Peanut butter and credibility

Two weekends ago, my real – American, that is – mother, who was heading to Israel, touched down for a weekend in Italy to visit. Being a wonderful mom, she brought me the one item whose absence had been single-handedly and significantly tainting my experience in Italy: real (Skippy) peanut butter. Ever since, I’ve been eating peanut butter by the spoonful. And although immensely satisfying, each bite I take brings my host family’s opinion of my culinary sophistication a little bit lower. (You can imagine their horror the first time they saw me mix it with jelly and then spread it around on bread.)

Anyway, although I have no regrets, I fear that any food-related credibility I may have still had since the ice cream float fiasco has been damaged irreparably.

Once again, totally worth it.




The Duomo in Milan. The second largest church in Italy, it took almost 500 years to complete.



The peanut-butter bringer and her son.



The milk machine in Castelleone, where I can go to buy fresh milk.

Ice Cream Floats

The day before the election, I told my host family that if Barack Obama won the presidency, I would celebrate by making them all ice cream floats (a delicacy which they had previously never heard of). So it came to be that on the evening of November 5th, 2008, thanks to the American people, my host family and I gathered around the table after dinner and enjoyed my favorite dessert, made with freshly-chilled Coca-Cola and store-bought, but nonetheless exquisite, Italian gelato.

Needless to say, everybody in my family – except for Anna, the younger daughter, who’s up for anything – thought that it was disgusting, and that I was crazy for ruining perfectly good ice cream with perfectly good soda. But I didn’t mind. Their disapproval was a small sacrifice that I was willing to make in the pursuit of patriotism, cultural exchange, and culinary satisfaction.

My favorite photos from October

My favorite tractor at the Castelleone agricultural show.





Giving new meaning to national pride.




Here, the word "ambulance" is written backwards so that when you're driving, and you look in the rearview mirror, you can read it normally. Genius!




Bridges in Verona.




"These were the houses of the Capulets, where lived Juliet, for whom many a gentle heart has cried, and many a poet sung."




On the passageway that leads into the courtyard where Romeo allegedly courted Juliet, star-crossed lovers have come for centuries to write notes to each other. According to my guidebook and host family, the Capulets never even lived on the grounds, yet tourists pay tens of euros to go inside the house. (The walk into the courtyard, which is what I did, is free.)





The leaves changed here as well.