IL PALIO

Today is Il Palio, the rough and tumble bareback horse race circling the Piazza del Campo in beautiful, medieval Siena. In the race, ten horses and riders, selected from the seventeen contrade (neighborhoods), circle the Campo three times. The race lasts 90 seconds. Ironically, with its unfurled silk banners and medieval garb, and of course its incomparable setting, a piazza that hasn't changed since the Black Death, the race exists beyond time, a chunk of the Middle Ages catapulted into the present day.

To watch the race (and to hear a chilly English academic dissect it in dry sociological terms) watch this film clip.



After a chance encounter in Siena, we're rooting for the snails this year. To see why, and to watch another hair-raising race, read my previous post about the Palio here.

Latebreaking news: We just learned the Tartuca (tortoise) contrada won today's race. Good job, turtles!

SUNDAY GRAVY

Meet the Bellinos. They're cooking up a batch of Sunday Sauce, aka Gravy in certain Italian-American enclaves. This is real "down home cooking," and nobody is putting on airs. This scene cracks me up. This sort of homemade ethnic food is discovered by foodies and tarted up in expensive restaurants, but there is no comparison with the real family recipe perfected over generations. Foodies will tell you all about osso bucco, say, or risotto, or polenta, as if it's something new--and in all fairness, maybe it's new to them. Bite your tongue. Smile, don't wince, when they mangle words like "gnocchi," "biscotti," "ricotta," and even "marinara." (Not to mention "bruschetta," which is pronounced "brew-Sketta" by the way, not "brew-SHETTA.") Oh, and by all means avoid correcting their mispronunciations; they'll only think you're a snob or a know-it-all--even if you first heard these words pronounced in Italian. That is, correctly. "But everyone says biz-SCOTTY," they'll say, feeling bruised. Or my favorite, "I've heard it pronounced both ways."

I know, I know. Enough talk. Now let's sit down and eat.

UMBRIA BELLA

Just over the Tuscan border lies Umbria, a region of hilly countryside settled by the Etruscans long before Romulus and Remus suckled at the teats of the she-wolf. The region is bordered by Tuscany to the west and la Marche to the east, and locals hunt the hills for wild boars and delicious mushrooms. They also grow grapes, which are made into world famous wines.


Asissi is an Umbrian town famous for St. Francis, a monk who challenged the materialism of the all powerful church and founded an order of monks known for their vow of poverty. The 12th century mystic is perhaps the most beloved of the Catholic saints and visitors come from around the world to pay their respects.

We stayed in at an Umbrian agriturismo. "Agriturismo" is an Italian term for "agricultural tourism," or what we might call a farm holiday, where rooms are provided for travelers as a way to help family farms survive. We stayed in a cabin on the farm overlooking the vineyards. It wasn't as rustic as you might think--we didn't exactly work on the farm. In fact, there was a swimming pool and a bocce court. Playing bocce in this setting made up for losing. Wendy's all-women team defeated every men's team that dared challenge it.

This is wine country. The grapes growing outside our door were used to produce six different wines, three whites and three reds, and we tried them all. We ate hearty Umbrian food and had a wine tasting one evening. We were near the border of Tuscany, and a local noted that the hill we facing a hill we faced was Montepulciano. Montepulciano, home of the Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, one of Italy's best wines (for a cheaper, but excellent wine, try the Rosso di Montepulciano). Another nearby hilltown is Montalcino, famous for it's remarkable Brunello. Wine snobs could go ape here, but the Italians seem to appreciate wine as part of the meal, which is part of la dolce vita. To them, it's excellent, but it's the local wine. Of course it's good!

Orvieto is a beautiful Etruscan town that rests like a crown on a mountain of volcanic Tufa rock. The high position helped it defend itself against marauders. Orvieto is famous for its beautiful church, covered with frightening apocalyptic visions, and its gorgeous fortress-like town. We walked through the town and soaked up the local beauty, touring the church and thanking God we weren't suffering the eternal torment of the damned.

We had lunch at a remarkable little spot, Trattoria dell'Orso, where we ate homemade tagliatelle served with wild mushrooms--and with cherry tomatoes, basil, and scamorza. The secondo was roasted chicken stuffed with truffles. Ciro Cristiano, the kindly co-owner (with Chef Gabriele di Giandomenico), recited delicious details of the food they were preparing (as opposed to breaking out a menu) and was an extremely gracious host.

