Thursday, November 13, 2008

Top Ten Reasons...

For those of you who’ve known Trofie Wife long enough to remember her Top 10 lists of high school, I present to you the latest installation, after what I’m sure was a long-lamented absence:

Top Ten Things I Do in Italy That I Don’t Normally Do

10. Make the bed (I must admit that it’s so much cozier to get back into at night or during naptime)

9. Get dressed up to go to the grocery store

8. Complain about poor lighting (likely Martello’s influence)

7. Deal with real estate brokers (viva la Craig’s List!)

6. Join Facebook and voluntarily video chat

5. Clear my inbox daily and reply with great haste

4. Go to sleep (or at least climb into bed with reading material) at a decent hour

3. Eat breakfast quickly, at a table

2. Schlep only one or two bags (daily average in NYC: three)

[That’s it. These lists never did make it all the way to 10…]

And in other news, last Friday I finally made it over to the video store on the way back home from the grocery store. It was there that I noted by far the most slothful opening hours that I’ve yet to see in Italy (and that’s saying a lot). The video store is only open 2 1/2 hours each day!! From 5 to 7:30 p.m. and only Monday through Saturday! Now, for the cinematic-seeking public, there is a 24-hour rental machine available outside the store that allows locals to rent recent mediocre American and Italian films whenever their hearts desire. Maybe we’ll try it sometime. Or just stick to the ancient TV…

I also spent the early evening hours making my first Italian challah bread, courtesy of the lovely Italian Jewish cookbook that our friends Adam and Rachel gave us (which was also responsible for the evening’s succulent saffron rice and slightly-soggy Jewish-style artichokes). In my attempt to halve the recipe (and convert from American to metric measures using the conversions in the back of the used Berlitz I picked up at Housing Works), the sweet and salty factors didn’t turn out quite right, but nevertheless, Martello commented on the loaf’s excellent texture. I’ll be sure to attempt again, but the book’s recipe for bagels is my latest temptation. Trofie Wife will, of course, be certain to share the outcome of that great experiment…

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

The Point System

No, no, dear NFTY friends. Trofie Wife is not referring to THAT point system. Instead, I’d like to sit for a spell and discuss our local grocery store and its customer loyalty program. (Yes, a far cry from my recent political punditry, but as I am often reminded, I have a great span of interests from low- to highbrow.)

I was very relieved when I clocked the presence of this store on my first visit to Arenzano, because it bore the whiff of the familiar—my sister shops at a sister store in Zurich. Apparently in Zurich it pays to sign up for a *free* loyalty card because you can save on your purchases and earn valuable points redeemable for prizes. It took me a while after digging through the paraphernalia in-store and online, but I finally scoped out the Italian version of this program, and it most certainly is not free (maybe Zurich needs to check her receipts again). In fact, it appears to me to be so insane that, if you pardon my decent into Larry Davidism, I feel the need to riff on it for several more paragraphs. Enjoy (or go back to that work you’re supposed to be doing).

So, for 25 euro, we can join the store as members, thereby gaining our loyalty card as well as the right to earn points and take part in cooking demos and local excursions (Martello asks: “why would you want to go on trips with the grocery store??”) The aforementioned points can then be used to select gifts that are published in the annual members’ guide. I initially flip flopped regarding the value of this investment. I surmised that it was true that we (mostly I) would be going to this grocery store quite a bit during our time in Italy and if we could save a euro here or there that could be put to better use (train or plane tickets, anyone?) why not? However, there are plenty of weekly discounts available to nonmembers, and just how long would it take us to earn back the 25 euro in accumulated savings when so many discounts hover in the 10 to 20 percent (read: 30 to 40 cent) range? As I perused this year’s selection of premiums, I realized that in this case membership did not have its privileges. Readers, let me take you through some of the prizes just to demonstrate the craziness of this set-up.

One euro spent is equal to one point earned; it is unclear from the materials that I have (and can comprehend) if you are allowed to carry points forward from one year to the next. Thus, if you spend 3.800 euros OR you cash in 1.850 points and pay 19,50 euros (I might also add here that it’s very confusing that in Europe a comma is used as a decimal point and a period is used in place of a comma in marking thousands), you can be the proud owner of—a handmade, wooden oil and vinegar dispenser. The Scandinavian design is clean and functional, but you can probably pick up something like it on QVC for $29.99 or less.

