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Buying a Car in Italy – Are Car Salesmen the Same All Over?

On Monday Enrico brought home our new car, a Fiat Stilo. It took him a month of intensive research to eventually return to his first, instinctive choice – which is simply the next generation of the Fiat Tipo turbo diesel that served us (more or less faithfully) for 13 years, which was itself a replacement for the Fiat Uno handed down by his parents.

Ross is disappointed: a Fiat isn’t cool enough for her (she hangs out with a wealthy crowd in Lecco – I have recently had to explain to her why SUVs are evil, even for people who can afford them). Enrico and I care little about cars beyond that they should run as reliably and cheaply as possible, while maintaining a basic level of comfort and safety.

I went with him on a few car-testing trips, and realized that we were a very confusing couple for the car salesmen to deal with. Given the types of cars Enrico had been looking at, everyone assumed he was choosing a vehicle for his wife. A year or so ago, before we were actively thinking about replacing the Tipo, Ross asked us: “If you could have any kind of car in the world, what kind would you get?” Enrico’s response was: “A minivan.” At which I laughed out loud and told him he was henceforth banned from the fraternity of real men – a real man, at least in his fantasies, would aspire to a Lamborghini or some such!

So the car dealers asked if I wanted to test drive (I didn’t), and insisted on showing me the wife-friendly features like hooks to hang your shopping bags in the trunk (I do most of my big shopping on the Internet, so a nice man with a truck brings it to my house). For most of the test drives, I insisted on sitting in the front passenger seat – my usual place. Once, when we tried a big (used) Citroen sedan, the salesman got there before me, and throughout the drive kept up a stream of manly talk about the powerful engine etc. Nice car, but his attitude would have nixed that sale even had we seriously been in the market for a car that big and expensive to fuel.

My only test, in all the cars, was to sit in the front passenger seat, slide it all the way back, then get into the seat behind it and see how much legroom was left. If I could sit comfortably without my knees touching the back of the front seat, the car passed. Enrico laughed at this, but I have long legs, and always hated being stuck in the back seat just because I was the kid. Several members of our extended family also have long legs, and when they’re visiting I don’t want them (or me) to suffer.

I was amused and delighted to find that one car dealer was selling cars and trucks made by Tata, an Indian company. Last year in Mumbai I had met an Italian who was trying to re-introduce Fiats to the Indian market – with globalization, what goes around comes around!

So we’ve done our bit for the Italian economy, buying local, and at least two of us are satisfied with our purchase. The next question is just how fancy a navigation and music system to put into it. We definitely want GPS navigation (to save arguments about whether I’m reading the map properly), and would like something that interfaces intelligently with our iPods. Hmm. We have some more studying to do”¦ and I can look forward to playing with the heads of salesmen who will expect me to know far less about electronics than my husband does!

Raclette: Another Way to Eat Swiss Cheese

The Swiss are a nation of cheese eaters, and have ways of eating cheese that involve special appliances – but are very easy and tasty once you have the equipment.

Raclette was traditionally a (large) half wheel of cheese placed with its open face near an open fire so it would start melting. The melty layer would be scraped off and eaten while you waited for more to melt. You can still have raclette that way at restaurants and mountain refuges, but you can also have it at home, with the handy-dandy raclette cooker shown above, and cheese that you buy in convenient bricks or slices.

You put a slice of cheese into the little tray, put it under the raclette grill, and wait for it to melt.

waiting for the cheese to melt

In the meantime, you heap your plate with boiled new potatoes and pickled vegetables. You must drink hot tea or cold white wine. To drink cold water with any melted cheese dish will cause the cheese to curdle in your stomach and make you sick. The Swiss firmly believe this, and who are we to buck tradition?

The little wooden spatula shown above will be used to scrape the cheese out of the tray.

raclette

^ Here the cheese is almost melty enough to eat.

raclette - ready!

