Tomorrow is the last day of class. Ack! How did two weeks go by so quickly? I’m not sure I’ve learned enough to be done with class. I am definitely more comfortable listening to and understanding Italian, but that only means that I can understand about a quarter of what is being said to me, when someone is talking very slowly and using very simple words. Real speed Italian, I can get maybe one word out of ten, which is not really enough to do anyone any good. It’s going to be worse in Rome, where people speak in a dialect. It’s going to take a small miracle to find someone patient enough to speak Italian to us while we are there.
But, we aren’t there yet, and the last few days here in Perugia have been pretty full. On Tuesday, we had our first sit-down pizza. We’ve been getting slices to go for lunch quite a bit, from this very tiny place in a very tiny road. In Perugia, even more than in Florence, what constitutes a road seems pretty loose. One of the main streets, Via dei Priori, is a covered alleyway. You go two blocks before you see even a sliver of sky above you. We found our little pizza shop when we noticed a number of people emerging into the piazza from a small crack in a wall, holding slices of pizza. On closer investigation, the crack was a road (it’s about two and a half feet at it’s widest), and halfway down that road is Pizzeria Toscana, which is a hallway with an old man and a pizza oven. He bakes one rectangular pizza at a time, although often there are several types of pizza per rack. It’s a very thick crust, by Italian standards, but it is good and hot and very, very cheap: 1 Euro a slice. The zucchini is my favorite; Jeremy likes the pomodorini (cherry tomatoes). I tried to ask what kind of meat was on a slice once, and ended up buying “wurtzel,” which is sliced hot dog. Which is better than it sounds, but still isn’t good. Really? Italians are surrounded by the best sausage and cured meat in the world, and they use hot dogs on their pizza? They eat hot dogs at all? And yet, it is very common.
So, that’s lunch pizza. Tuesday, we had dinner pizza at Pizzeria Mediterraneo, which was written up very favorably by Lonely Planet. The pizza was excellent, but the clientele definitely slanted toward the American. We spent most of the evening listening to one American student bore another to tears with a non-stop monologue about her roommate problems. We sided with the roommates. The pizza was Napolitano-style, as is our beloved Pizzaoula in Florence, which means a medium thick crust. Jeremy had a delicate prosciutto crudo e funghi, while I had a diavolo – in this case, pepperoni-like salami and olives. The crust was chewy, the toppings were flavorful and plentiful, there was plenty of good olive oil, and the house white wine was apple-y and cheap. Very, very satisfying.
Yesterday was the cooking class. We were picked up by Angela Pitteri and her husband (who, it was later revealed, is an Economics professor at the University here in Perugia), and off we went to Todi. The landscape was gorgeous, and typically Umbrian: hills, vineyards, olive orchards. Did you know Italian differentiates the words for the fruit of a plant from the plant itself using gender? An olive is oliva (feminine), while an olive tree is olivo (masculine). Same with apple: mela and melo. Clever, and economical! Communque (anyway), the driving was a little rough, as were the roads, so I was very happy to reach the house. I think I need one. It was a beautiful farm house, surrounded by orchards and gardens. Angela has a pet goat, two dogs, and two cats, an outdoor wood-burning stove and grill, and a view to die for.
After a brief tour and time to soak in the landscape, Angela moved us to her kitchen and started us cooking right away. First up, pears stuffed with a mixture of chopped walnuts, honey, and red wine, baked in red wine and sugar. Then we moved on to tasting different olive oils. She kept saying the Umbrian was the most delicate, and the Tuscan was the strongest, but I swear it was the other way around. We made four different bruschetta toppings: oil with garlic, pomodorini with basil, ricotta with poppy seeds, and a delicious precursor to pesto, made from pinenuts, pecorino and mint. Pour copious amounts of olive oil, and presto. She showed us the chickens that her husband would be grilling for our secundo, beautiful, tiny little birds that had been marinating in white wine and peppercorns overnight, and we prepared a sauce made of chopped thyme, marjoram, parsley, lemon juice and olive oil. Finally, for our primi, we made risotto with saffron. She kept the heat up high the whole cooking time, way higher than I ever have, and the texture was amazing. The saffron taste was good, but she modified the original Milanese recipe, leaving out the marrow, using olive oil instead of butter, and using a vegetable stock. It was, to my taste, a little bland in taste.
(Angela helping Frank, with Julia watching them, and Jeremy watching me)
After a lot of cooking and tasting and talking, we ate the fruits of our labor. It was a great dinner. We were with Julia, Tanya, Sophia, and Frank, all of whom are native German speakers, so every now and then, Jeremy and I felt a little left out. Sophia, the youngest of the group (she’s in her gap year before college) is apparently a riot in German, reducing poor Tanya to tears a couple of times. She’s pretty funny even in English. Here is her description of Macbeth (which is taught in English in German high schools): “A guy meets some witches, who say he will be king. Then some things happen and everyone is dying.” That pretty much sums it up, don’t you think? I’m not sure I learned much new about cooking, but the language practice was excellent, as were the food, the people, and the context.
Today, the school arranged for us to tour the studio of a local glass artist and restorer. The studio is in a house that has been in the family (I think) since before the Pope decided to level most of Perugia to build himself a new fortress/residence, and was the studio of a famous stained glass artist. I think our host is the grand-daughter of said famous artist’s niece, but I’m probably wrong about that, because she spoke only in Italian and very quickly. Certainly she and her family lived upstairs in the palazzo, and certainly her mother and nonni taught her the business. The building was fascinating, as was what I could understand of the process, both of making and of restoring the work. But, honestly, I was only getting about a third of what was going on, and I could have been making some of that up. You too can look at the pretty and make up what you think was going on as well!
(No, really, this is a working stained glass studio. Unless I really don't understand Italian.)
On Sunday, we decamp for Rome. We are supposed to have internet there, but I am none too certain of its quality, or for that matter that we will really have it. It took many, many promptings before our landlady said she could give us some device that would give us internet, so . . . . I’ll try to write one more Perugia post, but if I go silent after Sunday, you’ll know why.
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