Sweet sorrow

We are on our way back to California, and as always I'm feeling a muddle of happy and sad. California's warmer weather will be a nice change from the 40-something temperatures in Fidenza, even if El Cerrito is hardly tropical, and I'll be glad to see our friends and reconnect with my aqua aerobics pals, my chamber music community, and my zumba posse. And it will be great to again be able to express myself like a functioning adult on pretty much any subject.

But there are many things I'm going to miss while on the other side of the world from Fidenza. For example:

Gelato. Gelato isn't has heavy as fatty "premium" ice cream, but it has more body and vastly more flavor than low-end ice creams. No wonder Italians eat a lot of it. There are three gelaterie on our street, including one just across from us, the Borgo dei Golosi (Village of Gluttons, a great name for a gelato purveyor).  

Eugenia dishing up a coppetta.

Eugenia, the proprietor, seems to be there about 18 hours a day, and we first started dropping in mostly out of a desire to support a hard-working local business. But during our 2021 sojourn I seem to have become addicted.  

Heaven in a cup: fondente and walnut gelato.

In particular, I'm obsessed with Eugenia's super-dark-chocolate fondente, which is almost black, not very sweet, and insanely satisfying, especially when paired with walnut or hazelnut or pistachio or amarena (sour cherry) gelato. And a 2-euro coppetta is only a third of a U.S. cup, so I can indulge without overindulging. I'm going to be thinking about Eugenia a lot over the next few months, I suspect.  

Butchers. Here I mean not Republican anti-vax politicians or rampaging white supremacists, but people in white coats who will cut meat up for you to order. Of course this exists in California, too, but it is mostly very artisanal and very pricey, whereas in Fidenza it's still the way a lot of people buy their meat as a matter of course. At the big supermarket down the street the butchers are working in the back, which isn't the same thing, but it's still exciting to see the meat counter stocked with things like rabbit, veal, guinea fowl, pork hearts, and other delectables rare or impossible to find even in foodie California.

Roast guinea fowl with potatoes at our house.

A more one-on-one experience is offered by the halal butcher near our place. We went in on a Tuesday looking for lamb, but the butcher apologized; he only gets lamb in on Friday. When we returned on Friday morning I was disappointed to see no lamb in the case. But when we asked, the butcher said, "I'll get it" and returned a moment later bearing a full lamb carcass. From which he obligingly cut up some shoulder for a stew and then ground us a couple of pounds of leg for meatballs. 

Got agnello?

That seemed almost as satisfying as raising and slaughtering the lamb myself. And the meat was very lamb-y and delicious.  

Compostable bags. Italy, like other civilized countries, is trying to cut down on plastic waste. In California the solution is to have people bring their own shopping bags, but there are still plenty of situations--takeout food, for instance--where we end up with plastic bags we wish we didn't have to deal with.

Guilt-free baggery.

In Italy, many grocery stores and takeout eateries now put your purchases in compostable bags that you can then use to collect your umido--compostable food waste--and drop into the bin. This isn't universal, but it's much more widespread than in California. I hope we in the U.S. catch up to this trend and that this will soon be something I no longer have to wax nostalgic about. 

Italian bars  Bars in America have a louche appeal. Whether they're dives or fancy watering-holes, they are all about alcohol. Because they're sinful, American bars are hidden behind darkened windows. Bars in Italy, on the other hand, are out in the open--particularly in the pandemic era, when many have moved outdoors--and people go there to meet their friends for coffee, pastries, sandwiches, or a quick pasta lunch, as well as for wine, beer, or a cocktail. The vibe is social and relaxed and you only have to show up a few times to become a regular. 

Bar breakfast.

The prices are low for the quality offered. This morning two excellent cappuccini, a croissant, and a brioche (also excellent) came to a total of about $6.00. And in the evening, a beer, a spritz, or a glass of wine that costs $5 or $6 often comes with a free plate of little sandwiches, potato chips, or other snacks

Bar dinner.

True, the Fidenza bar scene became significantly less appealing when the weather turned cold and COVID limitations on indoor seating often meant gulping down your coffee in a plastic tent that gave only minimal protection from the icy rain outside. But I will still be sorry to go back to making my own coffee rather than strolling across the street for a cappuccino with a heart etched in the foam.

Pasta. After three months in Fidenza, Danny says he's sick of pasta. I'm not. If anything, the opposite.  Spaghetti, penne, lasagna, and so on are hardly rarities in the United States, but the omnipresence of pasta in Italy delights me on a daily basis.

Pretty much every restaurant except the kebab places serves it (the kebaberies offer pizza but not noodles), and when I walk around town I see one menu board after another offering tagliatelle with mushrooms, gnocchi with gorgonzola, and dozens of other variations on this lovely theme. In the supermarket, the pasta aisle is three times as long as it is in the U.S., with dozens of additional shapes.

Cavatelli with tomatoes and beans, Trattoria San Giorgio

Not that the pasta in Italy is always that great. Ristorante Ugolini's pasta salad of a couple summers ago (the first photo in this series), which included corn kernels and hot dogs, was an unfortunate experiment, and elsewhere I've had my share of pasta that was underdone, oversalted, or indifferently sauced. 

Orecchiette with broccoli rabe and sausage, Bar Teatro.

But still, it's pasta. And when it's good, as it often is, it's divine. When I'm in Italy, just knowing that most of the people around me eat some form of pasta every day makes me happy. 

Italian fashion. In Northern California's East Bay people are serious about dressing casually. Keen waterproof sandals, "performance" hiking pants, and fleece jackets are dress-up gear. Dirty sweatpants and dirty hair that in other settings might be symptoms of emotional breakdown are, in Berkeley and environs, proud snoot-cocking at bourgeois convention. But in Italy, or at least in Fidenza, a lot of people embrace fashion with gusto. Our street boasts more than a dozen clothing stores, including three for men, and they all change their window displays every week or so, vying with each other to come up with eye-catching combinations of colors and styles. But they are regularly outdone by the people strolling by. I cannot really do justice to this subject because I'm too much of a pussy to take people's pictures head on, but here are a few folks I've captured on the fly over the past couple of years.

Italian men are the bomb.

So are Italian women.

Especially older Italian women.

New arrivals are making the mix even more fascinating.

I spotted this pair at the San Donnino festa. I hope they'll turn up again.

This lady at the festa also caught my eye.

Her sneakers say it all.