LIFE: The Best Thing Ever

SARONNO, Italy – My neighbor Eddie was in Ravenna last weekend to see the Byzantine mosaics.  He’s been to Ravenna in the past, but never like this. Eddie’s got his mojo back thanks to a new set of wheels which give him mobility he could only dream about before. He’s named his wheels ‘Ol Sparky’ after the now long-retired electric chair from West Virginia State Penitentiary, I’m not really sure why.

 Italian Alps

The first weekend he got ‘Ol Sparky’ he clocked many kilometers tooling around the towns of Lago Maggiore. He told me the unimaginable joy of being able to do what most of us take for granted,  take a simple ‘walk’ along the lake, was overwhelming for him,  a first in his lifetime of experiences.  To say the man is on a roll would be the understatement of the year. The man is on a voyage.  (See My Neighbor Eddie http://thisitalianlife.blogspot.it/2011/07/life-my-neighbor-eddie.html)

 Captain Edgardo Simoni

This weekend he’s doing something very special, something  that very few people would ever get to do. In fact, he and his brother may be the only people to ever do this.  They are  heading north to the Italian Alps to visit three special tunnels and cross bridges that their grandfather, Captain Edgardo Simoni, the father of Eddie's mother and his uncle, Edgardo Simoni aka The Fox, constructed.  (See Edgardo Simoni, The Fox - http://thisitalianlife.blogspot.com/2012/04/life-edgardo-simoni-fox.html ) They are also going to visit their grandfather’s grave site.

 The Captain's Men

Eddie’s grandfather was a Captain in the Italian Army Corps of Engineers during the 1915 war between Italy and the Austrian-Hungarian Empire.  It was his job was to build  tunnels and bridges that those of us who travel along those scenic Alpine roads take for granted now. But they came at a high price in blood and treasure. Apart from the fact that the tunnels and bridges were constructed during a war, it’s estimated that between 9,000 and 10,000 soldiers from both sides died because of alpine avalanches during the winter of 1916.

 Moving Men and Materials Along Mountain Paths

Two of the tunnels are very special to Eddie and his brother because one is named after their grandmother, Cornelia, and another is named after their mother, Maria Julia.  All tunnels in Italy are named, maybe in the whole world, I’m not really a tunnel expert, but how many people know of tunnels named after their mother? I don't know of any, except Eddie.

 Maria Gulia, (Eddie's mother), Cornelia (Eddie's grandmother) and Bravo Maria

1915 was a particular time in Italy. There had been a long standing rivalry between Italy and Austria-Hungary, dating back to the Congress of Vienna in 1815 after the Napoleonic Wars when the Congress granted several regions on the Italian peninsula to the Austrian Empire. That same year a radical Italian nationalist political movement, called Unredeemed Italy (Italia Irredenta) began claiming the return of the Italian-inhabited territories especially those in the Austrian Littoral and in the County of Tyrol. By the 1910s, the movement had gained momentum and was taken up by a significant part of the Italian political elite. The liberation and annexation of those Austrian territories (inhabited not only by Italians, but also by ethnic Germans and South Slavs) became the main focus of the Italian war against Austria. 

 Captain Simoni and the King of Italy

It was during that war, and under those war time conditions, that Captain Simoni and his men worked. By all accounts Captain Simoni was a good guy. Evidence of the affection and respect his men had for him was clearly shown in the notes and letters they sent to him. And years after his death fresh flowers continue to appear on his grave every week. In his honor, they named one of his tunnels after him, and even the King of Italy made a trip to those alpine mountains to meet him.

 Tunnel Dedicated to Captain Simoni

 Captain Simoni

So yes,  this is a special weekend for my neighbor Eddie, and thanks to ‘Old Sparky’ not only can he get around, he can finally pay proper tribute to his grandfather, and for Eddie that is the best thing ever.

NOTE: The photos in this post were taken from a photo album put together by Eddie's grandmother  sometime between 1916 and 1918. In addition to photos the album also had postcards and notes Captain Simoni had written to Eddie's grandmother, Cornelia, and notes of gratitude written to the Captain from various men under his command.  I want to thank Eddie publically for sharing the contents of that album with me.

LIFE: Back to Nature

SARONNO,  Italy - Once, on a very hot day in July, Guilianna called and asked if I wanted to have lunch in Como. “I know a great place,” she said, “a baita up in the hills behind Cernobbio. It should be cooler up there.”

Italian/Swiss Alps

Desperate to escape the heat I jumped on the invitation and it wasn’t long before we were on the road. We drove to Como and continued until we got to Cernobbio where she made a turn up a narrow two lane road that wound upward behind the highway. 

For the next half hour or so we followed that winding road, climbing higher with every turn.  At one point we entered a very large pine forest and under the deep shade of the trees the air was deliciously cool and fresh. But as we continued to climb upward, cool and fresh became too cool and fresh to keep the windows open.

