The Little Leather Shop Around the Corner (a La Dolce Vita Travels story)

This past Saturday I was sitting at the Arrivals Terminal at the Atlanta airport when I reached into my leather cross-body bag and noticed this label on the inside ...

GENUINE LEATHER

Borse in Pelle

Made in Italy

Maybe it was because I was in an airport, but seeing that label brought back memories of the day I purchased the bag during our first Girls' Trip to Italy my sister and I organized a few years ago. Twenty-three of us had just landed in Rome, and because we couldn't yet check-in to our hotel we took the opportunity to explore Piazza del Popolo just a few blocks away. 

As we were wandering around the piazza taking photos, my sister discovered a tiny leather shop around the corner. The shop was so tiny it could barely accommodate all of us, so we took turns going in. 

Which is how, within just TWO HOURS of landing in Rome, many of us walked back to our hotel with red shopping bags containing leather handbags, each one with an interior label stamped ...

GENUINE LEATHER

Borse in Pelle

Made in Italy

It's All About Giving Thanks

 

It's All About Giving Thanks
by Maria Novajosky, Guest Columnist


*published in the Columbia County News-Times, November 23, 2015

(delivered with Sunday's Augusta Chronicle)

            It doesn’t take much more than a holiday and a meal for our Italian-American family to gather in celebration, and Thanksgiving is no exception. People often ask if our Thanksgiving meal in any way reflects our Italian background, and while the immediate answer is yes (for with an Italian mother anything involving food reflects our Italian heritage), the answer is also no because Thanksgiving is the one holiday my mother uses to celebrate all things American, an opportunity to pay homage to a land which welcomed her with open arms.

            My mother came to this country as a young bride on the arm of my father, a soldier in the U.S. military; she was only 20 years old and determined to embrace this new life. She took language classes, became fluent in English, learned to drive, and volunteered for the American Red Cross. When my parents lived in Washington D.C. during the racial unrest of the sixties, my mother studied American history to understand what was happening.

            When she was 32 years old she stood before a judge in Savannah, GA and was sworn in as an American citizen. She had her picture taken under the American flag, and her nationality would henceforth be hyphenated, a bridge between the words Italian and American, between the country she was from and the country in which she now lived.

            Those two words also meant my sister, brother, and I got the best of both worlds. We spoke Italian with our Nonna and English at home; we ate gelato in Venice and an ice cream cone in Disney World; we explored the hills of Tuscany and the streets of Manhattan; and while holidays in our family were a beautiful blend of both cultures, there were some things quintessentially American that my mother embraced – and the traditional Thanksgiving meal was one of them.

            She had a lot to learn, however, and it took years of trial and effort to get it right. In one of her earliest letters to her mother, she described this strange, white cooking stuff that came in a blue can (Crisco shortening); she had never eaten turkey, much less cooked one; she had never heard of sweet potatoes (why, in America even the potatoes are sweet!); and she definitely didn’t know what to think about cranberry sauce or Jell-O (all that jiggling red stuff didn't look like food at all).

            It took years of trial and effort, of studying Betty Crocker and cutting out recipes from Good Housekeeping, but today my mother has perfected the art of the Thanksgiving meal. The moist turkey, the perfect balance of brown sugar and marshmallows in the sweet potato casserole and, yes, the dish of jiggling cranberry sauce are all displayed with a sense of pride on how far she has come. Two ceramic pilgrims decorate the dining room table, and in the afternoon everyone heads outside for a family game of backyard football or softball.

            Of course, there are small concessions to our Italian heritage: we sip espressos with our pumpkin pie and have a small glass of limoncello as an after dinner digestivo. But it is an American meal celebrating an American holiday, and with a rousing Buon Appetito! three generations of our family gather at Thanksgiving to honor the American half of our Italian-American heritage.

Buon Compleanno, Roma

Today the Eternal City celebrates its 2,771th birthday (based on the legendary founding of Rome by Romulus in 753 BC). Auguri, Roma! I have been there four times, but there is still so much to see, do, and experience. I keep a running list on what I plan to do on my next visit so, Roma, a presto (until then)!


And in case you don't have anything else to do this weekend other than read about Rome, here are some links of my adventures in Rome over the years.


1- The first time I visited Rome, go here.


2- Here's the time I attended the Angelus Blessing with Pope Francis along with 22 women who traveled with me to Rome.


3- Yes, I lost my temper in Rome. You can read about it here.


4- From Caravaggio to Reality. Planning a Girls' trip to Italy. Read all about it here.


5- McDonald's in Rome? In which I speak about the Slow Food Movement in Italy. Go here for an excerpt.


6- In which I share some Pope stories.


7- God, Michelangelo, and light sabers. Read about my art lesson here.


8- St. Peter's Square, after dark. A story about the light in the Pope's window.


9- How to parallel park in Rome. See the photo here.

