Mi chiamo Beth, sono...

1 guigno
domenica, sera, a casa


So, here’s the thing about being something between a tourist and a resident – there’s a reason some things are tourist attractions, while others are more of a “there’s no accounting for taste” kind of thing…thus, as I sit here and type at my kitchen table, with the balcony door open, I can hear the accordion player down the way (our street is essentially pedestrian only, so no car noise to conflict), and I start to suspect that I have been transported into a re-enactment of the movie Chocolat. I can see the dim lighting of kerosene lamps, and Johnny Depp looking into my chocolate soul and…wait! Sacre bleu! There’s Stephane Grapelli! He’s getting ready to play Autumn Leaves with the accordion player – mamma mia! I confirm I have officially arrived in Italy!

But you see, if I am to present myself as a resident, then I can’t get all melty at having beautiful Italian-ish guys looking at me, and hearing old Stephen Foster tunes at the same time….

I guess this is all to say that 1) it was completely foolish of me to blow my “best dinner ever” comment on my 1st day in New Orleans with zero Italian cuisine to put it up against, and 2) there may be a whooolle lotta posts coming up about food. Maybe even one just about butter. Or oregano. Or, to take the cake (or more accurately, the wallet) – olive oil.

Today was filled to the brim with new and mind-boggling experiences around food….suffice it to say, our house is now well stocked with: fresh ravioli, 2 kinds of mozzarella di bufala, 3 varieties of salami, artisanal honey, unpasteurized milk (fresh from the milk truck of course) and yogurt, olive oil from Liguria, and multiple iterations of chocolate from Lily’s favorite chocolate store, Guido Gobino. Oh duh, and a few bottles of wine.

So there’s what we brought home with us; then there’s a whole ‘nother list of what we consumed for lunch…though, with limited time for writing, I realize that my favorite part of the day, was making our way from lunch down at via Massimo and via Po, all the way up to the outdoor market a few blocks north of our house, a stroll taking only about 4 hours or so! But, especially that, here we are walking toward yet another piazza, when what should we come upon, but a good 75-100 Torinese congregated in what appears to be a church’s parking lot. There’s a small stage set up, and the assembled are a combination of those obviously in some sort of traditional costume, and others obviously of a more spectator-ly nature, but no one seems really to be doing anything. Kids, both costumed and otherwise, have found various steps to sit on, and hmmm…there is this guy outfitted very much like Wolfie and Salieri in Amadeus, but he is just standing around too. So what is my conclusion? This must be a dress rehearsal for tomorrow’s festivities – June 2 is Republic Day!

We waited a few more minutes, and finally Mr. Red Waistcoat Guy took the stage with a few other women, and started going on in Italian. Not much help to us, until when he started singing some songs, the choruses of which were simple enough to teach a crowd. We listened intently, taking on the melody way more easily than the lyrics, while noticing little flyers on lampposts that spoke of different religions and children coming together for peace. It turned out it had nothing to do with Republic Day; more so it was a symposium of sorts, where different religious traditions – Jewish and Christian for sure, but I did not see evidence of Buddah or Allah anywhere – were sharing song, dance, and costume for the appreciation of those from other traditions.

Lily and I were especially impressed by the next “act”. It was 16 youngish guys and girls, representing the Russians (as far as we could tell); they did three dance numbers with fancy footwork and high energy, and loud, breathless shout-outs that reminded us, as the old women we are , that mid-30’s is soooo not late teens/early 20s. They wore very simple but lovely costumes – white skirts, blouses and shirts with curvy black embroidery, and each of the girls had their own distinct beauty, based on some variance of skin tone and facial structure.

And so on and so forth. Eventually we got to the market, took the goods home for snacks and later, dinner. We marveled repeatedly at the truly dolce vita we have come upon, sometimes in such awe, that it seems more effective to feign breathlessly, “Oh! Life is so hard...!” than to attempt to describe just what made this meal or that event so special, delicious, impressive, or otherwise mind-boggling.

And yay! We’ll get up and do it all again tomorrow.