All posts by Deirdre Straughan

Holiday Treats – Italian Seasonal Goodies

Any excuse is good for eating sweets, but seasonal treats that are only available during certain holidays are the best excuse of all. (No, I’m not talking about pumpkin-flavored coffee from Starbucks.)
Italy has one or more special sweets for every holiday. For Christmas, it’s panettone (a leavened cake with canditi – candied fruit – and raisins) and pandoro (a yellow cake cooked in a tall, star-shaped mold).

At Carnevale, it’s tortelli and chiacchere. Tortelli are fried, hollow balls of pastry, sometimes filled with cream, chocolate, etc. Chiacchere (literally, “chatter”) are deep-fried crackery things, liberally dusted with powdered sugar. These very fattening items were meant to be a sweet indulgence before the privations of the Lenten season, but nowadays, for the weight-conscious, oven-baked chiacchere are widely available.

My favorite seasonal sweet is coming up soon, for Easter: the colomba, a dove-shaped cake (as the name implies), similar to panettone but, instead of canditi and raisins incorporated into the batter, it features a cracked glaze topping with sugar grains and almonds.

Easter also means chocolate easter eggs. These are commonly about a foot tall and hollow, with a “treat” of some kind rattling around inside – sometimes more chocolate, but often a trinket or toy or, in the expensive versions, a piece of jewelry. There are plenty of crass commercial eggs available, themed with the latest kids’ obsession (yes, I am trying to find “Eggolas” for my daughter). But the best eggs are generally hand-made at your local pasticceria (bakery) from good-quality chocolate. Sometimes they are elaborately decorated with hard icing, but most often they are wrapped in pretty paper and decorated with frothy ribbons, flowers, etc. The bakery eggs also have treats inside but, to me, the treat is on the outside. Break off shards of a good-quality dark chocolate egg for the perfect accompaniment to a really good colomba.

Americans Learning Languages

“The bill, called the International Studies Higher Education Act (HR 3077), reauthorizes about $80 million in funding for international and foreign language study, but with a twist – now the government would allocate more resources to programs that emphasize national security.”

Speaking in ‘approved’ tongues, Kimberly Chase, from the March 11, 2004 edition Christian Science Monitor

Language professors are reported to be up in arms, but selective funding of language study is hardly a new phenomenon. My bachelor’s degree was partly funded by the US government, at a time when President Reagan was cutting most education funding. Apparently Casper Weinberger (Reagan’s Secretary of Defense) argued to preserve funding for certain kinds of language studies, on national security grounds; I was paid for almost every semester that I studied Hindi and Urdu, including my study abroad year in India.

What the government hoped to get out of this was obvious: On my first visit to the Department of Oriental and African Languages and Literatures (DOALL) at the University of Texas, I couldn’t help noticing the announcement of a CIA recruiting visit to campus, prominently displayed on one of the bulletin boards. Printed into the CIA letterhead were the words: “Central Intelligence Agency – Don’t You Think It’s Time We Got to Know Each Other Better?”

Crotasc – A Winery Restaurant Specializing in Wild Game

We’ve discovered a new treasure, Crotasc, a restaurant attached to the Mamete Prevostini winery in Mese, just outside Chiavenna (a town north of the northern tip of Lake Como). Their specialties are salumi and insaccati (dried meats) and wild game (including salumi made from wild game), and of course their own wines.

The house welcoming nibble was thin slices of slinzega, a dried beef similar to the Chiavennasca specialty, violino di capra (“violin of goat’ – salted preserved haunch of goat, traditionally carved by holding it under your chin and sawing towards you with a long knife), along with several kinds of excellent bread, ranging from pure white to the traditional pane di segale (rye) – I wish I could buy the bread the restaurants get!

My husband had the 30-euro wild game menu, which started with a small selection of wild game salumi, followed by ravioli with fagiano (guinea fowl). I had home-made papardelle (wide pasta ribbons) with duck breast. Both were wonderful.

Enrico’s secondo was a medallion of venison with a sauce of Sfursat (the local “fortified” wine); I had a venison cutlet. Both were served with a dollop of polenta and a vegetable “foam.” My cutlet was excellent, but Enrico’s with the sauce was even better.

For dessert I had a chocolate pudding in vanilla sauce, Enrico had an orange semifreddo (semi-frozen), which again I liked better than my own – maybe I’m just envious.

We accompanied everything with a Grumello 2000 by Mamete Prevostini, also excellent. We could probably have bought some of their wine while we were there, but they were disappointingly out of the lovely white called Opera that we had tasted last summer at Lanterna Verde – they’re waiting for the new vintage to be ready. I guess we’ll just have to go back for it.

The restaurant is divided into two rooms, one traditional with a huge fireplace, and big dark wooden ceiling beams. We ate in the non-smoking room, which looked as though it had been recently done or re-done, in light wood with lovely modern fountain chandeliers and stone paving. There is also lots of outside seating, so the place is probably even more delightful during daylight, in good weather.

