Off the Phone in Italy

Since I’ve been in Italy, I’ve gotten out of the habit of telephoning: anywhere, anyone, for any reason. Aside from the enormous difficulties of installing a phone line in Italy and keeping it working (which, if you’re lucky, you will only suffer through once), everything involved in using a phone is simply ridiculously difficult here.

They keep bringing us new phone books every year, but I haven’t actually opened one in as long as I can remember. Why? Because it’s almost impossible to find any useful information in them. When I left the US in 1991, I was accustomed to using the yellow pages to find businesses or services close to home. The categories made sense to me, and were usefully cross-referenced.

With the Italian Pagine Gialle, I soon gave up. There is some logic to how businesses are described there which completely eludes me. This may have been an early lack of vocabulary on my part, but there are other problems.

What if I already know the exact business I’m looking for and its address, and simply need a number to call them? Hah! Life should be so easy. The Pagine Gialle (or Bianche – white pages) don’t help there, either.

Next time you buy something with a credit card in an Italian shop, look at the credit card receipt, which carries the official incorporated name of the business. This name is often not even remotely similar to the shop name on the sign outside.

It is this official business name which gets listed in the phone books, I suppose because all of the business’ financial and legal documents, including its phone contract, are done in this name. Which is absolutely no help to you, the consumer.

The online version of the Pagine Gialle has the same problem. At a conference I attended in Torino last December, one of the speakers was an exec from PagineGialle.it. I cornered him afterwards to ask about this.

"It’s our biggest problem," he sighed. "To have anything other than the official business name listed, they have to pay. Most don’t bother."

No concept of "doing business as", evidently.

So, if you use a business that you think you might want to call sometime, be sure to pick up a card and take it home – that’s the only way you’re ever going to find their number.

This doesn’t apply to larger and non-storefront companies – most of those are listed under the name you’re familiar with, so you can find a number and just call, right?

Wrong.

Not many Italian companies seem to be using voicemail, which phone-tree-scarred Americans might think is a relief. In Italy, you call a central switchboard number, you get a live person.

But who have you got? As Michelle points out, it’s not necessarily a receptionist. I have seen with my own eyes security guards at the entrance to one of Fastweb’s corporate HQs in Milan, attempting to shepherd visitors through an elaborate entry process (including printed badges with photographs) – while simultaneously answering switchboard and tech support calls!

It’s no wonder, then, that no receptionist I’ve encountered in Italy has ever offered to take a message and have me called back, and they seem surprised and offended when I request it. The best you’ll get is: "He’ll be back after so-and-so time, call then."

All this probably accounts for the rapid spread of cellphones in Italy. There has never been a directory of cellphone numbers, but no one missed it because the landline directory we already knew was of limited usefulness anyway. People print their cell numbers on their business cards, so you’d better hold onto those and/or put the numbers into your phone.

With a cellphone, you don’t have to go through a switchboard, and, in the rare event that a call goes unanswered, you can always leave a message or send an SMS.

All of this fits neatly into Italy’s cultural preference for personal connections. Cold-contacting a new company (even if you want to buy something from them!) can be damned near impossible here: it all depends on who you know personally – and having their cellphone number.

Thanksgiving 2007: Martha Stewart, Move Over!

I’m leaving for India Wednesday, so we had to have our traditional Thanksgiving dinner early. The first step, which started two days in advance, was to roast and peel the chestnuts for the stuffing – unlike Martha Stewart, I cannot buy them pre-cooked and frozen or canned.

Above you see them ready to go into the oven (I had two oven pans, both almost full), with an x scored across the flat side of each with a knife, as per instructions in the Silver Palate cookbook. They didn’t all have an identifiable flat side, and I was scared of slipping with that sharp little knife and cutting my fingers.

This is how they looked partway through the roasting; it took over an hour to get the last ones done enough to peel relatively easily. Per Italian tradition I should have roasted them over an open flame in a pan with holes in the bottom (which would have been faster), but I don’t own one of those pans. Hmm. Something to get for next year.

Peeling them all took hours. Depending on degree of doneness and other mysterious factors, any given chestnut can be more or less difficult to coax out of its woody outer shell and then the papery inner one. Like walnuts, they have wrinkles and crevices from which any woody bits must be removed so that guests don’t break their teeth – you don’t always get a perfect whole chestnut as shown above.

I no longer have an oven large enough to roast a whole turkey, so in the last few years I’ve had to find another solution. An American recipe for herb-roasted turkey breast expects me to have a turkey breast with the skin still on, something you don’t find in Italy. You can order a whole turkey breast from the butcher, but it arrives skinless.

My solution was to replace the skin with thin-sliced pancetta (Italian bacon). Instead of working the herb mixture under the skin, I just slather it onto the turkey, then lay on the pancetta slices to completely cover the surface. This retains moisture in the meat, adds lots of flavor, and becomes a nice, crispy addition to the dish.