We chatted about our travels. He asked if I was Italian, and I told him about my ancestry (Southern Italian, and Sicilian) and he told us about his trips to those areas further south (he is originally from Napoli) and insisted I visit them. After each course, he asked if we were full or if we'd like to hear what else was cooking. Afterward, we exchanged business cards, and he laughed at my cartoon self-portrait. The food, by the way, was extraordinary, and I had no better in Italy. It's not surprising this little out of the way trattoria was written up in the New York Times.

Tuscany and Umbria are absolutely beautiful, but Umbria is more remote and untouched. Umbria is probably what Tuscany looked like before it was "discovered" by Frances Mayes and "Under the Tuscan Sun" brought people in droves. Now the world has caught on, so it's not surprising to find "Tuscan-style" pizza advertised at Pizza Hut, or "Tuscan Tacos" at Taco Bell. As terrible as that may sound, this area will endure. It has survived countless invaders and it will survive the latest wave of tourists and tacky Americanized imitations. Still, you should get there as soon as you can because it would be a shame to miss this for too long.

THE ETERNAL CITY

Why visit Rome? The Eternal City is chaotic--but a beautiful chaos. This isn't Kansas, Toto. Vespas buzz circles around Bernini statues, pick-pockets work the Metro, beautiful women catch a glance, Swiss Guards cross spears, businessmen in Armani suits squeeze past fat priests, skinny nuns, Africans selling purses on blankets, dodging the caribinieri and the outdoor tables of world class restaurants where oblivious lovers dine before strolling arm in arm in the passeggiata. Rome has had visitors for thousands of years. It can handle travelers--just as it's handled the Roman Legions, numerous religious pilgrims, Celtic and German invasions, Mussolini's March, Junior Year Abroad, Japanese tourists on photo tours, history buffs and art hounds, Americans searching for the roots of Western Civilization or just their own families, and chilly Northern Europeans searching for warmth of every variety--weather, culture, food, romance.

Watch Rossellini's Open City, or Fellini's La Dolce Vita, and try to resist this city's charms. Fellini used to hang out in the Piazza Navone, formerly a chariot track in Roman times built by Domitian in the 1st century and now a lovely piazza lined with palaces and outdoor cafes and good restaurants. The centerpiece of the piazza is a Baroque masterpiece by sculptor Bernini, la Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi (the Fountain of the Four Rivers-- a detail is shown above). At night, there is a lively crowd, and this is the social heart of the city. As Fellini says in I, Fellini, "Rome became my home as soon as I saw it. I was born that moment."

The Pantheon is antiquity's best preserved building, and remained the world's highest dome until the Renaissance came along (also in Italy, of course, but up in Florence). As everything else in Rome, it exists in a time warp--you can imagine Hadrian's slaves hauling slabs of marble two thousand years back, or Romans strolling past as they do now, since the Pantheon has been in continuous use since its construction. Nowadays, it anchors a neighborhood of shops and cafes, with plenty of foot traffic. Across a narrow street from the imposing "house of the gods" is the brilliant Cremeria Monteforte, where they make impossibly delicious gelati in the traditional style. This unlikely combination "explains" Rome as well as anything.

Campo de' Fiori (Field of Flowers) is another favorite spot in Rome, a great place to eat outdoors (I remember a twenty-something gallery attendant at the museum where I work saying she couldn't get decent food in Rome--and I had to shrug and bite my tongue) and we ate at La Carbonara (where they invented the dish) under the watchful gaze of Giordano Bruno, a man who dared suggest the Earth was NOT the center of the Universe and was burned on the spot in 1600. This has always been a lively place. The painter Caravaggio killed a man here in a sword fight (Today, he'd be on Prozac and would probably paint a lot less). The Campo is a Roman street party at night, with kids hanging out, joking, making music, and most likely convinced that they are the center of the Universe.