I warmly recommend this restaurant to anyone who’s visiting Lake Como – it’s well worth the trip.

via D.P. Lucchinetti 67,
23020 Mese (SO)

Fitting Clothes

An article in the Christian Science Monitor confirms what I have long suspected: clothing size has nothing to do with body size, and indeed is not uniform even from manufacturer to manufacturer.

I began to wonder about this years ago, when shopping for shorts in a mall. Much to my surprise, I ended up buying a pair in size 8, at a “Petites” store. I don’t think much about clothing, but I do remember clearly that, when I was in college in 1983, I had a pair of Gloria Vanderbilt designer jeans. They were, as the mode of the day demanded, skin-tight, the kind you have to lie down on the bed to slide into. And they were size 12. Ten years and a child later, how could I possibly wear a size 8?

I had also been experimenting with sewing my own clothing. I never got good at it, but it kept me amused while I was home with the infant Rossella, so, during this same trip, we went shopping for sewing patterns.

“What size do you take?” asked the clerk.

I shrugged helplessly, my usual answer to that question. “I have no idea.”

So she measured me, and announced: “Size 14.”

This sounded reasonable, but I was still puzzled about the shorts, and told her the story.

She replied: “The clothing industry keeps deflating the sizes, to make people think they’re skinnier. Pattern sizes have never changed.”

According to the article, the clothing industry now has a lot of new data about the shape of American bodies, which they will use to redesign their styles to fit people better, although it is already clear that most brands will not be altering their sizing to achieve uniformity with the others. So you’ll still need to know what size you are in a specific label in order to get a good fit, a marketing trick to ensure brand loyalty. It works, too – part of the reason I buy a lot at Lands’ End is that I already know what size will fit me.

For me, buying clothing in stores is endlessly frustrating. My basic problem – incomprehension and dislike of most clothing – is compounded by living, travelling, and shopping in so many other countries. European sizes might be uniform across brands for all I know, but I don’t shop enough for the numbers to stick in my mind, so I never know what size I’m buying. Except shoes – I know that I wear a size 39 in Italy and 8 1/2 in the US.

Shopping in Italy is difficult for me because Italian women apparently have a very different body shape than I do. Judging by what’s in the stores, Italian women when young are thin and straight – no hips, not much chest. In middle age they become barrel-shaped. Either way, the clothes don’t fit me. (Luckily for them, they also don’t have the stomach curving out in front that I have.)

The best solution to the clothing problem for me has been custom-made, in India, where wonderful fabrics and talented tailors come very cheap. I still wear a beautiful skirt and jacket of black raw silk that I had made back in 1986 – it’s almost too dressy for business occasions. Unfortunately, I haven’t had enough time on recent trips to India to pursue this solution. And people wonder why I dress like a slob.

Italian Winter Weather

The first time we visited Milan, in January of 1991, there were about four inches of snow on the ground. It melted the next day, and in the 12 years we lived in Milan after that I only saw snow falling once or twice a year, some years not at all, and rarely enough to stick. For the last few years, February has been mild, April cold and rainy, and everyone complained about how the seasons weren’t what they used to be (a lament that has probably been heard since the australopithecines).

Today it’s snowing in Lecco. A lot. Just like it did the week before last, and the week before that, and I lose count before that. A few weeks ago we took in “refugees,” six of Ross’ classmates who had commuted up to an hour to get to school, only to find it cancelled because snow was falling and the heating system wasn’t working.

The kids weren’t a problem, but I’ve had enough of winter. I never liked cold weather in the first place. I was born in New Orleans, subsequently lived in Texas, Hawaii, and Thailand. I never saw snow actually falling out of the sky until we got to Pittsburgh, when I was 11. I hate having to dress up in layers and layers of clothing to go outside, then when you go into a shop or come home again you’re too hot and have to undress. I have no circulation in my hands and feet, so they’re always icy cold (cold hands, warm heart – I’d settle for the reverse). I even have chilblains on my toes this year, probably from wearing wimpy shoes in a misguided attempt to be fashionable, before I found a pair of decent-looking fur-lined boots in England.

One problem specific to Italian winters is that most of us have no control over home heating – condominium buildings are usually centrally-heated, and the thermostat is set according to government regulations. Heating goes on October 15th and off April 15th, regardless of actual outside temperatures. And it’s turned way down during hours that most people are out of the house, e.g. 10 am to noon, which happen to be my peak working hours in my home office. So I’m sitting at my desk wearing ski socks and fleece slippers (still going strong – thanks, Laura and Larry!), a turtleneck, corduroy trousers, and a Kashimiri shawl.

Heating also gets turned off at night when we’re all supposed to be in bed. There are few things more miserable than being wide awake at 4 am with jetlag, and you can’t even read in bed because it’s too cold to put your arms outside the covers (yes, there is another activity which could warm you up in bed, but that only works at 4 am when both of you have jetlag).