Next: A toaster with slots for four slices of bread. 3.700 points (3.700 euros spent), or it can be yours for 1.750 points and 19,50 euros. Hmm, does this 19,50 price maybe allude to the actual value of the item? Need I remind you that I picked up an actual TOASTER OVEN at the competing grocery store (which also boasts a point system) for only 10 euro??

Here’s one for the bambinos: for 2.700 points (or 1.250 points plus 14,50 euro), you can be a proud owner of a backpack featuring a cartoon image of a squawking rooster (and for those of you who remember from high school that animals make different sounds in different countries, apparently a rooster crowing in Italy sounds like: “chicchirichi!!” Personally, I prefer the French, “coo-coo, coquiercoo”).

And now for my absolute favorite. The pièce de résistance. Weighing in at 11.300 points (that’s a lot of groceries) or 5.400 points plus 59 euros, is…A MEAT SLICER!! Why on earth would you need this in your home?? I saw it on the premium shelf (before I realized that it was a “premium” and thought it was just part of the miscellany on the “random shelf” (which turned out to be the “premium shelf”) and I thought to myself, “now isn’t that odd…a meat slicer.” This premium, I might add, is valued more highly than a weekend at a spa in Acqui Terme (4.400 points), a tree in a national forest (2.000 points; I’m at least happy to see that these points can be donated towards worthwhile causes), a free ticket on any national (4.000 points) or European (7.000 points) flight!! Maybe I just don’t get how important sliced meat is to the majority of those inhabiting these parts…

Now I always found the Park Slope Food Co-op to be fairly ridiculous, which is why I never joined (apologies to any members out there), but this so-called “co-op” is molto crazy! It’s more like members are co-opted by their ridiculous system! Please: If you would like an olive oil set or a four-slot toaster or a professional grade meat slicer, please, please, please just buy one on your own!! Don’t spend 11.000 euros on groceries! I can understand if you just happen to spend that much a year and the slicer (or any other prize for that matter) is an added bonus, but seriously, a meat slicer? In sum, we are not joining the club at this store or any other. Not only because of the scam-scented point system, but because I take great offense at the presence in a store of a shelf with alluring items displayed on it, but when you decide you’d like to buy one (and seemingly believe you can afford it) you are told that it is not possible to do so! I may be very liberal, but I’m still a capitalist! So, should we be in the market for any condiment dispensers, appliances, or cock-a-doodle-doing (or otherwise) backpacks, we’ll accumulate them the old fashioned way—by picking them out of the free piles in Brooklyn!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

“Il Mondo è cambiato”

So, once again we need to take a step back in time to Summer 2008, when plans for this newlywed year were just beginning to unfold. While the twin prospects of Martello’s job and building a life together on the banks of the Mediterranean were growing more enticing, Trofie Wife was increasingly concerned about missing what was clearly going to be an historic presidential election. “Can we maybe push your re-start day back one week?” Trofie Wife asked. Martello, having a pragmatic moment, intoned that this arrangement likely would not be reasonable to his future employers, as they were already granting him a multi-week leave in order to get hitched. Martello alluded that Trofie Wife was free to stay behind in New York for a week in order to be able to vote (and either celebrate or impale herself). And while she did, in fact, consider it, Trofie Wife realized that it would probably be more prudent to just join Martello at the get-go (especially if the electoral college returns called for impalement; having already fled the country would be a better alternative than a samurai’s death, no matter what the Asian Hum books said).

