Category Archives: Writing

May 7 2013

Life lessons from Italy #10 – Wine, a lesson in six bottles

Amarone, Barbaresco,  Barbera, Barolo  Brunello di Montalcino, Chianti, Montepulciano d’Abruzzo and Valpolicella…I tried them all.

There was a lot of wine in Italy and I tried them all, often asking waiters for the best local wines they served. I sniffed, tasted, sipped, swished and drank. And I learned a few things.

1. In Italy wine is often cheaper than water.

2. In Italy, it is fairly easy to get a bottle of wine which has originated less than an hour away.

3. In Italy, everyone drinks wine

4. In Italy, trust your waiter. He/she usually can recommend a great bottle of wine.

5. In Italy, for a glass of wine simply say, “Posso avere una bicchiere di
 rosso?”

6. In Italy, it is best to say, “Una bottiglia di vino per favore (um, and apparently the ‘g’ is silent…but I didn’t learn that until AFTER I got home when an Italian friend politely told me about my mispronunciation)

I guess I’ll have to go back to Italy and try again!


 



May 5 2013

Life lessons from Italy #9 – The Italian Downton Abbey

 

I love Downton Abbey. From the first piano note of the rapturous theme song,  I have been addicted to the colorful conflicts of the fictional aristocrats and proletarians.  I can easily see myself in several of the characters: I’m a cross between Lady Sybil, without the wardrobe;  Isobel Crawley without the money and Mrs. Hughes without the patience.

So, when I had a few days at the end of my Italian journey, I chose to spend it in a castle….I figured that I could  have tea and enjoy witty banter and dress in formal clothes for dinner.

What I didn’t count on in my castle, was having the flu. My sequin A lined dress turned into a terry bathrobe and there wasn’t an aristocratic stranger on site to romantically hand me a silk handkerchief; rather, it was just me unromantically blowing my nose into wads of scratchy toilet paper.

I lived in my fairytale castle for two days, spending most of my time holed up in my room and coming up for air “to take supper” before returning to my personal farmacia of Italian meds.

 

I spent most of the time in my castle, bemoaning my fate, taking pictures of myself laying listlessly in bed and wondering what Bates would do.

The reality is, if I were in Downton Abbey, I would probably have succumbed to the plague.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


May 5 2013

Life lessons from Italy #8 – All pastas are not created equal


I’ve done Atkins… but I love carbs.

I’ve done Weight Watchers and Jenny Craig… but I love carbs.

I’ve done Lindora and Nutrisystem and South Beach… but I love carbs.

And Italy is the capital of carbs. To be a connoisseur of pasta, one has to learn the alphabet of pastas….or just try every single one of them. Which I did. Repeatedly.

A picture says 1,000 words.

So here are ten thousand words…

 

 

The irony of the whole thing…after two solid weeks of eating like this… I lost eight pounds.

May 4 2013

Life lessons from Italy #7 – The art of packing and why I love Scott Vests

My life as an amateur packer began when, at seven, I watched my mom packing for her vacation. I wasn’t quite sure why one needed eight black tee shirts. So, I became her mini consultant…putting her suitcase on an immediate diet. As I grew up and went on vacations of my own, I discovered that there are two ways to travel: with a suitcase or a carry-on. I’m a big believer in the latter. When you’re getting on and off of planes and trains, it’s easier to do so with a knapsack and a small duffle.

So…what are the priorities in a pack besides a passport and money?

phone. computer. clothes. shoes. accessories.

That’s it. The big five.

Monochrome is the way to go…easier to mix and match when you neither have to mix nor match. If you want color, add a scarf (the unsung hero of travel) or a headband; otherwise, stick to black. It’s fashionable, slimming and practical. And Scott Vest makes a sleek black lightweight multi-pocketed vest which can hold a phone, computer, passport, money and accessories. So, the packing is already half done.

A few pairs of black pants. A couple of shirts. A sturdy pair of shoes. And a black Scott vest.

Benvenuti in Italia

May 2 2013

Life lesson from Italy #6 – The importance of theatre and why I love actors

I had the privilege which I hope every playwright should have – I got to see my play performed in a different language: First Sister Cities in French…now The Affair in Italian.

Sitting in the eighth row of a gorgeous old theatre in a tiny Italian town, I got to be an anonymous patron and watch three brilliant actors portray Robert, Kathy and Stephanie…only they sounded so much classier as Roberto, Katarina and Stephania.

Gotta love the beauty of the language.

Although my Italian is spotty, I understood the show in its entirely thanks to terrific performances by Mariangela D’Abbraccio, Pino Quartullo and Chiara Noschese.

