Pasta Overload and Proper Nutrition

While we were in Italy, pasta infiltrated out lives.  It was difficult not to be enticed to eat it everyday.  It must have been something in the air. However I usually planned for one carb in a meal.  So we ate potatoes, risotto, pasta, polenta and crispy bread.

One day Signora Simiele called.  She worked at the central post office in Verona.  She told me that all the postal workers were getting together to order a carload of De Cecco pasta.  Apparently everyone thought the familiar blue and yellow box was the best brand.  We’re talking a freight car here.  Signora asked me if I would like to go in on it. I said "yes."  She asked me how much and what shapes: spaghetti, penne, farfalle, rotini, linguini etc?  I didn’t have a clue.  I suggested she order what she thought was best. Remember Signora had a family of 5 hungry children, two hard-working adults and friends and relatives.

About a month later our order arrived.  Vincent needed to borrow a van to pick it up.   There were several large cartons 3’ by 3’ as I remember.  Inside were smaller cartons with boxes of all shapes of pasta.  We had enough pasta for eternity and then some.

That fall the first grade parents of students at Agli Angeli Elementary School were summoned to a meeting.  I remember an elegantly appointed room and about 30 mothers, all chatting to beat the band.  The principal introduced a medical doctor to the group.  The Dottore was there to talk to parents about good nutrition for their bambini.

Basically, her message was that children needed to eat meat and vegetables before they were served pasta.  Traditionally, Italians begin their noon meal with pasta and then move on to the meat, veggies and salad.  The Doctor pointed out that children will fill their tummies with pasta and have no room for the rest of the meal.  Nutritionally they needed the vitamins and minerals provided by fruits and vegetables.  She was met by silence.  Then there were a few questions about carrots vs. string beans and polenta vs. pasta.  Then we left the room.

I had a feeling that when they got home, these mamme would probably not change the natural order of a traditional meal.  After all they had been raised that way, and they were perfectly healthy.

Here’s a healthy, vegetarian pasta dish that might meet with the Dottore's approval.

Pasta Primavera

1. Melt 3 Tablespoons of butter in a pan.  Add a chopped garlic clove, 1/2 lb. sliced asparagus, 1/2 lb. fresh peas (frozen is fine),  5 ounces of chopped baby spinach. Sauté the vegetables for 5 minutes. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
2. Meanwhile cook a pound of tagliatelle according to the package, drain, saving 1/2 cup cooking water.
3. Add to the vegetables: the grated zest and juice of one  lemon and a large handful of chopped spring herbs: mint, basil, parsley(maybe fennel fronds) Mix well.   
4. Mix the pasta into the vegetables.  Add a little pasta water if necessary to moisten.
5. Fill four bowls with the pasta primavera.  Sprinkle with chopped almonds, parmesan and a drizzle of Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

Buon Appetito

School Days, Poetry and Wine

Nature's gift to mankind.

The day at The Angels elementary school started at 8 AM and ended at 1 PM.  School was strictly reading, writing, math, science and history.  Art, music and gym were not included in the curriculum.  Community afternoon programs provided soccer practice and classes in the arts.

I dropped Marie-Juliette and Charles off at the school shortly before 8.  Once the students had arrived the door was locked and there was no admittance.  At the time, there was a rash of kidnappings in Italy.  Several of the students arrived in armored cars.  Big, burly bodyguards ushered the children into the school, their guns drawn.

Burly guys, but not so big.

Christopher and I would head to the cafe for my cappuccino.  We made friends with the people who frequented the establishment at that hour.  Chris was spoiled by all the attention and sweets.  Then we went shopping at the local shops.  By the time I got home, cleaned up and made lunch; it was time to pick up the children from school.  

The good thing about this schedule was that the children came home starving.  We ate our main meal then: meat, vegetables, pasta, yogurt and fruit.  Afterwards the boys took a nap and Marie-Juliette and I did her homework.  In the first week Marie-Juliette had a poem to memorize for the following Friday.  What a nightmare that first poem was; we both worked on it.  There was a lot of crying and foot stamping but eventually she got it down pat.(And so did I).  The memorization of poetry went on all year, but eventually she could sit down and master a poem by herself.  I wonder about that form of learning?  We certainly don’t believe in memorization today. Did it provide useful neurological gymnastics?