Rome at night is magical, and lit dimly as if by torchlight. Stroll to the heartrending Trevi Fountain--where an iconic scene in La Dolce Vita was filmed--and toss a coin over your shoulder, assuring that you wll return. Walk to the Spanish Steps, where romantic poets swooned--Keats is buried here. Lord Byron lived across the square. Walk to the Roman Forum, if you really want to feel history.

The Roman Forum is ghostly. You feel the history as you trod the smooth stones of what once bustled with power and empire and the height of Roman splendor. The day we visited the Forum it rained, the only rain on our entire trip, and somehow that added to the experience, as strange as it may sound. These weathered ruins have withstood Time itself. As it sprinkled, we stood under grey skies before The Temple of Julius Caesar (Tempio del Divo Giulio) where Caesar was stabbed (though he never uttered "Et tu, Brute," those words were put in his mouth by an Englishman) and Mark Antony hailed friends, Romans, and countrymen (further elaborated by Shakespeare). Down the stone path, we walked among wildflowers and broken marble and visited the House of the Vestal Virgins, the Palace of Caligula, The Temple of Saturn, and the Curia, or Senate House. Rome is fascinating, and after so many swords-and-sandals epics we feel we know it, but there is no experience that compares with being there, among the broken columns and shattered temples of the Roman Forum.

Vatican City is a tiny independent country containing some of the greatest treasures on Earth. We saw them all--or nearly. There is such an abundance of riches you need to skip paintings and objects that would qualify as another country's greatest masterpieces, but time is limited so make your way through the crowds to see the Raphael stanza and the glorious ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. The cleaning has been controversial, but I saw it before the restoration, dark with soot from candles and layers of oil, and now it's absolutely luminous and as close as we can get to the way it looked to Michelangelo. The walls of the chapel were painted by other great painters, Ghirlandaio, Perugino, and Botticelli, so don't overlook these, but the frescoes overhead and accompanying lunettes by Michelangelo are truly overwhelming.

And to think, Michelangelo didn't want the job. He told Pope Julius II, "I'm a sculptor, not a painter!"

Down the way, probably jammed with tourists and priests and pilgrims from around the world, is the Basilica Papale di San Pietro in Vaticano, commonly called St. Peter's Basilica, the largest church on Earth. The basilica is unbelievable. Even by today's standards, in the Age of Special Effects, this place is a mind blower, and you can only imagine what a simple peasant must have felt five hundred years ago. There has been a church on this site since the 4th century, but construction of the present basilica was built over the old Constantinian basilica started in 1506 and continued until its completion in 1626. The dome and floor plan were designed by Michelangelo, who also contributed the sculpture, his Pieta, which he completed when he was just 24 years old.

The Colosseum is a remarkable feat of engineering, a muscular combination of a four story Roman facade decorated with all three types of Greek columns (remember? Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian?) representing the best and worst of Rome. The display of might and raw power captivated commoner and aristocrat alike (entry was free, and the same with the wine and food) as gladiators, criminals and wild animals fought to the death. The Roman poet Juvenal called this sort of display panis et circenses (bread and circuses) and the name has come to refer to entertainment used by politicians to distract the public and to gain popular support. Keep the people amused, goes the reasoning, and they won't rebel.

Throughout our Italian holiday, the entire country was riveted to the Giro d'Italia, a three week bike race throughout Italy that nearly paralleled our journey. We saw the signs and banners in the mountains and on the coast, we passed their staging areas in Florence and the hills of Tuscany, and now finally was the last day of the Giro and the finish line was at the Colosseum the day we visited. Beside the quiet, muscular ruin, sportscasters and fans ran around, televisions crews jostled for coverage, news helicopters flew overhead. The Colosseum stood its ground, having seen everything. At first, the bike race was a distraction, then I realized this is probably the same beautiful chaos that attended events at the Colosseum in days of old. Sure, this was a modern version, but I bet 50,000 drunken Romans attending gladiatorial combat on this very same spot also made a hellish racket. We walked through the arena, through passageways that honeycomb this iconic symbol of Imperial Rome where an estimated half million people and a million animals lost their lives, and looked up to see helicopters passing overhead. The crowd roared at the finish line. The stones remained, as always, cool and silent.