Onward and Upward Through the Dense Pine Forest We Went

The pine forest was immense, thick with trees so tall you could hardly see the tops of them. I remember thinking we had entered another world, one that was far from civilization, not realizing just how far from civilization we had yet to go. We had not seen another car since we left the highway in Cernobbio about an hour before, and I, with my limited (actually no) outdoorsy camping experience was starting to get a little nervous. If something happened to the car, who would find us? We could be stranded in this forest forever trying to survive on twigs and leaves. There are times in a city girl’s life when even a mugger is a welcomed sight, and this was one of those times, especially if the mugger had a car we could hijack.

The Baita Looked Something Like This

The baita turned out to be a large wood and stone chalet set on the edge of the forest. We had driven not to the top of the mountain, but almost, and as we walked up to the door of the baita Guilianna turned to me and said, “that’s Switzerland over there.”  She was pointing to a spot about half a block from where we were standing. We had driven to the uppermost border between Italy and Switzerland and I remember thinking how easy it would be to smuggle something or someone, or a lot of somethings and someones across that border.

The air was was again cool and fresh, a breeze was blowing across the massive stone peaks  and in the middle of one of the hottest days of the year, Guilianna and I sat and ate steaming plates of polenta with sausages for lunch.

An Alpine Dairy Farm

While we were eating lunch a young girl came in. She was a big, strong girl, dressed in a warm jacket and sweater, leather hiking boots and carrying a walking stick. With her long blonde braids, and ruddy cheeks, I figured it had to be Heidi all grown up.  Of course she wasn’t my storybook Heidi, or even Swiss as it turned out, she was actually from Norway or Sweden, I don’t remember which. She said she had a summer job working at one of the local dairy farms. Her job was to milk the cows twice a day, muck out the barn and do other similar farm related duties.Today was her day off so she decided to hike here from the other side of the mountain, Mount Grona, and have lunch.

At the time, I wondered why such a pretty girl would want to spend an entire summer stuck on a farm in the middle of nowhere, but lately I’ve come to realize that more and more young Europeans, especially Italians, are starting to look at life in a different way. Instead of focusing on technology and getting ahead at all costs, many are turning to a more simple life, the life of their great-grandparents. Life as it used to be before the wars, when Europe was still an agricultural based society.

Matteo Moretto

Since that chance encounter with Heidi’s look alike up in the mountains behind Como, I’ve met others who have taken up a more self-reliant style of living. Remember Matteo Moretto the goat farmer and cheesemaker? (If not, check out that blog at: http://thisitalianlife.blogspot.it/2011/06/auntie-pasta-farmers-market-saronno.html) He’s another feet on the ground, head square on his shoulders type of guy who chose to reconnect with the earth and live a more balanced and harmonious lifestyle.

Maybe it’s the global recession that’s driving young people back to their roots, and maybe that’s a good thing. Farming has changed, animal husbandry has changed, just about everything about living a sustainable lifestyle has changed from when their great-grandparents were giving it a go. It’s a lot easier now, there is more information available at the click of a mouse. And the beauty of it is that it really isn’t all that far from the fields to the future these days so you can have the best of both worlds. And maybe that makes a little baita on the mountainside the best place to be after all. 

I thought you might like this very short video called 'Walking in Italy Monte Grona', which I found on YouTube. Mount Grona is the mountain behind Como and in the video you can see both Lake Como, which is in Italy and Lake Lugano in Switzerland, and pretty much the area where Giulliana and I were that day.

As always, your feedback and comments on what's posted on thisitalianlife blog is much appreciated.  

LIFE: Snow Challenged

SARONNO, Italy – Before I can start this story you have to know that the street I live on is only as big as this apartment building, and it is blocked off at one end to prevent through traffic.  I think it must have been part of the old street system prior to the expansion of Saronno during the post-war building boom that took place in all of Italy, which has nothing to do with this story, and all I’m trying to say is it  is a very short street.

Sempione Park, Milano

Anyway, it snowed in Saronno the other day. In the past when it has snowed, this little street never saw a snowplow. Ever. The collective thinking was that the snow never lasts very long, so what’s the point of paying someone to do what mother nature is going to do for free in a day or two anyway. You just have to have a little patience.

 Downtown Genova

 But yesterday, lo and behold, a Tonka Toy size truck with a blade attached to the front of it, began going up and down our street. It would pull in as far as the cone shaped concrete barriers, and then back out and then start all over again. I could hear the truck going back and forth, actually for quite a while, and I remember thinking, “great, it’s about time they plowed here.” 

For such a short street, it seemed to be taking a very long time to plough.  When I looked out I could see that while the driver was making all the right moves, the blade wasn’t down far enough to move anything, let alone the 3” of snow and mush. So all of his comings and goings were for naught. 