This little poem says: When you get in trouble you feel really bad.  So say you're sorry and you'll feel much better!

One of Marie-Juliette's first homework assignments was a reading about how to make wine:  Come si fa il vino. 

Picking the grapes!

Pressing the grapes.

Bottling the wine.

Vineyards in Veneto!

Imagine teaching wine-making in an American first grade!  There would be all sorts of parental histrionics.  But in Verona, in the heart of Soave,Valpolicella and Bardolino country, children needed to know about grapes and wine.  One day in the fall we saw a parade of horse-drawn wagons piled high with grapes going down Corso Porta Nuova.  It was glorious.

In vino veritas.

Have you read my books?  Captivating characters, spellbinding suspense and delectable food will keep you entranced.

Our move down to Verona and Brioches

During the last few weeks in Cerro things calmed down again.  All the vacationers went back home.  Around us the shutters were down as though the cottages had gone to sleep.  There were some nice days but the nights were chilly up in the hills. Remember we had our bombola di gas but it only heated water.  There was no central heating.  Sometimes after the kids were asleep, I would sit in the bathroom wrapped up in a blanket reading.  I would put my feet in the bidet and run the hot water.  Sometimes I had a glass of wine!

The Lessini mountains in the fall.

We moved into our apartment in Verona a few days before school started.  It was fun to reacquaint ourselves with our possessions.  The children were happy to discover the toys they hadn’t seen for four months. Unfortunately, the newly purchased kitchen appliances and cupboards had not yet arrived.

We went to the school that was around the block.  It was a girl’s school called Agli Angeli - the school of the angels!  They admitted only girls from first grade up, but the nursery school was mixed.  We enrolled Marie-Juliette in first grade and Charles in the nursery school.  Then there was shopping for the appropriate colored smock, school supplies and a backpack.  The children probably weren’t as nervous as I was to see my little ones facing new challenges in a new language. 

La scuola Agli Angeli that my angels attended

Behind the school was this enormous park where the children played during recess.  

Since we had no kitchen appliances yet, we had breakfast in the Bar/Cafe in our apartment building.  Everyone was so friendly.  That first week, we had a table in the back.  The kids had hot chocolate and I had a cappuccino.  These were served with brioches. In France a brioche is a slightly sweet roll shaped like a muffin with a topknot.  But the brioches in Verona were shaped like croissants brushed with apricot jam and sugar sprinkles.  We were all addicted.

French brioches.

Italian Brioches!

On Sunday the bar/cafe was closed.  We were planning to go out and hunt down a restaurant.  At about 8 o’clock, there was a knock at our door.  It was the owner of the cafe with a large tray with pitchers of hot chocolate, cappuccini, and fresh rolls and brioches.  He had come in to clean his establishment and had thought of us!  Wasn’t that nice?  I never forgot his kindness.

Remember all this took place 40 years ago.  I checked out our old building on google.  There is a hamburger joint which seems to be a chain.  It's called: Hamburgheria di Eataly! 

Door-to-Door Apartment Hunting in Verona

Here are a few views of Verona along the river Adige.

In late August my in-laws arrived from Paris.  In earlier posts I talked about my wonderful, mother-in-law, Juliette.  Her husband, André, was a brusk man who had been strict with his children when they were growing up.  He had a kind heart and a wry sense of humor.  He always treated me rather formally with kindness and respect.  I called them Mère and Père.  

Perhaps this was taken at Vincent's brother Etienne's wedding.

I think about how difficult it was for my in-laws to raise their family during WWII; two of their four children were born during the war.  The insecurities, fear and lack of basic necessities must have been horrific.  I think those experiences marked them for life.  After the German occupation,  France had to rebuild its economy.  A creative, energetic and inventive person could build a business.  André was an engineer. With a partner he formed a company that designed machines to fulfill a specific task; for example a machine to mold or stamp a screw. 

Here I am on a walk with Mère at the Giardino Giusti.