On Monday, the eve before the election (or rather, back home, the day before it) while having a lovely caffè with the Anglophone girlfriend of one of Martello’s colleagues, we discussed our nervousness in the run-up to the ballot box. We worried for the US, the UK, and the wider world—what would be the consequences of installing a relatively unchanged regime? Continued—and in all likelihood, escalated—warfare? I really did not want to have to apologize for the actions of an American leadership that I vigorously opposed wherever we travelled for the ensuing 11 months (yet I also didn’t want to become one of those Americans who sewed a Maple Leaf onto her backpack; that’s just stupid). In addition, frightening referenda opposing gay marriage and reproductive freedom were also up for grabs, and since the states in question were several time zones away from NYC, news on these ballot issues would not become available for a frustratingly long amount of time. The anxiousness was so potent that by Tuesday I remained shut-in even after siesta, incapable of leaving the house, although returns would likely not start rolling in until 2 a.m. Perhaps if I pressed “refresh” repeatedly on the CNN Web site, the electoral map would change more rapidly! I made it until 4 a.m. (10 p.m. EST, one hour before the close of the California polls), with Martello (soundly asleep throughout my news rampage) having only 3 hours left before his wake-up call. If I just had waited one more hour I would have seen the relieving, remarkable, and exciting (!) news that Barack Obama had been elected President of the United States! But alas… I crashed.

I did wake up around 8:30 a.m. our time as Martello was walking out the door, and I saw the news. (Later that evening we watched The Daily Show’s “Indecision 2008” coverage online. How thrilled was I to be able to relish Jon and Stephen’s take on this amazing event!! I am in great debt to whoever decided not to firewall Comedy Central over in Europe!) I was teary while watching Obama’s victory speech on YouTube (and I somehow missed his words to the kids regarding the acquisition of a puppy, something that apparently Joe Biden was also promised by his wife, should he win; I knew I loved this ticket!). I watched amazing videos of New Yorkers taking to the streets to celebrate and was beyond bummed that I had missed this moment in our history. (Coincidentally, my father was stationed in Italy when JFK was elected to the presidency. I am happy that I am in a technologically better position than he was at the time and at least able to virtually experience the excitement, which I doubt was conveyable via telegram. Perhaps a kid of ours will be in Italia when another groundbreaking individual is elected president and will mock us for not having been able to teleport back to the States for the event way back in 2008 as he/she may be able to do in another few decades!)

So with my patriotically-induced homesickness now subsiding, I decided to turn on our antique television set in order to see what the Italian street was making of our momentous national occasion. Turns out, not much at that point. But while I waited for some news of our event, I watched (and half understood) an interview on bike sharing in Genoa and learned about a large student protest unfolding in the city. (After doing some English-language Googling, I learned, as I shared with some friends and relatives via e-mail, that there are multiple national protests being undertaken by students regarding major funding slashes for higher education throughout Italy; it should be an interesting story to keep an eye on.) That afternoon I also discovered a fabulously trashy Italian talk show! I don’t yet know the name of it, but it’s on all the time. The host is a blond woman with a husky voice. Her show places opposing sides of a domestic conflict on opposite sides of the studio, and while watching each other spill their guts onscreen, they try to work it out (or they just fight; there doesn’t appear to be any chair tossing, though). I will also add that, surprisingly, all the guests, despite their improprieties, are dressed fantastically, not at all in the style of Americans on Maury or Ricki Lake (not that I regularly watch those programs; daytime soaps are as low as I go). While it looks fascinating, and I definitely plan to view again soon, it is, in fact, not a helpful activity for comprehension practice, what with everyone shouting over each other. But I digress… Now back to the election!

So, due to the time difference, none of the November 5 Italian newspapers said anything about the American election, as it had not yet been decided when they went to press. However, on November 6, all the papers ran the Obama victory as their lead story. (In fact, the title of this post is taken from La Repubblica’s headline.) The papers ran multiple stories on the election and Italian opinion thereof. Having stayed up til 4 a.m. on the 4th/5th, I found myself reverting to EST, not a good thing in a country that’s closed from 12:30-3:30 p.m. I managed to rouse myself on November 6 (my birthday!), just in time to buy three papers from the newsstand before the hawker took his lunch break. Il Giornale, La Repubblica, and La Stampa all ran election inserts (think US papers would ever devote so much coverage to most international elections?), and terms such as “obamizatta” were employed, which I’m guessing is akin to Obamania— I’m hoping that one day my Italian will be far enough along so that I can understand more of the articles. In addition, the daily e-mail that I receive from the Italian Jewish community ran several pieces about the great excitement over the election both in Italy and the US, with a particular focus on Jews rallying behind Obama because of their shared “outsider” status. The community also commented on Italian PM Berlusconi’s unfortunate comment that went something like: Obama looks great going into the presidency—he’s well-rested and even has a tan. Now I think (and perhaps Pollyannaishly hope) that the bumbling conservative leader was trying to make a joke and not purposely aiming to speak disrespectfully (read: discriminatorily) of our President-Elect, but either way, he should be experiencing a major case of foot in mouth right about now.

