What is it about Italian appeal? There's something instantly sexy, refined, and beautiful about being "Italian." When I was working in New York at the offices of the fashion brand J.Crew, I realized the power of J.Crew's marketing and its honest aim for top-quality production. In recent years, J.Crew has been going in the direction of a more sophisticated look, a more European, and even, specifically, Italian look for its products. On the home page of its website, the words currently appear:
"Location. Location. Location....these shoes? Made in Northern Italy by craftsmen trained in centuries of Tuscan tradition. We're very lucky to work with them."
And how lucky do I ever feel to be living in the very heart of Tuscany right now...amongst these world-famous craftsmen and women?! (I have to be gender-politically correct).
From its "Florentine-print" to its"Isola d'Elba" such-and-such bathing-suit to its "Capri (as in Capri, Italy) Sandals", J.Crew has seriously got it figured out---their marketing, or should I say, Brand Creative Services, as the department is so aptly called, (and who I can attest probably receives the most phone calls a day), knows what their clientele wants....ITALIAN.
So what is it about Italian-made fashion that instantly gives it this allure of such distinguishment? Is it the ancient tradition of craftsmanship (to which J.Crew refers) that has given it the reputation of quality, sophistication, and style? Perhaps. In any case, the reputation still exists and Italians work hard at upholding it.
This past weekend, I had the good fortune of testing for myself the true quality and durability, and, of course, style of Italian-made apparel. There was a fabulous beach party being held on Saturday night and I was invited! The theme for the party was 1970s and Nonna Cicci insisted that I wear her clothes that she had kept from this inspiring era. I felt as though I had died and gone to heaven. I was like a child again, playing dress-up in my mom's old dress-up box, only this time, I was trying on Nonna Cicci's vintage Prada, Valentino, Pucci, and Gucci dresses. (Sorry Mom -- your dresses were pretty cool too at one time). I was so giddy! I chose a dress that was a beautiful multi-colored print sarong dress made by Yves Saint Laurent, the famous and recently passed away French designer. After visiting his beautiful gardens in Marrakesh, Morocco last summer, I felt especially lucky to wear one of his designs. It wasn't Italian of course, but the French certainly know how to do it too!
The party, now that deserves another story, but let's just say for now, it was unforgettable. Pretty much the who's who of Tuscany all were present and dressed fabulously in their wildest 1970s ensembles. I was quite happy and, to borrow a term coined by a once-popular television show, I was feeling "Made" in Italy.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Gelato!
Gelato....ummmmmmmmm buono. I have been in Italy for exactly 21 days now and this may be a bit indulgent of me, but, I have not gone a day without gelato since I have been here. It is so bad! But so good! Each day, usually around four o'clock in the afternoon, we have snack time. That is the hour in the day I look forward to the most. The rich chocolately (usually) flavor of the ever-so-smooth and delicious Italian gelato. Some days we go to the gelaterìa. Other days we grab some out of the freezer of our own home, a delicious swirl of chocolate and vanilla drizzled with fudge and nuts packed into a cono carefully wrapped up in a package of an Italian brand incomparable to any pathetic American-made ice-cream. OK, maybe I'm becoming a bit of a snob about this Italian gelato, but really, this stuff is good.
Italian food is obviously something worth talking about. The tomatoes here are so juicy and ripe and usually are paired with the freshest basil which gives such a wonderful aroma to the dish. Olive oil is used in practically everything, and as I soak my schiaciatta (bread) in it, I, too, am soaking in this experience, this flavor, this culture of Italy. It is wonderfully delicious.
In Bolgheri, where I spent the last 11 days of my trip (and is the main reason for why I have not been on this blog), the girls and I visited their Nonna and Nonno at their beautiful, gigantic, Tuscan seaside home, or should I say, estate? It was heaven. There is too much to say about it all at once, but one of the highlights of being there was the food. Every single day it was amazing. The breakfast room was set every night so that as we, sleepy heads, trickled in each morning, tired from the previous day of fun and relaxation, we had the options of fruits, cereals, pastries, and delicious coffee to start out our day. Then at lunch, at 1:00 in the afternoon each day, we had lunch outside in the main eating veranda, where we were served course after course of delicious pastas, the freshest vegetables from the property's vegetable garden (Maurizio, the gardener was there every single day), the softest mozzarella balls that simply melt in your mouth, pizzas, salads, schiaciatta always, of course, and for dessert, the ripest, sweetest, most delectable fruits - my favorites were the figs, pears, and medieval peaches, flat shaped smaller peach from the south of Italy that are so soft and so rich in flavor. Afternoon snack, as I mentioned before, was inevitably gelato, which one could never be bored of. And for dinner, usually around 7:30, an exaggerated version of lunch was brought before us, with course after course set out on the serving table, pronto (ready) to be eaten. Also, usually some type of meat was served at dinner, veal, chicken, fish -- one day we had the rare delicacy of Mediterranean Red Tuna that Nonno caught on a fishing trip. It was seasoned with the most excellent spices and grilled to perfection. It was superbly satisfying. Oh! The wine! I almost forgot! Almost every day before dinner Nonna had the wine brought out at about 6:30 (when I say "brought out" it is because at all times there were at least two servers present -- two in the morning, two in the evening). Bolgheri is famous for their wines, but I believe the wine we drank was from Lucca. It was a delicious white wine, full-bodied and slightly sweet, and it went wonderfully with the tastes of our dinner. After dinner, of course, there was fruit, always a medley of something new, interesting, and utterly appetizing.