Père and Mère came for a week to Cerro and were terrifically helpful.  We had a problem.  We needed to find an apartment in Verona for the winter.  School started October 1st.  We were told that there was no reliable real estate agency we could work with.  In addition, acceptable apartments would not be advertised in the paper.  It was suggested that I go door-to-door to ask if there were vacancies. That is what I did.

Each day Mère watched the children while Père and I drove down to Verona. He was an aficionado of romanesque and gothic architecture.  He liked nothing better than spending the day visiting churches and there were plenty in Verona.  He dropped me off in an area of town that seemed promising and went touristing.  I went from building to building.  Normally there was a portinaio - a porter or doorman.  I would ask him if there was an apartment for rent.  He would shake his head and I would move on.  It seemed a fruitless search.  At noon, I met Père and we had lunch together.  It was a treat to be out for a meal without the children but I was getting nervous.  There didn’t seem to be anything for rent in the areas of town that had been suggested to us.  I visited a few cramped apartments that wouldn’t do.  This went on for four days.  I was feeling desperate.  But on the fifth day I hit pay dirt. 

This is a post card of Corso Porta Nuova that I sent to my parents.  Our apartment is marked by an X about a 1/3 down from the top on the left . See the little park across the street.

That morning I was on a large boulevard: Corso Porta Nuova.  At one end, was the Porta Nuova - the new gate/door to the city.  At the other end were i Portoni della Brà  - gates that lead into Piazza Bra, a major piazza where the Arena is located.  This is a Roman arena that is used today for performances of the Opera La Scala in the summer.  One year we saw a production of Aïda there complete with elephants.

This is the Porta Nuova. Part of it dates back to the middle ages, part from the 1850's.  Now the streets go around it.  Back in the day, walls stretched out on both sides. To enter the city you had to enter through these gates.

Here are the gates that lead into Piazza Bra.

Piazza Bra with Arena on right.  I loved the wide sidewalks.  Great place for a caffè or gelato.

The doorman was friendly and took me up to a fourth floor apartment.  It was perfect: large living room/dining room with windows and balcony on the Corso, very large kitchen, pantry, library/den, three bedrooms and two large bathrooms.  The floors of the formal rooms were a creamy marble and the bedrooms had swallowtail parquet floors.  It was empty and ready to go.  This was a signorile apartment.  I just looked up the definition for you; signorile - ladylike, gentlemanlike, luxury, refined, elegant!  

However, at that time apartments in Italy had no kitchen appliances or cabinets and the bedrooms had no closets. Vincent was able to obtain what we needed through acquaintances of people at the plant.  So much in Italy occurs through cousins of cousins or friends of friends.

Three adorable children on the balcony of our new apartment.

Picnics and Sunday Dinner

In July we enjoyed warmth and sunshine.  Those rainy days where I felt as though I was living in the clouds were gone.  The nursery school closed for vacation and Charles and Marie-Juliette were home for nice, long summer days.  The children were happy to play around the house.  In the afternoon we went for long walks or entertained our new friends.  The children liked to go for picnics up on the top of our hill or into the village for an ice cream treat.

Here you can see the view from the top of our hill.  The children are wearing Breton sweaters knit by their Aunt Laurence. How about the red sweater with a yellow dress.  I rarely wore pants or shorts back then.

Oh oh, Christopher is not concentrating on his ice cream.

On Sundays when Vincent was home, we were often invited to Signor C’s family farm house.  There was a barnyard with farm animals that delighted the children and plenty of hay to jump in.   The stone farm house was ancient.  There was one main room with a large fire place and a long table that was grooved and indented from decades of use.  Usually 20 people or more attended these family gatherings.  Children ran in and out while the women stirred the polenta, risotto or pasta.  Several men manned the fireplace where meat and slices of cold polenta were roasted.  Everyone brought a dish.  Usually there were antipasti (appetizers), prime (pasta), secondi (meat), contorni (vegetables and salads), formaggi (cheese) frutta and dolci (desserts).   All of this was “watered” with quantities of good wine. It seemed that everyone had a cousin with a vineyard to provide a special bottle. 