And here we are! Paprika and fresh-ground pepper have been sprinkled on top. After this I stopped photographing and started eating!

Conspicuous Consumption: An American Way of Life

So much of the American lifestyle revolves around consumption. Shopping in America is a form of entertainment, and sometimes an endurance sport. American homes are large, very large by most European standards, and crammed to the rafters with€¦ stuff. We have a lot of stuff in our home in Italy, and I’ve seen plenty of other Italian homes crammed with paintings, knick-knacks, silver geegaws, etc. But Italian stuff tends to be inherited over generations, acquiring along the way some sentimental, if not monetary, value. In America, stuff tends to be more recently bought, sometimes, it seems, just to fill all that space.

During our recent US visit, friends took us to Costco. For the uninitiated, this is a chain of stores to which you pay an annual membership for the privilege of shopping there. Costco sells things in bulk (double-sized boxes of cereal, whole flats of fruit, mascara in packages of four), very cheaply. The chain’s enormous purchasing power enables them to strong-arm suppliers into giving them lower prices than anyone else, prices which they pass on to customers at a fixed markup (17%, if I remember correctly). The stores look like warehouses, with boxes piled on shelves all the way to the 50-foot ceilings. One refrigerator section is an entire room that you walk into! The quality –even for fresh fruit, vegetables, and meat – is as good as or better than you’d get in standard grocery stores.

The advantages to the consumer are huge, and it’s great fun shopping there –everything is so amazingly cheap! Two pairs of flannel pajama bottoms for $14.99. A pack of 65 gel pens for $18. And that was only looking at the small, transportable stuff that I’d be likely to bring back to Italy. You can also buy sofas, computers, and huge plasma TVs.

Relative to Europe, and especially with the euro strong against the dollar, everything in America (not just Costco) seems cheap. I rarely shop for clothing in Italy, in part because it’s hard for me to find anything that fits properly –my body type is different from the standard Italian shape. But we shopped all over the US, and shopped, and shopped. I don’t understand how so many Americans can do so much shopping physically, let alone financially. Well, yes, I do understand: catalogs/Internet make it possible to shop from the comfort of your own home –no need to wear yourself out walking around malls.

But we did it the hard way. Our first expedition was to an outlet mall –a square mile of shops selling stuff no longer wanted in the main stores, at amazing prices. Ross was able to satisfy most of her wardrobe desires, for far less of a dent in my budget than I’d feared –about a quarter of what we would have spent in Italy for the same number of items. I even bought myself three pairs of trousers and a skirt for work. We shopped almost everywhere else we went, and hardly did anything that could be considered tourism. I comfort myself that shopping is the REAL American experience, far more than going to museums or monuments.

With conspicuous consumption, unfortunately, comes conspicuous waste. In Italy I’ve gotten used to recycling almost everything (carefully separated), saving plastic bags for re-use (when I get them at all –I usually take my own cloth bags to the grocery store), and finding creative ways to use up any leftover food.

Recycling seems less advanced in the US, probably for economic reasons – the US has so much land that it’s cheaper to dump trash somewhere then recycle and incinerate.

Food is also cheaper in the US, and therefore more likely to be wasted. One day we went out for lunch to a soup and sandwich place. Ross ordered onion soup in a bread bowl, but it arrived in a ceramic bowl. She took it back to the counter and asked for a bread bowl, expecting that this same soup would be poured into the bread bowl. Nope. The lady dumped the original soup into the trash, and then poured fresh soup into a bread bowl and gave it to Ross. I suppose there’s some restaurant hygiene rule about this, but Ross was deeply shocked.

And don’t even get me started on the cars. Enormous SUVs everywhere, driven by people who will never actually drive off-road or in snow or deep mud. Huge double-cab pickup trucks with extra wide beds, so clean and shiny as to make me suspect that they have NEVER been used to actually carry a load. And then there’s the Hummer: the fashion statement for the guy whose wallet is the biggest thing in his pants* (who then has the nerve to complain because gas costs $3 per gallon!).