Though the food is plenty, I actually finish my meals feeling quite light, but certainly satisfied. The food here seems as though it is the quintessence of how eating should be. Food (or "cibo" in italian), is something which I've always had a great appreciation for, but strangely at times, have felt guilty about in the United States. Here, there is no guilt factor. Only pure satisfaction.
Italian food is obviously something worth talking about. The tomatoes here are so juicy and ripe and usually are paired with the freshest basil which gives such a wonderful aroma to the dish. Olive oil is used in practically everything, and as I soak my schiaciatta (bread) in it, I, too, am soaking in this experience, this flavor, this culture of Italy. It is wonderfully delicious.
In Bolgheri, where I spent the last 11 days of my trip (and is the main reason for why I have not been on this blog), the girls and I visited their Nonna and Nonno at their beautiful, gigantic, Tuscan seaside home, or should I say, estate? It was heaven. There is too much to say about it all at once, but one of the highlights of being there was the food. Every single day it was amazing. The breakfast room was set every night so that as we, sleepy heads, trickled in each morning, tired from the previous day of fun and relaxation, we had the options of fruits, cereals, pastries, and delicious coffee to start out our day. Then at lunch, at 1:00 in the afternoon each day, we had lunch outside in the main eating veranda, where we were served course after course of delicious pastas, the freshest vegetables from the property's vegetable garden (Maurizio, the gardener was there every single day), the softest mozzarella balls that simply melt in your mouth, pizzas, salads, schiaciatta always, of course, and for dessert, the ripest, sweetest, most delectable fruits - my favorites were the figs, pears, and medieval peaches, flat shaped smaller peach from the south of Italy that are so soft and so rich in flavor. Afternoon snack, as I mentioned before, was inevitably gelato, which one could never be bored of. And for dinner, usually around 7:30, an exaggerated version of lunch was brought before us, with course after course set out on the serving table, pronto (ready) to be eaten. Also, usually some type of meat was served at dinner, veal, chicken, fish -- one day we had the rare delicacy of Mediterranean Red Tuna that Nonno caught on a fishing trip. It was seasoned with the most excellent spices and grilled to perfection. It was superbly satisfying. Oh! The wine! I almost forgot! Almost every day before dinner Nonna had the wine brought out at about 6:30 (when I say "brought out" it is because at all times there were at least two servers present -- two in the morning, two in the evening). Bolgheri is famous for their wines, but I believe the wine we drank was from Lucca. It was a delicious white wine, full-bodied and slightly sweet, and it went wonderfully with the tastes of our dinner. After dinner, of course, there was fruit, always a medley of something new, interesting, and utterly appetizing.
Though the food is plenty, I actually finish my meals feeling quite light, but certainly satisfied. The food here seems as though it is the quintessence of how eating should be. Food (or "cibo" in italian), is something which I've always had a great appreciation for, but strangely at times, have felt guilty about in the United States. Here, there is no guilt factor. Only pure satisfaction.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Bambine
Oh the bambine (little girls) just crack me up. Franci (or Franchi as it would be pronounced in English) is turning seven (sette) in seven days. And it has been a countdown each day. At first though, she was angry that we reminded her of how many days until her birthday, because she wanted it to be a surprise (sorpresa...I know that word!). She will say a few words in english and then ramble off in italian like an old italian mama mia! madre. It is so funny to watch/listen to! She is very helpful when I ask, what does this mean, or, how do you say this in Italian, and she patiently teaches me the pronunciation. In the pool the other day she was riding on my back and I asked, "How do you say Pony?" and she said in a very beautiful and dramatic italian accent "Pohhh-ney." All I could do was laugh and say "oh, it's the same." Franci, by the way, has the accent of any normal, boring american kid most of the time when speaking english-- so this, was particularly funny.