This is not Signor C's house but the surroundings and the style of the house are similar to what I remember.  This is a farm house in the Veneto, the same general area.

We enjoyed polenta in two forms. Mr. C’s brother-in-law owned a mill that produced polenta flour and he would bring the latest batch to be prepared on the spot.  It required a lengthy preparation and had to be constantly stirred. For northern Italians, polenta was as basic as bread.  And by the way, there was always good bread as well. 

I particularly remember a meal with a thick sauce of mushrooms perfumed with rosemary that was sublime.  I also remember a snail stew.  I love “escargots” the French way with all that butter and garlic.  You don’t taste the snails.  But this was a stew of snails in their juices and it was VERY EARTHY.

Here's a picture of snail stew I found on-line.  It's a great favorite in Nigeria.

We had grilled uccellini - little birds; think sparrows, thrushes and finches.  They were plucked clean and roasted whole.  You could crunch on the tiny bones. 

In America we basically limit ourselves to chunks of red muscle-meat, whole or ground up and cut-up chickens assembled in plastic. Most people cringe at the thought of tongue, brains, sweetbreads and snails.  But I’ve found the rest of the world will eat just about anything if it’s tasty and well-prepared.

Here are the menfolk!

Here are the womenfolk.

Here I am with Charles peaking out.

These people were wonderfully kind and welcoming.  There was lot of talk, joking and laughter. As the afternoon wore on, they would break into song.  We would sing traditional Italian folk songs.

Gelati, Paperclips and Monaco

Vincent, my former husband, worked at the Sanson Ice Cream plant in Colognola ai Colli.  It was about 20 miles away down into the valley.  Vincent had been sent there to serve as Comptroller by Beatrice Foods a large American holding company who maintained a sizable interest in Gelati Sanson.  The plant was co-owned by Teofilo Sanson, its founder.  Sanson was a colorful and commanding individual.  He started out selling ice cream from a cart in 1948.  From those simple beginnings, he grew his company to become a major supplier of ice cream bars and cones. Part of his success was because he offered ice cream freezers to bars, cafes and restaurants all over Italy.  Once the freezer was installed, the bar or cafe was obliged to buy his ice cream. ( I’ve got a great story about this that I’ll tell you later!)

Teofilo was a fabulous cook and had a kitchen in the plant where he prepared meals for himself and the executive staff. He was passionate about soccer and later professional cycling. He is credited with being the first soccer team owner in Italy to display his company’s name on the shorts of his team.  

Sanson and his Udinese soccer team wearing the revolutionary shorts!

Like many entrepreneurs, Sanson wanted to maintain total control of his company as he had back when he was pushing an ice cream cart.  Vincent went head to head with him on many occasions. Teofilo liked having his men around him.  Thus Vincent was often gone from early  morning to late at night, working and dining with Sanson and his inner circle.

Vineyards around Colognola ai Colli which produce wines such as Valpolichella, Amarone and Soave.

A year or two later we all went to a global convention for Beatrice Foods executives in Monte Carlo.  The men attended meetings and the wives had a luncheon and a tour of Monaco.  I remember a lavish dinner in a large ball room.  We were all dressed in our finery and sipping champagne.  Then the CEO got up to give the key note address.  At one point he remonstrated the employees: “We must cut back on unnecessary expenses.  Don’t waste paperclips. They should be used again and again.”  What a joke!  Paperclips! These big wigs had flown in from all over the world. We were in Monte Carlo guzzling fine wine and eating lobster and caviar.  Paperclips? Really?

Beautiful Monaco

On that trip Sanson and his wife invited Vincent and me out for dinner.  I believe we drove across the border into Italy.  When we arrived at the restaurant, Teofilo marched right through the restaurant and into the kitchen.  He lifted the covers on the pots and pans and inspected the fowl and the fish. There was a discussion with the chef about what Sanson wanted and how it should be cooked!  After our meal and quantities of wine, we drove back along the Corniche Inférieure. Sanson was at the wheel and drove at breakneck speeds around the curves.  Somehow we didn’t land in the Mediterranean.

Princesse Grace of Monaco died when her car went off the Moyenne Corniche .