This year's Advent child has come.  
Let us now await the eternal Advent child.  

O come, let us adore him.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

I am awakened at 6 AM, Dominic's new waking hour, by a kiss on the cheek from an overly cheery little boy. "Good morning, Mommy. Can you get up?" Ugh...I guess. I have a little guilt as I admit this to you, but I do not leave the warmth of my bed out of a loving desire to spend time with my chipper toddler; rather, I get up and brave the chilly air to protect his sister, our possessions, and this apartment that we have a security deposit invested in. I follow Dominic to the living room and begin to make myself a cappuccino, feeling very satisfied with myself that I do not allow the milk steaming in a little pitcher to overflow this time. Meanwhile, I pop a croissant into the oven to toast for a few minutes. We settle into a chair and begin reading books together and singing Christmas carols. It's really quite lovely. That is, until the power goes out.

I sigh with exasperation and inwardly curse at myself for forgetting where we are. We are in Italy. Remember? In Italy you can't run 3 electrical appliances at once, even if they are just two little electric burners and a miniature oven. Remember? No, I did not remember. In the haze of the early morning, I forgot all the little quirks and blew the fuse. All right, Dominic, let's go press the button. I don another sweater and carry him, so I don't have to put socks and shoes on him (I have slippers on). We ride the elevator down to floor zero. We walk through the little hallway and stop. Frozen. With shock.

It's snowing!! I thought Padova never got any snow, and it is miraculously snowing. There are already at least 2 inches collected on the ground and large flurries just keep coming down. Dominic, without any prompting started singing in an adorable monotone, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow." It was beautiful. I felt like God looked down on my homesickness and sent me some snow to make it look a lot like Christmas.

We ended up getting about five inches of snow.  Later that day, we took the kids out in the snow and had a great time together. Dominic simply could not get enough of the snow and didn't want to come in even when his hands were purple, and he'd gotten a snowball in the face (thanks, Daddy).  Cate just looked like a purple marshmallow that got stuck in snow.

I had to laugh at the Italians who clearly never have snow.  At six o'clock that night nothing had been plowed, or shoveled, for that matter.  I saw someone across the street scooping snow off her balcony with a dustpan.  Cars were trying to drive and brake with their characteristic speed and were just peeling out on every corner.  People were still trying to bike through the snow, usually giving up and ending up trudging through the un-shoveled sidewalk while walking their bike.  The next day, most roads were still not plowed.  I did see a tractor--a real farm tractor--on one road, though, sprinkling what I assume was salt, from a seeder.  My favorite thing, however, was all the Italians I saw walking around holding their large, pointy umbrellas to prevent the snowflakes from fluttering down on them.         

Italian Pierogi

I am keenly aware that pierogi are Polish.  But I think in our attempt to recreate our Polish Christmas tradition here on the boot peninsula, the pierogi was besmirched by Italian karma.  My mother-in-law once told me my motto should be "Have Tradition, Will Travel."  I guess that comes with it's own risks.

We were determined to be in solidarity with all our family who were scattered about the United States making pierogi as well.  Normally we make hundreds of them together a few weeks before Christmas and then gorge ourselves with pierogi drenched in butter on Christmas Eve.  You can read about last year's pierogi experience here.  So we did our best to gather the necessary ingredients to make our favorite of the three kinds: cabbage pierogi.  For anyone who's been following our time in Italy, you know how difficult it was to find the right components for Thanksgiving.  Making a polish food turned out to be no different.  Cabbage pierogi are filled with cabbage and pot cheese.  Cabbage was no problem.  Pot cheese or farmer's cheese, as it's also called, cannot be found in Italy, unless perhaps, you have some sort of inside track with the cheese shop and know enough Italian to make use of this connection.  So we decided that well-strained ricotta cheese would have to do.  I chopped and boiled the cabbage two days before pierogi day.  Then I strained it several times and added the sauteed onions.  On pierogi day we added the ricotta cheese minus the one cup of liquid that came out of the two pounds, or should I say the 200 ml that came out of the 800 grams.  Tasting it, it seemed to have the right cabbagey taste.  It was just quite a bit creamier than normal.  Italian pierogi.

The dough wasn't really too bad to make, except that I have no US measuring cups, so I was stuck guesstimating how much looked like 4 cups or 2 tablespoons.  I judged the measurements all right, I guess, because everything turned out okay, although the dough was little less stretchy and far more orange than normal.   Have I ever mentioned Italian eggs?  For some reason at least half of them have yolks that are cadmium orange (almost neon!).  You can see this in the little YouTube video of our pierogi dough.  I rolled the orange dough out on our little counter with an empty Cabernet bottle, which also seems so very appropriate.  I'm not sure where Italians buy rolling pins, apparently not at the supermarket.  After rolling out the dough, I used our widest drinking glass to cut the circles out.  These were then transferred to the table for the pinchers.

And so, everything was thus set-up when our pinchers arrived.  We had invited Andreas and Astrid, our Danish neighbors to partake in the pieorgi with us, informing them that eating them meant making them. Being exceptionally tradition-loving and also up for anything, they were happy to join us.  So they came over, wheeling their son, Vilhelm, who was sleeping in his carriage, onto our terrace for his afternoon nap in the fresh air while we worked and visited inside.  They caught on very fast and, together with Matt, they all made excellent pinchers.  We only broke one out of the entire batch of 70!

While they pinched, I melted a pot of butter, boiled the pierogi, rinsed them in cold water, and packed them in layers surrounded by butter and divided by cellophane.  It sounds complicated, but since we were going fairly slowly, it wasn't too hard to keep up.  It was also an advantage that the burners are about 5 feet from the table, 1 foot from the sink, and 1/2 foot from the counter-top where I was packing them.  At least close proximity does have some benefits.  

We finished the pierogi in about an hour and a half, just in time, because all the kids woke up within ten minutes of our finishing.  We cleaned up the kitchen and readied ourselves for our Polish feast.

Frying up the first batch, we began consuming our butter-laden cabbage-and-ricotta-stuffed pasta (here I don't mean spaghetti or something, I just mean dough, which they also call "pasta").  Mangiamo!

Delicious.  A little creamy and a little yellow-looking, but delicious.  A taste of home (or of Poland) in this far away land of Italy.