The other day when we were walking to their mom's work to visit, on the way there, we passed three men in a row who were all wearing yellow pants. I whispered to the girls to take a look and Franci, who truly is Italian and cannot be discreet, laughs histerically and begins to say in her scratchy yet powerful voice coming from her little body, "Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!" and continues all the way until we pass the men in the yellow pants. Luckily, I did not see them react, so hopefully, they had no idea what she was saying.
In the mountains this past weekend, Franci had us all in stitches, when she kept referring to herself in third person, with a name derived from the sounds she often makes, saying "Farticus is hungry", "Farticus has to do this... " or "Farticus wants that..." She is a clever one this Farticus...
Also, in the mountains, Farticus, I'm sorry, I mean Franci found a walking stick and started referring to it as her boyfriend. In the car she was going on and on about her boyfriend, pointing to his eyes and nose and even kissing his lips! We asked her if they were going to get married, and if they do and have kids, what would they call them. Some of the favorites were, "Branchy" "Twiggy" "Peg" and for the little one,"Splinter." When we arrived back to the mountain house, Franci had fallen asleep with her boyfriend poking into her cheek, so Dina, Jane's friend, fearing that Franci's boyfriend was abusing her, removed the stick and left it by the side of the car. When we were already on our way back down the mountain to Firenze, Franci woke up frantically, screaming "where's my boyfriend!" We had to break the news to her that he was hurting her so we had to get rid of him, but Franci was so heartbroken that she cried and cried halfway down the mountain.
The other day when we were walking to their mom's work to visit, on the way there, we passed three men in a row who were all wearing yellow pants. I whispered to the girls to take a look and Franci, who truly is Italian and cannot be discreet, laughs histerically and begins to say in her scratchy yet powerful voice coming from her little body, "Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!" and continues all the way until we pass the men in the yellow pants. Luckily, I did not see them react, so hopefully, they had no idea what she was saying.
In the mountains this past weekend, Franci had us all in stitches, when she kept referring to herself in third person, with a name derived from the sounds she often makes, saying "Farticus is hungry", "Farticus has to do this... " or "Farticus wants that..." She is a clever one this Farticus...
Also, in the mountains, Farticus, I'm sorry, I mean Franci found a walking stick and started referring to it as her boyfriend. In the car she was going on and on about her boyfriend, pointing to his eyes and nose and even kissing his lips! We asked her if they were going to get married, and if they do and have kids, what would they call them. Some of the favorites were, "Branchy" "Twiggy" "Peg" and for the little one,"Splinter." When we arrived back to the mountain house, Franci had fallen asleep with her boyfriend poking into her cheek, so Dina, Jane's friend, fearing that Franci's boyfriend was abusing her, removed the stick and left it by the side of the car. When we were already on our way back down the mountain to Firenze, Franci woke up frantically, screaming "where's my boyfriend!" We had to break the news to her that he was hurting her so we had to get rid of him, but Franci was so heartbroken that she cried and cried halfway down the mountain.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Come si dice "a dream come true"?
I have been in Italy for five days now and I still have to pinch myself as a reminder that I am not dreaming. It is truly amazing how things have worked out so nicely. As of less than a month ago I wasn't sure that the trip would actually take place. Well, it has, and I am here, and now I am getting used to calling Firenze (Florence) my home -- which is not so hard to do. I am living with the most wonderful family -- Jane Guarducci and her two adorable daughters Ali and Franci, turning 9 and 7, respectively, this summer. Each day has been a fairly easy schedule to get used to. On Sunday, Jane, a native of Edmonton, Canada who speaks fluent Italian and English at home with her daughters, picked me up from the tiny Florence airport and whisked me off to her friend's fabulous Tuscan villa to relax by the pool all day and recover from jetlag. Each day this week, Ali and Franci go to music camp in the morning and so I sleep in, wake up and have breakfast on their rooftop patio that overlooks Il Duomo, check email, dabble a bit in teaching myself italiano, and walk around Florence (if it's not too hot), and do whatever my heart desires until 2:30 in the afternoon when I go to a friend's house to join them and go off to a pool somewhere in the Tuscan hill towns outside Florence. (So far it has been the homes of two particular friends who have pools that overlook the most beautiful views of Tuscany). And so, I keep asking myself, is this what is meant by "La Dolce Vita"? Perhaps, and yet, I know I still have so much to experience here in this glorious land...and I am ready to experience it all.
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