Sono italiana

Its June already! I feel like time is passing me by. Since I last wrote I’ve done a bit of travelling. I spent a week in Greece with my classmates. Definitely somewhere to go back to! We were situated in Thessaloniki. A beautiful city, with ancient ruins, a harbour and buzzing with history, good food and simply enjoyable.

Sunset in Thessaloniki

My only problem was that I did not speak any Greek. I think I would have had a richer experience if I was able to understand some of the jokes and proverbs that the producers were saying rather than hearing a diluted translation. Although the fact that it is quite a big tourist destination many people around spoke English, I found myself reverting to Italian when shop vendors asked me a questions.

Six months into living in Northern Italy I can slowly begin to say that sono italiano, I am Italian (well I’m becoming Italian to say the least). That is  because I can now understand the language- well quite a lot! I had my last Italian lesson this past Thursday and I've realised that I really like the language and the people, their food is a given like. Who doesn’t like Italian cuisine?

I found myself at a party last week and everyone their spoke Italian. Solo italianao- only Italian. Well some of them reverted to English for a few sentences when my face expressed incomprehension of the conversation. I made it through the few hours with my basic vocabulary, rudimentary grammar skills. Somehow the Itailan speakers were gracious enough not to laugh too much at my attempts of using correct Italian grammar but actually corrected me and praised my attempts and encouraged me to continue speaking.

I find myself thinking in Italian, well only for shopping purposes. A friend of mine pointed out that our shopping and food Italian is close to excellent. We can order food and drink and do our grocery shopping comfortably without any hassle. When it comes to real life, that’s another story. But I’m working on that. I stumbled upon a book, Labella Lingua: My Love Affair With Italian, The world’s Most Enchanting Language by Dianne Hales. I relate so much to the experiences of navigating the Italian language and the people. It’s a complex but worthwhile process.

As E.M. Forster once said, “Love and understand the Italians, for the people are more marvellous than the land”. I share this sentiment. As an anthropologist you learn that it is the people who shape your experience. Learning about food culture here in Italy not worthwhile without the addition of all the characters you meet in the process.

For example, going to the local shop for frutta e verdure is not just a trip for seasonal vegetables and fruit, there is always a conversation with the shop keepers and a smile and a pleasant arrivederci e buona giornata/serata/domenica- goodbye and good day/night/Sunday,when you leave the shop. The same goes to visiting the butchery. The singora at the macelleria is always willing to tell me how to cook a particular cut of meat. A while back, I got a cut that was “solo per bolito” only for boiling or a stew. I paid for my cut of vitello-veal, and off I went to make a stew.  When I returned about a week later the singora asked how my stew turned out. I replied, with recently acquired knowledge of the use of the past tense lo stufato era buono- the stew was good.

At the moment I think the busiest shopkeepers are from the gelaterie- ice cream shops. With the heat of summer gracing us here in Northern Italy, there is a constant demand for cool, refreshing and sometimes comforting gelato in all flavours. I’m partial to the fruit flavours especially, fragola, lampone e frutta di bosco- strawberry, raspberry and berries. After my friend’s persuasion; because of her love for the flavours, pistachio e nocciola- pistachio and hazelnut are growing on me. The safest option is always fior di latte, I would describe it as vanilla, but so but better and creamier!

So here I am writing and throwing in the odd Italian word and thinking in Italian, not to mention listening to some Italian music in an attempt to make sure that by the time I leave Italy sometime in the near future I'll have understood the Italian people as well as their food. But for now, arrivederci.

Sweethearts

Echoes of “Strawberry shortcake cream on top tell me the name of your sweetheart…” fill up the school yard as little girls chant the rhyme while jump-roping. The chants are only stopped by the outburst of giggles that erupt when the girl jumping stops and declares the name of her sweetheart. It is determined by the letter of the alphabet that is shouted out when she stops.

That was then, many years ago in a school yard in North America. Now present day. I don’t have a sweetheart, well not a conventional one that is. If you asked me now, living in Italy, during late spring/ early summer I would and I will answer you. Have you guessed what it is?