BEAUTIFUL SIENA

Siena is simply beautiful. The archrival of Florence has lost none of its grandeur since the height of its glory--roughly 1260 to 1348, when the Black Death killed a third of its population. Watching the sun set in the medieval Piazza del Campo is akin to having a religious experience. Il Campo is the home of the most celebrated festival in all of Tuscany, in which Siena's 17 contrade (neighborhoods) compete in a no-holds barred bareback horserace called the Palio that dates back to 1283. The contrade have their own flags and pageantry, and each is represented by a mascot, such as the wolf, porcupine, giraffe, and eagle.

We were lucky to visit the chapel of the eagle contrada, something not open to the general public but a favor to our local guide. The eagle chapel is small and ornate, with the brilliant banners of the contrade hanging beside the jockey's silk shirts, everything quiet and respectful in contrast to the thundering, bare-knucked race I imagine circling the Campo. These Sienese take the Palio very seriously. We hush ourselves like children in church. The representative of the Eagle contrada is subdued, and our guide--who hails from the Seashell contrada--ribs him good naturedly about not winning a race in...how long? He smiles and folds his arms.

We leave the chapel of the Eagle contrada and stroll a ways to the studio of Massimo Bracciali, Maestro Vetratista (stained glass master). Massimo is a wonderful artist, and he shows us the tools of the trade. He cracks jokes as he handles sheets of red glass I'm afraid he'll drop. "Don't worry," he says, "I could juggle these." He first sketches a "cartoon" and then matches and cuts glass. His work is splendid, and he is commissioned by churches and universities around the world. I ask how long the shop has been making windows. "My grandfather's grandfather made stained glass windows. Before that, I don't know. Who knows?" He laughs.

At lunch, I have Massimo's flyer on the table and the waiter stops to stare at the religious images. I speak a few words of Italian, and he speaks a few in English. "Beautiful," he says, pointing to a Madonna in reds and blues, "are you going to the Duomo?" The Duomo is one of Italy's greatest cathedrals, a treasure of Romanesque-Gothic architecture filled with sculpture and paintings. I tell him yes, we are planning to visit the Duomo. "Then you must pray for the chiocciola," he said.

The Chiocciola?

"I will explain," he says, grabbing his pen and a waiter's notebook from his apron. He sketches a snail. "Chiocciola!" The drawing is crude but I get the idea and laugh. "Pray for the snail? Ahhh...The snail is your contrada!" "Si, si!"

I ask him for the pen. I'm a cartoonist and love to draw, and over our dessert I draw a picture of a galloping snail winning the Palio, leaving the exhausted horses far behind in clouds of dust. When the waiter returns, he can't believe it. He's clearly delighted with the drawing, and I give it to him as a gift. "July 2nd is il palio," he says. "If the chiocciola wins I will never forget this moment."

It's a wonderful exchange, and we're high as kites walking back to the Campo on the narrow medieval streets. Near the fountain, I spot a vendor selling googaws from a cart--postcards, ballcaps, pens, maps--and he has flags--small, nylon, not the glorious silk versions I saw hanging in the chapel. I rummage through them quickly and find the flag of the Chiocciola contrada. It's the perfect souvenir to remember this afternoon in Siena.


Here is a video of the Palio--the whole race lasts only a minute and a half, and it's so rough even a riderless horse can win. Pray for the snail.

HIKING IN NORTHERN ITALY

We hiked in the Alpi di Siusi area of the Trentino-Alto Adige region of Northern Italy. The Alto Adige (or Sudtirol) is a German-speaking area, and in fact used to be part of Austria till the end of World War I. It's a mountainous region, and castles perch on cliffsides poised to tax the medieval traveler making his way through a pathway between the peaks. Romans passed through here on their way to conquer and spread the empire. As in all of Italy, the sense of place and history is palpable.

It's beautiful up here. The limestone peaks of the Dolomites rise above alpine pastures, and further north they will attain the splendid heights of the Alps. Maybe it's the thin air, but it feels dreamlike. Armed with sunblock and canteens, we hiked up the zigzagging trails to the highest meadowlands in Europe. The hills were alive with the sound of music...but no yodeling.