The Vatican

 I thought about yelling out, “hey buddy, try putting the blade down,” but I don’t know the Italian equivalent for “buddy”, nor are people accustomed to being yelled at by old ladies standing on their balconies dressed in what look like pajamas in the middle of a snowy February afternoon. 

There is something about snow and Italy that just doesn’t work. Oh, it’s fine up in the ski areas of Trentino  and over in Val d’Aosta, where they make their living running ski resorts. But the Milanese who watch the snow bulletins as closely as they watch the stock market, and head for those mountains every weekend to play in the snow, don’t seem to know what to do with it down here. 

Perugia - Sign says: Street Closed Because of Snow

 I still laugh thinking about the ‘snow removal’ crew that was sent out to clear the snow off the sidewalks in front of my apartment  when I lived in Milan. The crew was made up of five North Africans led by an Italian crew leader. They were decked out in bright orange jumpsuits and armed with stick brooms, the kind witches usually ride, and they were fluffing the snow here and there and everywhere except off of the sidewalks.  It was obvious they had no experience in snow removal, but then again I don’t know how much snow they get in sunny Morocco. Probably none. 

But I can’t say it’s only the Milanese who are “snow challenged”.  It snowed in Genova my first winter in Italy. A freak storm they said, and I sincerely hoped so. I had moved there to get away from the wintery weather of Philadelphia and I wasn’t prepared for snow on the Riviera. Apparently neither were the Genovese. 

Call out the Marines - Street Cleaning in Rome

I was living in a small apartment about a ½ hour ride out of the center, way up in the hills behind the city. After seven months of unemployment,  I had just landed my first (illegal) job, teaching English in downtown Genova. When my class ended at 9PM, I got myself over to the bus stop as quickly as possible, anxious to get home, get warm and eat dinner. As the bus slowly made its way up the snow covered hill, I could hear the tire chains gripping the heavy snow – they don’t plow the streets in Genova either. 

The bus was just barely crawling along  with the windshield wipers running a dizzying speed. Unfortunately they were just about useless against the swirling snow. At a certain point, I figure about half way up the winding mountain road the bus driver pulled over and announced that he wasn’t going to go any further. I looked out the window  at the blizzard and turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell us down in Genova you weren’t going to go all the way up to Quezzi?” I yelled. “I would have gotten a hotel room in town. Now what?”

 Fountain at Villa Olmo, Lake Como

The driver just shrugged and waited as one by one we all got off the bus, he closed the doors and disappeared. What I think is he drove himself home and left us to fend for ourselves. At any rate, passengers were zipping off in different directions and I was left  there  standing  with two other ladies. “Okay,” I said, “why don’t we hitchhike?” Every now and again a car would go by, and what cruel soul could pass up three ladies stranded in a blizzard?  I wasn’t too interested in getting into a car with some stranger by myself, especially since I didn’t know where I was, but there is safety in numbers, no? 

Lake Como

The women looked at me as if I was crazy. Hitchhike? “You’ve got to be kidding,” they said. “Do you know what our husbands would do to us if they saw us getting out a car driven by a stranger?”

“But we are in the middle of a blizzard and there are three of us, surely they wouldn’t want you to die along the side of the road like a dog, would they? Isn’t it better to take a ride with a stranger than walk up this mountain?”

 Tevere, Rome

 Evidently not.  They turned their backs on me and headed into the brush. It was cold, it was dark and it was snowing like hell, and since I had no idea where they were going I decided to play it safe and stay on the road. All I knew was I had to head up the mountain and hopefully at some point  I would arrive in the crossroads of Santa Maria Quezzi, with its three apartment buildings, one bar, one deli and one fruttivendolo. 

Arrive I did. Frozen to the bone, feet wet, head wet, hands like ice cubes, I could barely put the key in the lock. All I remember thinking was those women were crazy, and their husbands were even crazier.  It wasn’t long after that, that I moved to a street named after the many palm trees that line it, a street of orange trees and sweet smelling jasmine bushes, a street that lead right to the beautiful, blue Mediterranean sea. 

Think Summer, Think Liguria

And as I look out my window today, at the snow covered garden of the Padre Monti school, which I’m sure you all remember from the Via Campi Chicken War story, I’m thinking  about that blue sea, and those palm trees and those sweet smelling jasmine bushes and wondering how fast can I pack up and get myself back down to where I belong. 

P.S.  Witaj Polska, Witam na moim blogu.  

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AUNTIE PASTA: Greetings Y'all From Sud Tyrol

SARONNO, Italy - If there was ever a recipe for a cultural, culinary stew, you’d find it in Italy’s  northern Trentino-Alto Adige region. It’s a spoonful of German, a half a cup of Austrian, a teaspoon of Venetian, and a large pinch of Italian all mixed together. Road signs are in German, a slice of the population speaks Ladin, described as a Rhaeto-Romanic dialect of the Engadine in Switzerland, whatever that means, and there are special educational scholarships for those who speak Italian. Where is this place? It is up in Italy’s most northern corner, situated in the Italian Alps between Verona and Innsbruck. 