A long time believer that actors make the best directors, Chiara Noschese helmed the play flawlessly. Her pacing was EXACTLY what I like… Aaron Sorkin fast… No unnecessary precious pauses… Audience loved it.  I felt incredibly grateful to watch such a beautiful realization of my show. .. And in The heart of Italy! I can see why the reviews have been so stellar. Across the board— directing, acting, set, lighting, costumes… All top notch.

Molto bene.

 

 

May 2 2013

Life lesson from Italy #5 – When in Rome…

When I was in college, I saw Rome in a day. Literally.

Traveling the way only 20 year olds can travel…with a heavy knapsack and a light budget. And the budget dictated that I  could avoid spending the night in a hotel room if I took the train from Florence to Venice via Rome. Yes, if you look at a map it’s ridiculous…but I was 20 and you’re allowed to be ridiculous at twenty.

We arrived in Rome at 10am, stored our knapsacks at Stazione Termini and walked the city until our train left at 10pm. We visited Vatican City, saw the Pantheon, tossed coins in the Trevi Fountain and climbed the Spanish Steps.

We got the highlights and I was fairly nonplussed….in the way that 20 year olds often are.

Rome is about nuances. It is about stepping into a farmacia and trying to order cough drops, it’s about attempting to navigate a menu and order an entire meal in Italian, it’s about taking local trains and going to the theatre and buying local produce and taking a few deep breaths. Sure, Rome is about the highlights, but it’s also about the shadows.

A couple of decades after my first Roman holiday, I was able to do Rome in a few days. In addition to repeated trips to the original highlights, I explored the Trastevere, wandered through the Jewish Ghetto, and enjoyed meals which consisted of more than bread and cheese. I soaked in the history of the Roman Forum, the culture of Piazza Navona.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do…but try to take a few days to enjoy it.

May 1 2013

Life lesson from Italy #4 – The Art of the Slow Meal and how to unplug

I’m guilty.

I multitask when I eat, especially if I’m eating alone. Ambidextrous, I can eat with either my right or left hand while simultaneously checking my email, texting or Facebooking. Yes, the verb facebooking.

In Italy, I unplugged…because eating is not a side show, it is the main event.

It took me a while to make my dinner reservations for 8pm, still a tad early in European culinary circles, but much later than my usual 6:30. Eating in Italy is an art and to do it properly, you need to be 100% focused. And having an iPhone on the table would be consider gauche. Or as we say in Italian, a sinistra.


Traditional Italian meals consist of five parts…and far be it from me to buck tradition, so I always ordered all five parts:  Antipasti- appetizers. 

Primo – first course.

Secondo – second course.

Contorni – side dishes.

Dolce – dessert

 Waiters fully support the art of the slow meal because they will never bring you the check. Never. They’re not being rude, they simply want you to enjoy your dinner. So, after i was ready to be rolled back to my hotel room, I simply said  “Il conto per favore” and three hours after I had your first sip of wine, my meal was finally over.

And I didn’t pull out my iPhone once.

Apr 30 2013

Life lesson from Italy #3 – It’s okay to be a tourist…if you eat lots of Gelato

Vats of Gelato. Gallons of Gelato. Entire Storefronts of Gelato.

When I travel, I don’t wear socks with sandals or bright colors sneakers or Chico’s ensembles. I don’t want to look like an American, I want to blend in.  I like to look the part when I travel. Yet, looking the part does not mean acting the part. Especially when it comes to eating gelato. My travel philosophy is to try as many gelato flavors and stands as possible. After all, odds are I may only visit a city once in a lifetime…I might as well enjoy its gastronomic options to their fullest possibilities.

So…I pushed my way through several obese Midwesterners to toss a coin in the Trevi Fountain while eating Pistachio gelato.

I followed Nuns in the Vatican while eating Cioccolato gelato.

I chatted up Gondoliers in Venice while eating Tiramisu gelato.

I bought Murano Glass in Murano while eating Fior di Latte gelato.

I had Stracciatella gelato in front of the Colosseum, Menta gelato in Piazza San Marco,  Fragola gelato in Piazza Navona, Caffè gelato on a vaporetto in the Grand Canal, Nocciola gelato in Campo dei Fiori,  and Limone gelato in front of Fountain of Neptune in Bologna.

Sometimes, 31 flavors just isn’t enough.

Apr 29 2013

Life lesson from Italy #2 – Some of the best restaurants look like brothels

Never judge a restaurant by its appearance.