Yodeling is verboten here (to curtail avalanches) but if yodeling is against the law then only outlaws will yodel, so I put my hands on my hips and let loose a feeble warble. The earth did not move. Two shaggy mountain goats stopped chewing grass to give me the evil eye, what the Italians call malocchio. (I don't know what the Germans call it.)

After all that hiking and yodeling, we dropped down to Bolsano (called Bozen by German speakers) to soothe our sunburns and thirst at a friendly Paulaner Bierstube with outdoor tables and sun umbrellas. You can always count on Teutons for a great beer.

"Prost!"

TU VUO' FA' L'AMERICANO

You might recognize this swinging Italian tune from "The Talented Mr. Ripley," a film adapted from a crime novel by Patricia Highsmith. (An even better adaptation of the same book is "Plein Soleil," a french film from 1960 starring Alain Delon as Ripley) In this scene, Jude Law and Matt Damon join a jumping Italian band to sing Tu Vuo' Fa' L'Americano. See if you can keep up.

Tu vuo' fa l'americano !
" mmericano! "mmericano!
siente a me, chi t'ho fa fa ?
tu vuoi vivere alla moda
ma si bive " Whisky and soda"
p? te sente' e disturb?
tu abballe'o" Rocco Roll"
tu giochi al "basebal"
ma'e solde pe' camel
chi te li d? ?...
la borsetta di mamm? !
tu vou' fa l'americano
" mmericano, "mmericano!"
ma si nato in Italy !
siente a me non ce st? niente a fa
okay, napolitan !
tu vuo' fa l'american !

The original, by Renato Carosone in 1958.

What's the meaning of this canzone Napolitane? Here is a rough translation:

You want to make like an American,
You want to make like an American,
And want to live in the latest style,
But when you drink whiskey & soda it makes you sick.

You dance to rock & roll and play baseball,
Sure, but when you need money for Camels,
Where do you go? To Mamma's pocketbook.

So you want to make like an American,
But you were born in Italy.
Seems to me there's nothing to be done.
OK, you're Neapolitan anyway.

Another take on Mr. Ripley, "Plein Soleil," directed by René Clément in 1960

CARAVAGGIO

The Cardsharps, c. 1594, oil on canvas

Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, (29 September 1571 – 18 July 1610) was a brilliant, violent, rebellious artist who strode through the piazzas of Rome, Naples and Sicily dressed in black and carrying a sword. And he used it. In 1606 he killed a man in a brawl and had to flee Rome with a price on his head. Caravaggio got into another swordfight in Malta, and yet another in Naples, and not surprisingly he died a violent death. At the same time, he was the first great painter of the Baroque period, and received commissions from the Pope, among others. Despite being a badass, he was the most popular painter in Rome.

Shocking at the time, Caravaggio's art was peopled with lowlives and criminals--not your standard religious fare. When he took on religious subjects, he often painted them with grotesque violence, such as the decapitation of Goliath shown below. Look at the severed head, which is a self-portrait. Click on "The Cardsharps" above, and examine it in detail. The con game is beautifully rendered, a fine art masterpiece depicting the low art of card cheats.

David with Head of Goliath; a self-portrait

We're heading for Italy in a couple weeks, and in preparation we've been soaking up Italian art and history like bread soaks up olive oil. As an artist, I've always been inspired by the Italians even if they seem out of fashion in this era of timid conceptual art--much too sanguine for this pale anemic age. Caravaggio would run a sword through First Thursday artspeak like so much paper-thin prosciutto. You can hardly blame him. He was a ruffian, and while I don't exactly condone swordplay I find it kind of refreshing as I survey the contemporary scene. Don't worry, I won't be brandishing a sword on this trip to Italy--not even a Swiss army knife, thanks to post 9-11 airline rules-- but I'm bringing a little watercolor kit and a brush and look forward to retracing some of the same time-worn steps as Michelangelo Marisi da Caravaggio.

The following episode of Simon Schama's excellent series, "The Power of Art," focuses on the fascinating artist Caravaggio.

THE ITALIAN EARTHQUAKE

A 6.3-magnitude earthquake struck the medieval hill towns of the mountainous Abruzzo region east of Rome early Monday morning. Death and destruction was centered in L’Aquila, a medieval fortress town at the epicenter, but the quake also hit more than 26 nearby villages in the surrounding region in the Apennine mountains.