Unbeknownst to me, my friend took that photo of me (upper right) as I was

listening to Pope Francis' Angelus Blessing. It's not a particularly flattering photo,

but it's real. I'm smiling, but also crying, and reflected in my sunglasses is the

window where the Pope was speaking.

The Tent

This time last year I was one of the featured speakers of the Sacred Heart Garden Festival, and in the days leading up to the event I was nervous. While I had spoken to women's groups and Bible study groups on numerous occasions, this time I would not only be speaking in a larger venue, but I would also be addressing an unknown audience; specifically, an audience of  gardeners when I was not (by any stretch of the imagination) a gardener.


To add to the nervousness, I wasn't even sure how many people would attend my talk. If anyone at all.


But I had a topic for which I was passionate (The Peasant Kitchen and Slow Food: The Italian Approach to Food, Dining, and Healthy Living) and after several months of preparation, I was ready to take everyone on a journey from Nonna's kitchen, to Rome's Spanish Steps, and finally to a garden party ... Italian style.


Ultimately that day turned out be a fun journey on so many levels. To be sure, it was a LOT of work. I used many props and visual aids (including a farm table), all of which had to be lugged down to the festival. And next time I speak in a large tent I am going to insist on air conditioning because between talking for almost an hour, assembling three different tablescapes, and channeling all my Italian passion and animation -- it got a little warm hot. But it was all good.


And best of all?


People came. The tent was full.

**Below is a synopsis on my presentation ...

"Open my heart and you will see, Graved inside of it, Italy."

Robert Browning, British poet

Andiamo a fare una passeggiata, my Nonna would often say to me, Let's go for a walk. Those walks are the reason why Verona -- and indeed, all the boot that is Italy -- holds a special place in my heart. I've visited the big cities (Rome, Venice, Florence, Naples), driven along the winding roads of the Amalfi Coast, hiked through the Dolomites, and sailed to Capri. I've watched the sun rise and set behind a row of Cypress tress and heard the rain spattering on ancient cobblestone streets.

This past Saturday, I spoke at the Sacred Heart Garden Festival and invited my listeners to accompany me on a different passeggiata as we explored the mystique that is Italy and delved into the reasons why so many non-Italians have fallen in love with the country.

Ultimately, Italians have been shaped by land, climate, history, food ... and when you throw in the quintessential Italian attitude and passion ... there isn't a single (or simple!) reason that can adequately explain why people are so drawn to the country. Like the people themselves, it's complicated; however, just as all ancient roads led back to Rome, part of the answer of discovering Italy's charm somehow seems to always circle back to food.

Italian food and Italian people are inseparable, and their love affair with food spills over into lifestyle. Robin Leach once said, "In Italy, they add work and life on to food and wine," and there is an element of truth to his words. The food makes the people and the people make the food, and this marriage translates into all areas of life: how they entertain, socialize, do business, and celebrate life.

To begin our passeggiata, I quoted the opening lines of Carlo Collodi's book, Pinocchio: "Once upon a time there was ... 'A king!' my young readers will instantly exclaim. But no, children, that's where you're wrong. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood."

Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. Not a wood carver named Geppetto, not a puppet named Pinocchio, but a block of wood. Ultimately, the author is reminding his readers to go back to the origins of the story, to the essence of what is. The block of wood represents the roots of our humanity.

And so our passeggiata began at the hearth of the Peasant Kitchen, where most of the foods we know and love today found their origins. From there we moved forward in history to 1986 with the grand opening of the first McDonald's restaurant in Italy ... an event that threatened not only Italian food, but contemporary Italian lifestyle and culture. As a result, the Slow Food Movement was founded as a way to preserve a way of life which revolves around producing and eating great food in a relaxed, sociable way.


Our passeggiata ended with an invitation to a garden party in which I demonstrated how to incorporate concepts from the Peasant Kitchen and the Slow Food Movement into our lives here, in Augusta, Georgia. Some of those concepts included simplicity (simple does not mean easy!), the magic of dining al fresco, the importance of embracing the seasons, a reminder to slow down, and how the company around the dinner table is an ingredient in and of itself.

Of course, this is just a synopsis of my presentation. I actually spoke for almost 50 minutes, during which I told stories, passed out recipes, and used a beautiful farm table to create several tablescapes that corresponded to various stopping points along our passeggiata.

It was a beautiful and fun way to spend a Saturday, and the Sacred Heart Garden Festival is one of the most beautiful events our city has to offer. I want to thank  Mary Louise for taking a chance and inviting a pretend gardener (me) to come speak; all the wonderful organizers at the festival for making me feel welcome; my friends who, despite a ridiculously busy Saturday (can we say prom?), came to listen to my presentation; and finally to Joe, Jonathan and Timothy who lugged that farm table from antique store, all the way home, to the festival, and back again.