But getting away from pasta-nation punditry and back to American political punditry for a moment, I do have to say that I think the unsung hero in both Obama’s victory and the Democratic gains in the House and Senate is my man Howard Dean (and not just because he was steamrolled away from the nomination in 2004 at the hands of some unfortunate microphones, which led to the uninspiring rise of John Kerry and thus the continued presence of 43 in the White House). No, as my Democracy for America e-mails reminded me, as Democratic Party Chairman, Dean championed the 50 State Strategy, the elegantly simple idea that Democrats should compete for seats at all levels of government in all 50 states, not just in the states long deemed “blue.” Pretty much a “duh,” but also ingenious, since apparently for decades no one thought it was worth attempting. I also would like to register my suggestion that in 2012 or 2016, just for kicks, the networks consider flipping the colors and making Dems Red and the GOP Blue.

With the election outcome now deciphered on both sides of the Atlantic, I spent the rest of my birthday basking in the glow of victory (for Obama and reproductive freedom, yet mourning the unfortunate outcome in the case of homophobic referenda) and e-mailing and Skyping with well wishers. It turns out that I share a compleanno with our landlady, so we swapped wine and cupcakes. When Martello came home, we went out for a great meal just around the corner. All in all, an excellent way to leap into 28! (And so much better than my actual birth date, just a few days after the Reagan Revolution succeeded. Yuck.)

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

My Savona

First off, apologies for the delay in adding new commentary to the site, which is attributable to travel, a reversion to Eastern Standard Time (more on that later), and a really good book (to those who haven’t read it yet, I highly recommend Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris). Anyway, much has occurred since Trofie Wife’s last writing, so it makes sense to begin with the promised accounting of our sojourn to Savona.


On Saturday, November 1 (All Saints’ Day) we headed to Savona, another port city, for our first jaunt in the opposite direction of Genoa. Martello’s guidebook on the Italian Riviera, eyeballed on the ride (prior to his inevitable passing out), taught us that Genoa and Savona have been rivals since ancient times, due to Savona siding with Carthage and Genoa with Rome during their epic battle. (Of course that rivalry continues to cease from 12:30 to 3:30 p.m. daily when everyone breaks for lunch.)

Arriving around lunchtime, we decided to join the locals in dining. Unfortunately, some misguided ordering senza dictionary led us to select a lunch that had to be discarded (Martello did his best to break up the offending meat with a knife and swirl it around the plate so as not to overly offend the chef). Afterwards, Martello found our way to the site of Savona’s great fortress (where incidentally, the public bathrooms had apparently not been cleaned since the fall of Carthage). The fort boasts amazing views out to the sea and surrounding city and, as Martello discovered (and surreptitiously documented), is a good rendezvous spot for amorous teenagers.



We decided that it would be a good place to lord over, although most of the lording these days seems to be less fulfilling than it might have been in the days of balls and cannons (for example, there appeared to be a fleet of rental cars below one of the vistas; not very imposing nor impressive). Unfolding below the fortress we spotted a carnival—perhaps in honor of the holiday. We descended in order to investigate, but unfortunately there was no cotton candy to be found (isn’t a carnival’s raison d’etre the vending of cotton candy??). So we headed to the center of town to window shop and procure some long overdue lunch for Martello—pizza, which an already portly local dog tried to eat!