The Breathtaking Italian Alps

The local cuisine is unlike any other in Italy, rich in rabbit, pheasant, deer, chamois and other four legged furry animals, and fresh water trout. What you won’t find is regular pasta. Instead you may be offered ravioli, often made from rye flour and filled with potatoes or other vegetables and served with butter and smoked ricotta cheese.  

But the most popular pasta type dish is knodel, dumplings made from stale bread, white or brown, mixed with other ingredients like onions, parsley, bacon or in South Tyrol, liver. The dumplings are served in broth or with melted butter. 

Knodel

Another popular dish is barley soup, called gerstensuppe, which is flavored with bacon or ham bones, and in the Province of Bolzano, they take a frittata, cut it into strips and serve it in broth, and call it frittatensuppe.  

One of the more Italianized recipes calls for pigeon wrapped in sweet pastry. This particular recipe has been around since the sixteenth century when it was originally created to restore the exhausted Cardinals who had gathered to try and change the wild and wooly ways of the Catholic Church at the Council of Trent in the town of Trento.

You thought I was kidding about the Smacafam truck, right?

This is mountain country, and when those cold winter winds start to blow though the mountain passes, nothing tastes better than a steaming dish of pasta and beans or polenta. One particularly popular polenta dish is ‘smacafam’ or ‘ammazzafame’  which means hunger killer. It’s a simple dish of polenta topped with bacon and sausage and sold from ‘smacafam’ food trucks as well as in restaurants. There is also a sweet version made with raisins, walnuts, pine nuts and milk. 

Another popular, distinctively Central European dish found throughout the Sud Tyrol is goulash, a meat stew cooked with fried onions and seasoned with cumin and paprika. It is can be served with potatoes, which are added during the cooking process, or boiled and served separately, but dumplings or spatzle are more common.

Barley Soup aka Gerstensuppe

Game is found on most restaurant menus, usually marinated in red wine and cooked with onions, raisins cinnamon, pine nuts, grated lemon peel and sugar – very Austro-Hungarian.  Another version marinates venison in red wine and spices, but then vinegar and sour cream are added. 

Just as it is throughout Italy, pork is popular, especially probusti, smoked sausages made from a mixture of pork and beef. These tasty sausages  are first boiled and then served with sauerkraut and mustard. In this mountainous province, sauerkraut is the classic side dish for sausage. To prepare it, cabbage is cut into thin strips and arranged in layers in wooden containers , sprinkled with salt, cumin and pepper and left to ferment for about two months. Then it is ready to be cooked along with a piece of bacon or a ham hock and white wine. Cabbage prepared this way is also used as a filling for ravioli.

A Sud Tyrolian Sausage and Spek Producer

If you've worked up an appetite reading this post, here's an easy recipe for knodel that will put you in a Sud Tyrolian mood. 

Knodel
2 tablespoons butter, plus more for sautéing
1 chopped onion
1/2 cup chopped parsley
2 tablespoons chopped marjoram
1 tablespoon salt
1 pound baguettes or big, soft pretzels, cut or broken into ¼- to ½-inch cubes
2 cups whole milk
4 eggs, beaten
1/2 cup bread crumbs
1 clove garlic, chopped (optional)
Pinch of  pepper

1. In a large skillet, melt the butter over medium heat and sauté the onions until they are translucent.
2. Stir in the parsley and marjoram; cook briefly and then set aside to let the mixture cool.
3. Place the cubed bread in a large bowl and season, if desired, with salt. (If you use fat, soft, salted pretzels (not crispy pretzels), you may not need to season at all.) In a small saucepan, heat the milk almost to boiling and pour it over the cubed pretzels/bread. Set aside to cool and go relax for 15 minutes.
4. When the bread-milk mixture is cool, mix in the onion-parsley mixture and the eggs. Add the bread crumbs, garlic and pepper and mix well. If the mixture seems too soft to hold a shape, add more bread crumbs until it is thick enough. The mixture should be firm enough to form into dumplings that hold their shape.
5. Bring a large pot of salted water to a simmer. Dip your hands into cold water and make a test dumpling, about the size of a large golf ball. Lower it gently into the simmering water and cook. If it doesn't hold up, add more breadcrumbs to the mixture. Once you've found the right consistency, shape the mixture into 20 dumplings.
6. Gently lower the dumplings into the simmering salted water and cook until they are puffed slightly and cooked through, about 7 minutes. When they are boiled you can brown them in a sauté pan with a tablespoon of butter and some extra chopped parsley or serve them in broth.


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