Yes, strawberries.

Right now they are in season and I love them. There is no epitome of the perfect strawberry; but a description of bright red, juicy, sweet sometimes tart berries with brown spotted surfaces and a green hat is a good place to start.

But I’m not the best person to ask about epitome, since I have a known love affair with strawberries. I’m told that my ‘perfect’ strawberries, a long time ago were miniscule, half- eaten, sometimes semi-squished pale pink berries covered in red clay soil. My mother claims that barely walking, wearing my clean rompers I would crawl the 200 meters from our family home to her vegetable garden. My mission would be to bring her back a gift of strawberries-more like a macerated strawberry since my tiny hands would drop them on the grass leaving a trail of berries for the birds. There must have been something good about the barely edible berries since my mother has fond memories of receiving the gifts.

Bite size strawberry shortcakes

She still does receive my strawberry gifts, probably with a bit more appreciation since these strawberries are manipulated into something that is actually edible. My housemates too have had a chance to receive these edible gifts.

While at our local fresh produce grocer my housemate and I got a bit excited. There was a huge crate of freshly picked strawberries looking at us at the cash counter. Each time we took a breath in it was like we were breathing in strawberries. Literally intoxicating to the point that we couldn’t leave them there, they were giant, bright red and they were talking to us telling us that they wanted, and needed to come home with us and be devoured. So that’s what we did. Laden with a week’s worth of fruit and vegetables we somehow made room on in our bicycle baskets and took the strawberries home.

It might not be obvious but the strawberries did not last for long. If anything they have made our apartment smell like strawberries. Well that's what a friend of ours said when they dropped by to visit on the same day as our strawberry intoxication. As soon as we got home we started making jam. Filling the house and probably our whole apartment block with the rich aroma of  rich jam. Not the ordinary type of sweet, strawberry jam that you are used to. Thanks to a recipe from a classmate of mine I have learnt a way of making some extraordinary jam. This strawberry jam is now made with an infusion of blood oranges, vanilla bean and the secret ingredient of chili flakes- I haven’t quite mastered the chili flake proportion as I may have been overly generous with the amount I put into the pot, well it gives the jam an extra kick!

Strawberry jam ingredients minus the vanilla bean and the chili flakes

Besides making jam, I have tried and succeeded at making strawberry shortcake cookies, strawberry granola, strawberry juice and breakfast smoothies and last night, my housemate made us try out strawberry cocktails- not too shabby. Next on the list might be strawberry ice cream.

Food Bubbles

Today was the first day of class after a two week holiday. As the norm is, you meet your classmates and ask about the holiday. One of my classmates said that she had a realization. One that she shared with me and I one that I think sums up my experience so far at UNISG.

Read into the statement as much or as little as you like but the comment "We live in a food bubble" says a lot. I cannot begin to tell you about everything that goes on or even sum up most of the experiences. UNISG has a great blog which gives an insight into the lives of the students and what goes on behind the scenes. Take a look, I'm sure you will enjoy it. I posted an article on the blog today entitled,  "Eating my Mutupo".

The UNISG blog can be found at www.ergolabcom-unisg.it/blog/

the in-between moments

In the process of getting my bearings today I instinctively looked for Table Mountain. After four years of using Table Mountain as a personal GPS, I sometimes find myself looking for it to lead me safely home. When I did not see it, it dawned to me that this weekend marks exactly a year since I 

have seen the majestic Table Mountain. A year since I said farewell to a season in my life called Cape Town to begin an adventure to the seemingly unknown. I remember being asked a version of this- ‘so you’re leaving…what next, where are you going’? A year on that series of questions is still asked by everyone including myself.  No distinct answer has been found but in the process I savour the moments in-between finding an answer to those questions.

Primavera in Italy

One moment is such: driving through the rolling hills of the Langhe Region in Piedmont, trying to find the way back home to not so little Città di Bra. The views are spectacular, breath-taking and all those other adjectives that you could throw in there. Primavera having begun a few days ago the hills are literally alive- there are green budding leaves on trees, pinkish clouds of blossoming trees hovering over the landscape. The vineyards appropriately trimmed for the winter as slowly beginning to awake from their winter slumber. Simply put, the picturesque romanticized Italian life that everyone imagines, even myself.