Incidentally, having decided long before we set foot in Savona that “My Savona” would be an excellent title for this post, it came as quite a shock when Trofie Wife stepped into a house wares store on the main drag (in order to purchase some discount dishcloths) only to find “My Sharona” (I kid you not!) playing as the transaction unfolded! (Martello missed the whole amazing coincidence while finishing his pizza on the bench outside, but in the spirit of upholding their marriage vows, fully believed Trofie Wife without demanding independent corroboration). We continued to explore Savona’s centro and were surprised by how the crowds continued to bustle in and out of shops into the early evening hours while musicians and bouncy stilt walkers (resembling rollerblades on springs) took to the square to entertain. We grabbed some gelato around 6:30 p.m. (perhaps edging towards dinner time in many communities) and sat in the main piazza joining dozens of Italian families who were all, from very young to very old, eating frosty treats; you have to respect a culture that makes ice cream such an integral part of the day! Savona explored, we decided to head home for dinner and had an excellent, fresh meal in Arenzano’s centro. We promise visitors that we will be sure to take them to this fantastic restaurant!


Sunday was not as eventful as Saturday; actually, it felt more like a Saturday in Philadelphia, when Martello and Trofie Wife would both be pounding away on their computers in pursuit of Mastery. After striking out at not one but two grocery stores (both closed by 1 p.m. on Sunday), we considered attending a local soccer game, but since it was pouring, and Martello owed his former Penn colleagues some feedback, we decided to stay in and have a boring but productive day (of course none of this production was directed at the blog…).


Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Ghouls Invade Genoa

Rest assured Americans: the very best of our culture is being exported and adopted by the Europeans. I have to admit that I was quite surprised to find that Halloween is celebrated in Arenzano! I was curious when I saw some costumes and Halloween-ish candy being sold in the grocery stores, but knew that it was more than mere commercialism when I saw several carved and lit jack’o lanterns at the market (which was otherwise a disappointment in the pouring rain) and a sign in a toy store window in the pedestrian center of town (centro) advertising some sort of event at 4 p.m., after the kids were released from school.

I ventured down to the pedestrian area around 4:30 p.m. and saw a large number of children—some with plush pumpkin baskets, others with undecorated plastic bags— walking from storefront to storefront collecting candy. I have to say that the costumes were fairly lackluster—mostly witches, ghosts, some hair dye, and a few masks à la Scream. From what I could see while peering over the children, the candy selections were not of the highest quality (i.e., there did not appear to be any chocolate, of any kind, being doled out; mainly just sucking candies). Some of the kids yelled “Trick or Treat!” in English before being given their treat; others just participated in a group primal scream. Amazingly, it reminded me quite a lot of the Halloweens of my younger years. Parents taking pictures and standing back and kibitzing while the kids descended on the loot, holding umbrellas because it was raining (it always rained on Halloween in Tenafly in the 1980s and ’90s). I present to you a few relatively boring pictures, since I was wary of taking photos of children without their parents’ consent (and I don’t know how to ask for it in Italian). Note that even a few moms played along as they themselves donned capes and witches hats.

Additionally, once kids reach the age of 11 or 12, the day becomes less about treats and more about silly string, shaving cream, and eggs. There were quite a few remnants of all these items on all the main drags.
The shop owners stood guard over their wares as boys and girls alike ran down the ancient streets, figuring out how to pelt the weakest amongst them.

Now in addition to last Friday being Halloween, it was also officially our first Shabbat in Arenzano. While wine is pretty easy to come by, I had hoped that I would be able to locate some tapered candlesticks that could be adapted into Shabbat candles. However, this proved more difficult than it seemed. Curiously, while there were no paired candlesticks to be found, the grocery store did sell some sort of candle you can put in or near your ear to remove wax (maybe we’ll try those next week). Therefore, I hope I do not offend any Catholics in the audience by describing the solution to my waxen quest. I purchased a prayer candle (seems to be for the protection of the family and is, interestingly, shaped like our Yahrtzeit
(memorial) candles) and went about slicing it in half
so that I had two stout candle wicks. These should last us quite a while, and hopefully we’ll find some more appropriate, non-offensive candlesticks soon. (Note: This just in, the housewares shop at the “mall” has tapered candlesticks! As well as measuring cups in grams and milliliters. Guess it’s time to brush up on that metric system…)

In other exciting news, it appears that the local dog foster care program is in need of some volunteer dog walkers! Assuming that the dogs will listen to my commands in English (and the volunteer coordinator will understand my e-mail), I plan on looking into this. There are quite a lot of dogs here. And baby carriages. And baby carriages with dogs attached to them. We’ve found the Italian Park Slope!