* No, this line didn’t originate with me.

what real American shoppers say about Costco

The Perils of the Italian Quest for Fresh Wild Mushrooms

While out on a walk (which became a hike), I saw a couple of women heading into the woods with wicker baskets dangling from their backpacks – off to hunt for mushrooms. Italians, like hobbits, are very fond of mushrooms, especially the varieties which defy cultivation and can only be found in the wild (or bought, expensively, from someone else who found them).

comestible

^”Edible or not? The answer: the mushroom checker.” A pharmacy sign in Switzerland.

To ensure that the mushrooms they pick are edible, many Italians have taken courses or otherwise learned how to distinguish various types. If you’re not sure, you can go to a pharmacy to have your catch examined – I guess pharmacists have to have some sort of mushroom qualification. Still, every now and then someone thinks they know more than the pharmacist does and ends up poisoning their entire family (usually not fatally). The wild mushrooms you buy in stores are certified safe, I presume.

But mushrooms have other ways of taking revenge on the humans who seek them so avidly. The mushroom courses apparently don’t include tips on how to pick them without killing yourself, so every year, during mushroom season, people fall off cliffs while out ‘shrooming. This past weekend saw one death, one serious injury, and two people needing to be rescued from whatever situation they’d got themselves into on a mountain somewhere; this morning’s local paper announces another death – all in quest of mushrooms. I think I’ll stick to buying them at the store.

NB: The mushroom shown at top is of the “DON’T eat me” variety.

 

an American student in Viterbo on ‘shroom love

Italian Restaurants: Osteria del Viaggiatore

I had driven past this place in Lecco many times, but it’s easily overlooked – the outside of the building is unprepossessing unpainted cement, though the large sign with a mysterious painting on it is intriguing, and we heard that it was good.

So we finally went last night. The menu is fixed-price, 30 euros for five courses, drinks extra. The first antipasto was prosciutto and raspadura – scraping – very thin slices of a local hard cheese. The prosciutto was among the best I’ve ever had: sweet and tender, melt-in-your-mouth.

After that, we had to make choices, from 6 or 7 dishes for each course. For our second antipasto, I had a tortina di zucchine in fiore, a mini-pie with cheese, zucchini, and zucchini flowers. Nice, though I would have liked it a little more salty. Enrico had cold, wafer-thin slices of turkey breast with a sauce of raw tomato, celery, and cucumber. He ate all the sauce before I got to taste it, so I can’t speak to that, but the turkey was good.

For primo, Enrico had lasagnette with fagiolini, patate, and pesto – a baked lasagna dish very similar to the Genovese-style pasta with pesto that I make at home with green beans and potatoes, and in this case, bechamel. The lasagna dough was light and airy, making this dish not as heavy as I had expected, and very tasty.

I had home-made ravioli filled with borragine (borage) with a simple dressing of melted butter, sage, and pine nuts. The bitterness of the borage contrasted very nicely with the rich butter.

For secondo, Enrico had cold roast piglet sliced very thin, very similar to porchetta from central Italy, but more tender. I had two kinds of local lake fish, lavarello (sardine-sized, but lighter in flavor) and persico (perch). Both were very lightly battered and fried, leaving plenty of room for the flavor of the fish to come through. As contorno (side dishes), we were both served a small quantity of oven-roasted potatoes.

Then came dessert. Enrico had an exquisite panna cotta (cooked cream) with a dressing of strawberries and other “forest fruits.” I had “Fondente Extra Bitter”, slices of something between a mousse and a torte, made with lots of bitter chocolate, swimming in a creme Anglaise. Wow.

We tried one of the house wines that the owner has made to order, called Aromata Coeli – basically a non-sparkling Barbera which the waitress told us had been aromatizzata (perfumed), though we weren’t clear on what that meant. It was more than palatable, and a good complement to all the variety of our courses.