Rescuers were thwarted by aftershocks and fragile mountains of rubble. At this time, early Tuesday, the official death toll has risen to 207, with 40 yet to be identified. Officials say 15 people are still missing. The estimated number of homeless is more than 50,000, a lower number than previously believed, as many residents took shelter with friends and family.



Falling temperatures, rain and aftershocks that threatened further building collapses also complicated efforts, as rescuers used dogs to find those buried across the region. Another factor was the remoteness of some towns in this mountainous province dotted with rural hamlets founded before the Middle Ages.

To help: The nonprofit National Italian American Foundation based in Washington, D.C., today announced a special Abruzzo/NIAF Relief Fund “to help victims and their families who perished from the recent earthquake in the town of L’Aquila and other small towns in central Italy in the region of Abruzzo.” Link here to help.



The Italian American Museum has established the "IAM Earthquake Relief Fund 2009" and is accepting monetary donations at the museum at 155 Mulberry St., NYC, NY. Link here.

For more on the Italian earthquake, read the story in the Guardian.

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EASTER IS COMING!

Sunday, Christians will celebrate Easter and commemorate the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Without realizing it, they will also celebrate the pagan fertility springtime festival the Christian holiday supplanted. Crucifixions will mingle with fertility symbols--chicks, eggs, rabbits, flowers. It's been this way since the first Easter, at the tail end of the Iron Age. Look it up. In fact, the pagan goddess of spring and renewal was called "Oestar" from the Scandinavian "Ostra" and the Teutonic "Ostern" or "Eastre." This goddess of spring and fertility was honored on the vernal (spring) equinox. All that, and chocolate!

Of course, many people (most of the people on the planet, in fact) don't believe in Jesus as our Savior/Messiah, but they are still welcome to a chocolate bunny. Some people don't even believe in the Easter Bunny, who they claim is merely a magical mythical figure depicted as an anthropomorphic rabbit that delivers eggs in a basket. The following chart will help you place yourself according to your belief in Jesus (and of course many will simply be off the chart). This diagram may also help clarify your belief (or lack thereof) in the Easter Bunny.


The great Tom Waits helps us celebrate Easter with a stirring rendition of "Chocolate Jesus," combining both strains of the holiday in one tasty treat.

Speaking of anthropomorphic rabbits, here's one of our favorites, Bugs Bunny, helping the Easter Bunny in this cartoon classic from 1947, "Easter Yeggs." Just so you'll know, "yegg" is oldtime slang for a burglar or safecracker.


"Easter Yeggs" (1947) Looney Tunes


Springtime in Italy is the watchword around here, and this is how they celebrate the holiday. Wouldn't you know eating would be involved? You betcha. And you know it's good! Buona Pasqua! (Check out this post, Springtime in Italy).


Italy Travel: Easter Traditions in Italy


Isn't this little hatchling adorable? Long after the Iron Age but before the Age of Email, people actually sent these wonderful vintage Easter cards to family and friends. Of course, they weren't called "vintage" cards back then, no more than coins minted before the time of Christ carried the initials "B.C,," but now they've become collectibles. This was from the Golden Age of Illustration, before stock photos and Photoshop killed off the illustrators. Times were different then.

Here's another Easter cutie. Actually, this pin-up purports to be an actual photograph of the Easter Bunny. Then again, maybe it's Ostra, goddess of spring!

HAPPY ST. JOSEPH'S DAY

You know about St. Patrick's Day, but do you know about St. Joseph's Day?

This feast day is as important to Italians as St. Paddy's is to the Irish. In Italy, and in neighborhoods with a population of Italian Americans, people celebrate the patron saint of Sicily. There won't be any green beer, but there are special pastas, fish, sweets, baked breads, and fava beans. Some Italian Catholics will prepare a St. Joseph's table, or Tavole di San Giuseppe, and provide a feast spread that is open to all. Special groups such as orphans, the elderly and the homeless are invited to attend. This is a day to remember the poor, so there will be no meat, and instead of cheese breadcrumbs are sprinkled over pasta. These traditions go back to the middle ages, when much of Sicily was wiped out by a famine. It is said that the humble fava bean helped them survive, and to this day favas will be included in the feast of St. Joseph.