Coming soon: Martello’s first post!

Baci e gelato,
Martello e Trofie Wife

Saturday, November 1, 2008

A trip to Voltri

Coming from Arenzano, Voltri is the first official train stop in Genoa. It’s much more happening than Arenzano, boasting a vibrant, broad main drag complete with a supermarket that’s open late and on Sundays. However, it’s most notable to Trofie Wife as the place where the Vodafone store clerks speak English and thus can easily reload our Internet and cell phones.


After a failed attempt to recharge the Internet key on our first Monday in town (due to a misplaced recharge number), Trofie Wife was forced to return on Tuesday. This turn of events was quite fortuitous as Tuesday turns out to be market day. The market is filled with an abundance of items from housewares (I found 12 hangers for just over 4 euro, which completed our closet) to clothing to farm fresh eggs (with the cooped chickens on display to prove it). The market also appears to be a good place to observe political activity. There were actual real live members of the Communist Party tabling next to a farmer’s cart, and proponents (or maybe they were opponents?) of some ballot referendum had taken up the seating area at the top of the piazza. It is also perfectly acceptable, I was glad to see, to bring your dog (no matter how large; I wish I had taken pictures!) to the market, just as long as the cane does not eat the flowers. Notably, on sale at a nearby newsstand I saw a calendar entitled, “Mussolini, Il Duce.” While I was curious to see the kind of spin it would take, I just couldn’t justify buying it, possessing it, and ultimately recycling it.


In Voltri, and likely all over Italy, the water companies have prominent plaques on the sidewalk that mark their territory. This one, “Acqua Nicolay” especially caught my eye, due to a certain friend back home, the tee-shirt goddess, who boasts the very same last name!




After Vodafone and the market, I returned to the abovementioned supermarket where I was lucky enough to score a super-cheap toaster, which was absolutely necessary due to the nonworking range and oven. I was certainly glad that I had not leaped on the 39 euro toaster at the electronics store when this one was less than 1/3 the price! Ah, bargain shopping!

Coming soon: Halloween and All Saints Day; A Sojourn to Savona


Baci e gelato,
Martello e Trofie Wife

Adventures in Domestication

So as a few of you are aware, in preparation for her newfound role of un (or at least hopefully “under”) employed housewife (and because I found a great copy on the 50 cent cart at Housing Works Bookstore Cafe and hadn’t yet had the time to crack it), Trofie Wife began reading Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique en route home from her first trip to Arenzano, and I’m now about 100 pages from the end. And here’s the point in my commentary where I hope a certain close friend (or maybe more than one, plus some relatives) of mine doesn’t hate me: While I thank BF for opening the floodgates that helped to liberate middle-class women from the drudgery of their lives, I have to say, that she needed an editor. What repetition! And excessive block quoting; my undergraduate professors never would have allowed for such laziness! But I digress. BF rephrases Parkinson’s Law which postulates that “work expands to fill the time available,” stating that “housewifery expands to fill the time available” (p. 240). This state of affairs is bad because women could be exerting their energies in more positive ways that lead to their own liberation and the betterment of society. While this is certainly true, I have to add that if women were forced, such as Trofie Wife now is, to perform housework in cultures, languages, and wattages different from their own, it would tax the brain quite a bit more! (Perhaps in the next printing, BF’s estate would consider including this addendum…)

On Wednesday, I attempted to do the laundry for the first time (Martello was so kind as to give me plenty to work with, having taken over in his luggage a full bag of dirty clothing). Now having a washing machine inside the apartment is a huge step up for Trofie Wife, who spent the last five years trudging to the local Laundromat where the Russian and/or Polish ladies always yelled at her for doing something wrong. Thus I was over the moon at the opportunity to wash my clothing in the comfort of my abode. Foreigners are warned (via a great book that Martello purchased entitled, Living, Studying, and Working in Italy: Everything You Need to Know to Live La Dolce Vita) that Italy does not have terrific electrical wiring and that no other appliances should be plugged in while the washer is in use. Due to the wattage problem, dryers are very rare in Italy, thus leading to the picturesque scenes in Italian villages countrywide of laundry hanging off the terraza. I was pretty proud of myself for figuring out the machine’s directions, which were written entirely in Italian. But boy was I in for a surprise.