The rolling hills of Langhe

 At moments like this I feel extremely blessed to be living in the Piedmont region of Northern Italy in this season of my life. When else will my academic calendar consist of actively participating in 15 hours worth of wine tasting lectures? Learning about quality and taste analysis of wine? When else will I say that a day-trip with my friends through Barolo, Barbaresco,La Morra, Neive and Alba can be considered as an academic extra curriculum activity? One to cement in the knowledge of the wine growing regions of Piedmont, and Italy in general. A road trip that allows you to see the towns and villages that are synonymous with some of the finest Italian wines-dare I say some of the best wines in the world. When else will it be possible to walk into a food related shop, say that you are a student at UNISG, have the shop keepers get animated and decide that it is their God given right  to tell you everything about every product in their shop and convince you that it is the best in the world?

As idyllic and picturesque as these adventures all sound, there are grey dark clouds that hoover over the sky line, gusts of wind, thunderstorms, torrential rains, fog, hail and snow storms. Days when the icy rains of reality fall, questions are asked, prayers are sent, and the waiting game is played. On these days navigating through the adventure that is life is nothing short of difficult. Locating my metaphorical Table Mountain is a challenge. In its beautiful nature as my Solid Rock, my Mountain always reappears through the storm, (not that is has actually ever gone anywhere) leading me safely home.

These darker moments are savoured as well, as they are the ones that allow for the idyllic ones to be as wonderful and memorable as they are. None of the ‘good times’ would be as good as they are without the humorous, generous, loving and utterly amazing people who have been a part of the adventure. I am eternally grateful for having these people in the adventure that is life.

Cape Town Farewell with my 2011 housemates

A spring road trip with my 2012 housemates

A Bittersweet Symphony

A bittersweet symphony. Rather poetic is it not? But what is bittersweet? In the past few weeks I have learned that these are two of the five flavours that one can experience when tasting food and drink. It is a desired taste combination especially with regards to chocolate. I speak from first-hand experience since yesterday I had a four hour chocolate lesson. In the class we flew through the basics of the technology behind chocolate, slightly brushed the political economic side of it but did not have time to discuss much about the technology of chocolate.

The actual tasting was quite rushed as well. My preconceptions were that tasting chocolate would be a simple process and rather enjoyable. After eighteen different types of chocolate in the space of an hour I beg to differ. It is hard work and not for the faint hearted, or anyone who really despises chocolate. There are proper ways of tasting chocolate, and then there is the way I had my first chocolate tasting.

Basic steps for a successful chocolate tasting as a UNISG student: 

Have an exam on cured meat in which you taste three types of Salame di Felino and be in desperate need of something to cleanse your palate from the meaty, humid, animal, peppery and umami persistent flavours and taste of Salame di Felino.

Have looming at the back of your mind that you have a chocolate exam in exactly two weeks and you have to pass the exam, so you need to grasp the concepts.

Have at hand: two paper plates with nine pieces of dark chocolate in each plate (some of the finest world class chocolate to be exact and some ‘artistic’ inventions as well) a glass of water to cleanse you palate after each nibble.

Have a great professor with a passion for his subject. Twenty- six classmates all with different levels of appreciation and knowledge of chocolate: a Belgian, a professional chocolatier, some students clueless about chocolate (that would be me).

Have a piece of paper to write down all your taste and flavour sensations.

Now begin: Pick up the little piece of chocolate, probably about 4grams. Observe the colour and the texture and the smell. Now bite into about half of that piece. Concentrate on the way the chocolate melts or does not melt in your mouth. Consider the texture, is it smooth and silky and does it melt in your mouth or grainy and almost a sand like texture. Now what do you taste: bitter, sweet, umami, sour, salt? And the aromas, do you sense the fruity notes, floral ones: maybe raisin, cranberry. Note that as you are tasting all of these chocolates the classroom is not silent, rather everyone is blurting out what they taste, and the aromas they sense and do not sense, the occasional shout of sweet, cauliflower, bitter, and avocado! Compliments are given to those who have deciphered the general idea of the tastes.