I single handedly ate my way through most of Italy and during my gastronomic journey I discovered that oftentimes the best meals were at the sketchiest looking restaurants. Sure, dining on the rooftop of the Danieli Hotel is trendy, expensive and stylish; however, the food doesn’t reflect the price tag. I should know. I reluctantly paid the exorbitant bill.

The “brothel restaurants” are 1/10 the price of the Danieli restaurants. They don’t spend money on appearance, because people don’t go for the ambiance. They come for the food.

Sora Margherita, a restaurant in the Jewish Ghetto in Rome is located off of a tiny side street and has a red beaded curtain as its door. And the man behind the curtain was a ruddy faced, corpulent Italian who was as confusingly exuberant as Roberto Benigni and as intimidating as Mussolini.  Yet the place was packed. They didn’t cater to tourists with a multi-language fancy menu; rather, the menu was on a piece of a yellow construction paper and the Italian dishes were written in crayon. Uber Chic? Pretty sure it was just laziness; yet, this place had come highly recommended by an Italian friend and I was not disappointed. I had a carafe of Chianti and enjoyed their signature Carciofi alla Giudia…aka Jewish fried artichokes.

In Venice, down another questionable side street, I discovered Osteria All’Antica Adelaide where I enjoyed one of the best meals of my life. Again, the decor was forgettable; yet, the food was remarkable. Is this the latest trend? Shabby Chic? It certainly works for home decor, but restaurants? Of NYC’s ten best restaurants of 2012, according to Zagat, nine of them have decor which ranks as high as the food.

So what do the Italians know that we don’t?

Maybe it’s time to pay attention to the man behind the curtain.

 

 

 

Apr 28 2013

Life lesson from Italy #1 – There’s a Botero in the Vatican

My favorite thing to do when I vist the Vatican is nun watch. But after my college roommate waited 45 minutes while I pretended I was Maria in The Sound of Music, she was ready to do something a bit more…cultural. So we went to the Vatican museum. I thought it could be enlightening.  After all, it was three in the afternoon, the school groups would be long gone and I thought that I would have time to quietly observe, reflect and digest the museum’s riches.

I thought wrong.

Somehow, every single tourist in Rome seemed to descend on the Vatican museum at 3pm and I spent most of the sardine packed tour sandwiched between a perky loud Japanese tour guide and an even perkier and louder Taiwanese tour guide. I thought I lost them in the 12th identical room of gorgeous biblical murals when I ducked out a side door marked toilet; yet, upon my return a few minutes later,  they were eagerly waiting for me and we continued our pilgrimage through 55 halls of maps, tapestries, murals and sculptures en route to the Sistine Chapel.

Let’s be honest, that’s what it’s all about. Everyone wants to get to the chapel, look up and say, “Wow. Cross that off the bucket list.”

And it’s admittedly impressive. Michelangelo was brilliant and his mural is gorgeous. But enduring two claustrophobic hours listening to competing Asian languages to get there is is a lot to ask. But I was patient. I endured. I tried not to be bitter about how many Nuns I was missing outside. And my patience was rewarded because  just as we were getting to the chapel, taking the last few stairs up, things looked up as a guard said, “Silenzio. No photos.”

Finally, I could enjoy the art in peace amid silent art connoisseurs appreciating Michelangelo’s majesty. Yet, sitting in the chapel alongside my tour groups and the other five hundred people, it was anything but silent. Rather, it was the bored guard repeating, “Quiet. No photos. Silenzio. No pictures. You cannot light up in here, sir.”

Yes, not one, but six people during the brief respite I spent in the chapel, tried to light up. I guess they thought, hey…it’s quiet time, I can relax with a little ciggie.

SERIOUSLY PEOPLE.

Cigarettes, Asian tour guides and claustrophobia aside, the highlight of the tour was not seeing the fingers of God’s touch transfer the breath of life to Adam in the ceiling’s center panel. The highlight of the tour was finding a Botero tucked away in a corner that NO ONE STOPPED TO LOOK AT. Everyone was so focused on their quest to see the Chapel, they forgot to look at the beauty en route. And one of my favorite painters of all time, Fernando Botero, has a large piece tucked away in a corner. True, it wasn’t one of his signature ironic or humorous pieces. And it didn’t depict his signature sexy robust women dancing or undressing. It was of the pope. Naturally.

Botero’s painting depicts a plump Pope strolling along a gorgeous countryside. And as I gazed at the painting in complete privacy,  I realized that maybe Botero’s intended irony comes not in the form of his painting, but from its placement. A pictorial pope in the real pope‘s backyard, tucked away in a corner offering a bit of peace and respite from the prying eyes of needy tourists.

And the best part was that the only other person who ducked around the corner to join my appreciation of  Botero…was a nun.