zeppole

And of course zeppole. Don't forget the zeppole. A zeppola (plural zeppole, in southern dialects zeppoli) or St. Joseph's Day cake, also called sfinge and in Rome Bigne di San Giuseppe, is a delicious little fried pastry. They sell them on the streets of Rome, Naples, and Sicily. Sometimes they're filled with crema or custard. (Read about them here)

Italians in New Orleans celebrate St. Joseph's Day:


Like the Irish and St. Patrick's Day, this is a day for Italians to take pride in their culture and heritage. Even if you're not Italian, have something Italian today. Have a slice of pizza (invented in Naples) or some pasta (invented by the Romans) with a nice glass of chianti, or have a caffe latte (you guessed it) or maybe an ice cream (gelato was first created by the Sicilian-born Procopio dei Coltelli back to the 16th century). Won't you join me?

The Holy Trinity: Italian bread, Italian wine, and some extra virgin olive oil.

Oh, and use a fork. Knives go back to prehistoric times, but Catherine di Medici brought the first fork to France in 1533 when she married the future King Henry II. The French were slow to warm to the idea. She also influenced their cooking to a great degree by bringing a sophisticated palate and cuisine from Italy.

An Englishman named Thomas Coryate brought the first forks back to England after seeing them in Italy during his travels in 1608. The English ridiculed the forks as effeminate and unnecessary, and explained that they had two good hands to eat with. Gradually, they came around.

Finally, on a lighter note, everyone's favorite Italian American, Paulie Walnuts, comments on the Italian contribution to world cuisine. Ethnic pride? Fuggedaboudit.

CIAO, TULLIO

Tullio Pinelli passed away Saturday in Rome at age 100. You probably never heard of him, even if you're a film fanatic. Pinelli was responsible for co-writing several of Federico Fellini’s best films, including I Vitelloni, La Strada, La Dolce Vita, Nights Of Cabiria, Juliet Of The Spirits, and 8 ½.

Federico Fellini, actor Leopoldo Trieste, and Tullio Pinelli

Pinelli didn’t start writing until his late 30s, when he and Fellini met at a newspaper stand, reading two sides of the same newspaper clamped to the kiosk. They loved movies, and had similar ideas about the possibility of infusing life and energy into the grim neo-realism that dominated Italy’s post-war cinema. Drawing upon childhood memory, myth, and a boundless artistic imagination they created a cinema of fantasy, dreams, memory and desire.


Marcello Mastriani in "La Dolce Vita"

In "La Dolce Vita," Marcello is a gossip columnist who chronicles "the sweet life'' of fading aristocrats, second-string film stars, aging Romeos and working girls. Marcello is cynical and exhausted, and he navigates this decadent world in a rumpled suit and shades. He's torn between making something serious of himself, and drifting along in an empty stream of affairs and a profitible--yet meaningless--life as a hack. Sylvia, a giggling American actress, comes to town, and he's enchanted. They drive around Rome at night. In this classic scene, they come upon the Trevi Fountain. Is this his shot at redemption, or complete surrender?

--"La Dolce Vita"

SPRINGTIME IN ITALY

Oh, God. The weather forecast is predicting snow again...snow! We've already been dumped with more snow than I can ever remember in one year in the Pacific Northwest, and now it's a week into March and we're in for more snow! We can't wait for springtime when we'll be traveling in Italy.

We'll be leaving our rain barrels and snow shovels behind. We'll be visiting the lakes, the mountains...climbing the goat trails of Cinque Terre, getting lost in Venice, sipping wine in Tuscany, dodging Vespas in Rome.


The history of Rome is fascinating. If you've watched the HBO mini-series you know it was filled with empire and intrigue and conquest and bare breasts. Plenty of bare breasts. But that wasn't the entire story.

To help us navigate the labyrinth of Roman History, we've enlisted the help of an old friend, Terry Jones. Terry is an historian, actor, screenwriter, comedian, director--and probably best known for being a member of the British comedy troupe Monty Python's Flying Circus. Here he gives is a little Roman history lesson.

THE SURPRISING HISTORY OF ROME