Have a sip of water and wash out your mouth.

Repeat this another seventeen times and then have a craving for something extremely umami afterwards. The best way to deal with this is having some of your classmates make dinner for you- well that’s how I fixed my umami craving problem!

Essential for the tasting lesson: An open mind, and a sense of humour.

Umami dinner: Bistecca, Polenta and Burrata

Just incase you do not have all the above mentioned components (especially a dynamic group of classmates) to have a classic UNISG tasting of your own you could always have a tasting in a more traditional way. A great resource for this is www.allchocolate.com.

Enjoy!

"Let them eat cake"

I decided it was time for Italy to taste my somewhat self-proclaimed famous chocolate cake. A version of a cake I have made for the past 14 years. It must have been on one of the many rainy weekends in West Africa that E (my dear friend and fellow February baby) taught me how to make this cake. Come to think of it I have been baking for a while, from a very early age-from about the age of three according to my mother (that includes making sausage rolls with her). A more vivid memory of baking is set in West Africa. Just about every weekend for a year J,E,J and I would go to each other’s homes and either spend our weekend swimming outside or baking cupcakes and brownies when the violent West African thunderstorms would chase us indoors for a few hours.

Baking for me is a calming experience-sometimes. I enjoy baking cakes for others and the joy they have when they receive their special cake. I have wondered why people smile and are excited when they get a cake? Why do you get a cake on your birthday?

A blue birthday cake I made for my brother

I decided to do some research on this significance. In Italian I would say: Cosa significance per la torta?

the research is on going but so far I have found that cakes are healing, and celebratory and a source of joy. One of my favourite books,"Baking Cakes in Kigali" by Gaile Parkin tells of the healing power of cakes in Rwanda after the 1994 Genocide. I know nothing about the lived experiences of genocide but I can relate to giving a cake to someone in a time when cake was a luxury.

During the darker days of the recent past I found myself baking a lot. Somehow the needed ingredients would be sourced: sugar, flour (bought in bulk from SA), milk (from a generous cow willing to share its milk, or powdered milk), eggs (fresh protein rich eggs from my aunt's layers), oil (high quality sunflower oil from my uncle) and if it was a super special cake some butter, well probably margarine. With all the ingredients ready you would then find yourself playing a game with the powers that be who decide how much electricity you have for a day. I found myself on numerous occasions waking up to bake cakes in the early hours of the morning as that is when I was be sure that I would have at least an hour of uninterrupted power supply. At times like this baking was far from calming, but rather a race against time with the electricity supply company (ZESA). I am so thankful though that I had the opportunity to bless others with these cakes. It brought smiles to the recipients’ faces and temporary escape from the reality of the everyday life.

“Let them eat cake” Marie Antoinette is thought to have told the starving French peasants this when they were crying for bread. Many have speculated that this snide comment and disassociated attitude influenced the onset of the French revolution.

Is cake really an elitist luxury that separates “us” from “them”? How much significance is there in cake? Does it really speak of politics and social economic states of people? Does cake really address issues of gender politics? At this moment I have mixed feelings about the discourses that surround cake, and the fact that I have cake and baked goods so often now, I no longer find myself asking those important questions. But I think I should. The questions will change my experiences with cakes, which I think is necessary especially while I live in Bra.

My university has several characters. Many gourmet cooks and baking enthusiasts. Cake and baked goods are no longer a super special thing, not the luxury that is alluded to by Marie Antoinette. In my little community of Bra there is cake or a baked good of some sort all the time from somewhere. The element of surprize and awe from getting a sugary treat almost gets forgotten as we (I speak for myself and possibly my classmates) know that a week will not go by without a sugary fix. It feels like déjà vu. In 2011 I lived with 3 friends. As the ladies of 105 we all had our birthdays in the space of 5 weeks so we had cake for dinner on several occasions. To honour the ladies of 105 and my loved ones who are fellow February babies Italy gets its first taste of my chocolate cake. Buon Compleanno!