I thought the cycle was over, so I opened the door and attempted to unload the laundry and prepare it for drying on the cool drying contraption. However, much to my surprise, there was still a huge puddle of water left in the machine. I removed the sopping wet clothing and whisked it away to the bathroom for eventual (hopefully before December) drying. But now what to do with the residual water? Quick thinking (take that, BF!) led me to hunt for the soup ladle and a bucket. As you can see from the illustration, I ladled out the remaining water into a bucket and then dumped it in the sink. I ran a second load later in the afternoon, and at this point figured out that during my earlier attempt the dial had gotten stuck at the point where the machine needed to remove that last bit of water and wring out the clothing. This appears to be a chronic condition, so I now know to nudge the dial forward a notch so it can do its work. Now the only ladling that will be done is for soup (and future visitors, don’t fret: I thoroughly washed the ladle!)

Briefly again on the subject of drying (mentioned in an earlier post), our above-the-sink drying lines are super cool. I get to use a shepherd-like staff to pull down the lines. I doubt that the outside lines are as cool, but I do not think I will be using them until the weather returns to warm and sunny (which, as noted earlier, likely will not be for several months). I should also note that our laundry smells like my sister’s loads in Zurich, though she assures me that she has recently changed detergent brands and thus we will not run the risk of smelling identical.

On Thursday, the domestic adventures continued when the gas man came to replace our empty propane tank with a new one. This turn of events culminated in us having a working stove, pictured here along with the lighter (in red). Those of you familiar with my aversion to matches and all things literally (yet not figuratively) flaming, will be as pleased to know as I am that, thanks to this little doodad, I will not have to use matches (or, more likely, make Martello use them) to light the pilots each time we cook. Of course I’m not thrilled that I have to ignite the thing each time I get hungry, but I’m getting used to it…

With our stove and oven now working, I was eager to get to work exploring the kitchen. I’m very proud of the very first espresso that I made on the stove in our Moka. Bella!My advice to all future purchasers of fancy espresso machines is to not become one! The Moka works just as well and is a fraction of the price! All you have to do is put about a tablespoon’s worth of pre-ground espresso beans in the filter (no need for expensive whole bean gourmet coffee), put water in the base, twist, and place on the stove. Boil, and in about two minutes, you have beautiful espresso! I am super excited that we had the presence of mind to register for one of these (thanks MFB!). We will likely use it all the time when we return to the Stati Uniti, as our tastes are quickly conforming to one-plus espressos a day. So tasty! So efficient!

Our taste for gelato was of course quite developed prior to our arrival. But amazingly enough, what we’ve learned thus far is that Italy is a place where the store brand gelato actually tastes fantastico (and is easy on the wallet)! No more standing on line back home for $5 a scoop gourmet ice cream! Also on the sweet tooth front, I’m happy to report that a cupcake/muffin tin has been procured; hopefully many cupcakes will spring forth from this pan over the year.

One final note: I took a brief sojourn outside in order to snap some exterior shots of our casa. On my way out, I saw an elderly gentleman walking with braced canes on both arms. I attempted to help him with his recycling (which he was pushing with one of his canes), but he was persistent in doing it himself (well that’s at least what I seemed to have comprehended…). Quite impressive! I then wandered on to the last of the grocery stores in town. I now feel like I’ve mastered the food scene here, well except for the market, which I’m excited to visit tomorrow! The day ended with brief rolling power outages on account of high winds and stormy weather. Martello’s office went dark for 20 straight minutes; the computers had to run on backup generators!

Next up: A step outside Arenzano.

Baci e gelato,
Martello e Trofie Wife