Baking like an American with a Bunch of Italians

Last week, I must have taken a dive off the deep end because I invited a bunch of Italian friends over to make an apple crisp with me. Now, this wasn’t the first time they had eaten an oh-so foreign American sweet of mine. Previously, I brought a bunch of Mexican Wedding Cakes to a friend for her birthday. I thought their simplicity would appeal to Italian tastes, and I was fortunately right. I think that helped everybody’s willingness levels because I managed to wrangle up four other girls to help with the cooking and an additional three to help with the eating. Italian cooking abilities can be put into two categories. Either you have difficulty boiling a pot of water, or you could give Giada di Laurentiis a run for her money. These categories made themselves clear again when we assigned the jobs. Aleissia opted to be the D.J., Catia was the photographer, and Carmen and Agata decided to test their skills and help me cut apples. Apparent in her cutting abilities, Agata could be a candidate for Italia’s Next Food Network Star (which does not actually exist), and Carmen, well, Carmen got a boo-boo.

Mad Cutting Skills from Both Girls

The Boo Boo

All minor injuries aside, we got the crisp in and out of the oven successfully. The first group of girls had to go to English classes (hahahaha) before the crisp was ready, so another three friends came over to give it the taste test. One thing I really love about the way Italians eat is how they criticize every little thing about the meal but rarely mean it. As Francesca, Eva, and Giorgia seriously told me “This is way to sweet” and “You probably added too much water,” they happily finished their generous portions of crisp and asked for the recipe.

A Happily Eating Francesca and a Happily Eaten Crisp

Times They Are a-Changin

When I read food blogs, I get a very strange feeling. I really cannot tell if it’s the spark of young passion, awe, fear, my stomach growling, or simple jealousy. It’s probably a pinch of all those things. Today for me has been filled with this sensation because, in Italian fashion, I didn’t go to school, slept in, and spent too many hours reading food blogs. This got me thinking. Reviewing my blog, I realized that I have yet to really talk about food. How unlike me! Maybe it’s because there are so many things about Italy I want to write about, or maybe it’s because I don’t have the time to really sit down and do it all justice. Nonetheless, the epicurean inspiration has returned, and I think I am going to slowly but surely take my blog in a foodie direction... But not right this second. I’m hungry and need my afternoon snack of an apple with plume marmalade and parmigiano reggiano.

On Socks and Body Temperature.

So far, one of the most obvious differences in Italian culture is the importance of not being cold. If you are cold, it is very, very bad, possibly fatal. Now, in the mindset of most Italians, your body temperature correlates directly with the wetness of your hair and your footwear. Most people know that in Italy, you HAVE to blow dry your hair before you leave the house. It's a very strong superstition that you will catch some disease if you have "capelli bagnati." I don't question it, I just do it. Additionally, it is pertinent that your feet are adequately insulated. On Sunday, I ate lunch at my aunt's house. After at least ten different dishes, my aunt (zia Angela) had a minor heart attack because I wasn't wearing socks with my Tom's. Wide eyed, she announced this to the whole group, and then half of them proceeded to feel my ankles for temperature. Apparently, in Sant Agata, word about socks travels fast, and after school the next day, two of Roberta's friends asked me if I was wearing socks. I was. Thank God. Nonetheless, this concern reflects an incredibly genuine concern for your welfare that most Italians have. People want you to be warm not cold, and they take it upon themselves to make it happen. I like it.

Salve, Ciao, e Benvenuto!

Hello There! For those who don't know me, I'm Brittney de Alicante, and I'm planning on spending the spring semester of my junior year in Italy, specifically Sant Agata. To my slight understanding, it's a quaint little town outside of Naples, but that's about the extent of my knowledge. Goggle Image has also filled my imagination with pictures of a beautifully aged town happily teetering on a cliff edge, but they have yet to be verified. In S. Agata, I will be living with a host family and attending an Italian high school. I will have a host dad, Marino, mom, Maria, older brother, Giulio, and slightly younger sister, Roberta. I have finally been able to talk to Roberta via Facebook. Funnily enough, she has fallen under the impression that I speak almost perfect Italian. Boy is she in for a surprise when I show up! After I responded to her email in Italian for the sake of practice, she replied with a page long Q and A email all in Italian, congratulating me on my foreign language skills. Little does she know those simple five sentences took me no less than three hours to "perfect." No parlo Italiano. Uso il dizionario. Immediately after receiving this email, I went to Powell's and got an Italian workbook, which I have actually started and plan to continue using for at least ten minutes each day. With or without my broken Italian, Roberta seems like an absolute sweet heart, who is as excited for my arrival as me. I cannot wait to find out more about her and her family. A Happy and Prosperous Belated New Years to Everyone!