                                

                                                

The cake making process from the beginning to the final product

Becoming an Anthropologist

This past week I celebrated another year on Earth. My mind began to wander. Wondering when exactly it was that I started to consider my life as an anthropological adventure. Was it the day we were in the car on the way back to Mamaroneck that I was told I was moving to West Africa? Or was it the day that I cried my eyes out and not so silently wished I had failed the entrance exam to Loyola Jesuit College? Or was it at the Southernmost tip of Africa where I learnt about anthropology and realized that I was a living anthropologist?

I want to believe that it is the latter. If I had known more about anthropology in 1997 I would have savoured each moment spent in West Africa. I think that my sojourn in West Africa was a pivotal point in my life. I attribute my love for anthropology, my interest in the food-culture dialectic to Nigeria as well as my supposed academic prowess.

Not only do I celebrate another year on Earth but this year marks ten years since I was in West Africa. Ten years ago I left behind memories, friends, classmates and my deep American accent which was replaced by a knowledge of Nigerian pidgin English, a desire to learn and hope that one day I would reunite with people who changed my perspective of life and who helped to shape the person I am.

For the past ten years I have shared my experiences in Nigeria with people I have met. I have left out so much detail though as it is a country where you have to go to and live in to experience it to the fullest. The hardest part of my explanations has always been the three years spent at a Local Jail for Children- the codename for the prestigious Loyola Jesuit College-LJC. I have tried to explain all the moments, the highs and the lows. I doubt that my explanations have done any justice to the school. I have always wanted to recall my days spent there and the only people who would understand were my former classmates and other alumni. How do you begin to explain to an outsider who was not in jail with you about: eating five times a day, trading half plates of spaghetti, going on ‘report’, Saturday lunch, hostel inspections, exams, feast days, socials, assembly, study hall, mangos, honour and merit roll?

Living in Southern Africa meant that the chances of meeting up with any LJC alumni was quite slim. In the turn of events that characterises my life I moved to Europe, but not the United Kingdom where many alumni reside. But I got another surprize when my former classmate got in touch and let me know that they were in Italy. Needless to say a reunion was necessary. So that is what we did. To celebrate my twenty-fourth year of life and my tenth year away from my other homeland I met up with my fellow Connelly House classmate.

My former classmate photographing the sites in Milano

I have not laughed till I cried in a very long time. But I can now tell you that I have done so recently. It felt good to know that you are not the only one in the world that will forever have the motto “Service of God and Others” deeply embedded in them. That there are others who remember the first line of their school notes of Introductory Technology, “Technology is not a new thing in Nigeria….”. There are others who have tried everything to forget the opening lines of the play the Wives Revolt by JP Clark but to no avail. There are others who will always remember the impact and dedication of our teachers:  their punishments of “sitting on the wall”, or frog jumping; their strict marking; their desire for the best education possible for us; their smiles and laughter that you shared with them at your dining hall table.

When laughing with my classmate in Milano, Italia, I realized that those were three years that I would not exchange. Three years that I learnt about a country by being fully immersed in it, even if I was in jail. As one of the very few foreigners in our school in Gidan Mangoro, I unknowingly became an anthropologist. Everything was participant observation. I learnt of the customs, the traditions and the rich heritage of the vibrant oil rich nation. I can almost say that I became a native of the nation-a daughter of the soil. I can only hope to one day return to the vibrant nation.

So as I continue in the adventure that is my life I will always remember Nigeria and LJC. The people I met (some of the brightest minds I have ever encountered), the food I tasted and my dislike of black eyed beans (thanks to the mass cooked beans and garri as well as the deep fried bean fritters-akara twice a week for three years). I will always remember the educational impact and the community that is LJC. I believe that my time there laid the foundations of many of the adventures that I have already had, and mostly the point at which I began to be an anthropologist- even if it was done unconsciously. 

Who would have thought that I would meet a fellow LJC "in-mate" 10 years later in the middle of Italy