Italian poultry takes longer to cook than the estimates given in American cookbooks. The Joy of Cooking says 10-12 minutes per pound for turkey. By this calculation, this 3.8 kg (8.4 lb) turkey breast should have cooked in less than two hours. But I knew from previous experience that this was not going to happen. The turkey was perfect at three hours – cooked through, but still moist. (I used a meat thermometer, let it reach the “poultry” marking and stay there 10-15 minutes.)

I had so many chestnuts this year that I saved some whole ones out from the stuffing and put them in the roasting pan with the turkey, adding more at the end when the turkey had shrunk and there was more room. They soaked up the gravy deliciously.

Italians don’t make the flour-thickened gravy traditional in America – it’s a lot easier to just use the pan juices as-is (had I thought about it, I should have tried adding Calvados and simmering as the recipe called for – but then there wouldn’t have been enough to go around). I simply poured the juices and chestnuts into a bowl, and people spooned it onto their slices of meat.

The above photo is by Duke, a young fashion photographer trying to make a career in a tough city (Milan). I figure, if I’m going to have my picture taken at all, I should leave it to the most competent person in the room. (He also plays a mean blues guitar.)

I was too busy cooking, serving, eating, and talking to take any pictures of the actual guests – there were about 35 people present, and during the first part of the evening we managed to get them into the taverna (instead of clustering in the dining room and kitchen as people tend to do) by putting all the wine and antipasti down there!

I wasn’t the only cook. Ivo brought his justly-famous cheeseball, plus veggies and dip. Darlene’s American/Asian style cabbage salad was a great accompaniment to the main course. There were many great desserts: Maryellen’s pumpkin pie, Fabrizio and Irene’s ricotta torte, Marianna and Zeno’s apple cake, plus various yummy store-bought sweets. Andrea and Nives also brought us some authentic Genovese pesto which we will have to eat before I leave.

And somehow we always end up with more wine than we started with at these things: I didn’t even buy any, and we have 6-8 bottles left over! We finished off the Franciacorta that San Lorenzo had donated to Web Women Weekend, and I liked very much the 2007 Novello “Falò” that Andrea and Nives brought.

It was our usual mixed crowd: mathematicians, IT geeks/bloggers, neighbors, and various other friends. I was happy they all came and enjoyed themselves and the company, though I didn’t get as much time to talk to most as I would have liked. That’s what happens when you’re the hostess. But it was worth it. Happy Thanksgiving!

KLM Makes Up, and Other Airline Experiences

I wrote 18 months ago about my disappointment with KLM’s poor handling of a bereavement situation (KLM Tries Harder… But Fails). I’m flying a lot again these days (three trips to the US this year, plus several to the UK, and now India). I still receive promotional emails from Flying Blue, the alliance which KLM and Air France have now become, to remind me that they’re waiting to serve me, but it was hard to get over that incident. (NB: I receive nothing from British Airways, with whom I was also a top-level frequent flyer until 2001; perhaps they’ve lost track of me.)

But… I still had all this mileage sitting around with KLM (58,000+), and some flexibility (for once) in planning my upcoming trip to India. So I hopped on the KLM site to see what could be done.

The awards booking process (which gets good marks on usability) informed me that I needed 70,000 miles to go to India – but they would advance me the missing mileage. This was automatic in the system, though it was a little weird – at first it looked as if that offer was only valid if I flew on Tuesday, but when I tried again a few days later, it was offered for Wednesday (my ideal departure date) as well. So I got exactly the flight I wanted for "free" (still had to pay over €200 in "taxes and fees").

In the meantime, researching other airlines, I had learned, to my horror, that the baggage limit of 20 kg from Europe to India now seems to apply to all airlines. I know that on all my previous trips I have carried two heavy suitcases in and out of Delhi, and only one of those trips was business class. I guess this is some new trick of the airlines to squeeze more money out of their hapless passengers. The standard rate for excess baggage is €30 per kilo (!!!) – no less than Air India’s rate that I was screaming about earlier this year.

However… I’m a Platinum member on Flying Blue. Turns out that that entitles me to 20 kg extra baggage – just what I need to bring Ross her winter clothing and the food goodies she craves in boarding school.

The flight I’m booked on is actually Air France, which is a bit disappointing – I much prefer KLM’s home base of Schipol airport to Charles de Gaulle – and we will have to drive to Malpensa at an ungodly hour Wednesday. I reserve judgement on comfort and service til I get there, but remember Air France as being okay (last time I flew they still allowed smoking on board, which tells you how long ago it was).

In short, treating me well as a once and maybe future frequent flyer has won big points for Flying Blue. Let’s see how well they maintain this relationship.

Share your airline experiences – who do you like (or not), and why (or why not)?

Everyday Italian: Newspaper Headlines 15

Three newborns dead in 20 days.

80 year old saves a peer [person of the same age] from the lake.

Here is the partner of the Lecchese bank.

Station plaza – all ready for the new parking.

Maxi fender-bender on the “superhighway” – three wounded.

Deirdré Straughan on Italy, India, the Internet, the world, and now Australia