Category Archives: Italy

You Want Me to Put that Where?!?

Cultural Differences in Medication Methods, US and Italy

There are cultural differences between Italy and the US even in seemingly small things, such as how medicines are administered. I got through a childhood of many, many medicines without ever using a suppository – except once. That once is still imprinted on my mind as one of the more humiliating, not to mention uncomfortable, experiences of my life. So I was unpleasantly surprised to find that suppositories were routinely prescribed for Rossella‘s childhood fevers. I guess the logic is that it’s easier to ensure that a small child gets the correct dosage that way, but it wasn’t fun for anybody.There are even adult-sized suppositories, though I’ve never heard of anyone actually using them. But then I don’t suppose that’s something you’d discuss in casual conversation…

The favored medicine format for adults is the bustina (little envelope), of a powder which is mixed with water, forming a fizzy and more or less palatable decoction. Beyond that, it’s plain old pills – none of these wimpy American capsules or gel caps, just swallow it down and quit complaining.

Then there’s my once new, now old, friend – the aerosol. This is a machine with a noisy little motor that compresses air. You attach a rubber tube to it, then a glass “nebulizer” into which you put liquid medicine. The final glass piece, connected by a rubber joining ring, can be a nasal “fork” (in two sizes), a mouthpiece, or a soft plastic mask that covers nose and mouth. The compressed air is forced through the nebulizer, where it mixes with the medicine to create an aerosol which you then breathe in – excellent for getting the medicine to where it’s actually needed for respiratory problems. A beneficial side effect, for people like me who often won’t sit still long enough to rest even when we need it, is that you are tethered to the machine for the half-hour that it takes to inhale all the medicine. But that’s a drawback when you have to treat a small child.

Because I am often clumsy and drop things, I was initially nervous of handling all that delicate-looking glass, but it turns out to be not as delicate as it looks, and in any case you can buy replacement parts at the pharmacy.

Another area of cultural difference in medicine is how you obtain it. It pays to make friends with your local pharmacist, because, once she learns to know and trust you, she will often let you have things that technically are supposed to be available only by prescription – very handy when you know exactly what you’ve got and how to treat it, but can’t get hold of your doctor to write the prescription.

You do eventually want to get the prescription so that you can get some money back. Most pharmacies will sell you something on an emergency basis, then refund your money when you come back with the official prescription form which allows them to charge it (in whole or in part) to the national health service.

Apr 27, 2004

Mike Looijmans says re. suppositories: “The Dutch words for those are many, and translate into things like “ass grenade”, “plug-in” and “stick-up”. I cannot even recall the official word for them…”

He and others rightly pointed out that they’re often used for children (and sometimes adults) when they might be expected to throw up any medicine taken orally.

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.

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)

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).

Randy Newman in Milan

Monday night we went to hear Randy Newman in Milan, on the last date of his European tour. I didn’t realize it was the last til I looked at his site just now – he certainly didn’t look any worse for the wear of 22 shows in 30 days. This was the Songbook tour, just Randy and his piano; I’d heard about the tour (and bought the CD) thanks to a review in the NYT or somewhere. It was sheer dumb luck that I stepped out of a hotel in Milan a few weeks ago and found myself face to face with Randy Newman on a poster, glued to a fence around the Pirelli tower (re)construction site (this is how I usually learn about concerts I want to go to, usually too late).

The promoters missed a marketing opportunity – I think Rossella and I were the only Americans in the theater. Ross was also very much the youngest person there, but that’s less surprising. I watched as the crowd entered, and amused myself speculating on who these people were. My guess is that this concert brought out every old-school lefty to be found in the Milan area: I have not seen so many beards in one room since about 1975. There was even one guy with long sideburns and a gold corduroy jacket – thirty years of fashion had passed him right by, even in Milan! Or maybe that stuff’s back in now, and I, as usual, am the laggard follower of fashion.

We hoped not to be subjected to a constant audience singalong such as we had suffered through at the Alex Britti concert. This was a very different audience, but Ross was plagued by the two guys behind her singing along through most of the show, albeit so quietly that Enrico and I didn’t hear them. Unfortunately, she didn’t mention this til afterwards; she hadn’t wanted to disturb anyone else by shushing them, though she might have said something during intermission.

There was one song that Randy asked us to sing along on: “I’m Dead and I Don’t Know It,” about all the geriatric rockers still on tour (referring to himself as well). I had recently been thinking about this phenomenon: my daughter is the third-generation Who fan in our family. That’s a bit scary, but at least it’s something we can share, though my tolerance for her generation’s music is limited.To sum up, the concert was wonderful. If you don’t know Randy Newman, or only know him via such pop hits as “Short People” or “I Love LA,” or his movie scores, I recommend a closer aquaintance. He writes songs unlike anyone else’s: three-minute stories narrated by characters very distant from himself, sad, funny, touching, and often with an ironic punch that gets you thinking.

Songbook Vol. 1 Amazon UK

About Randy Newman