So we are really enjoying our
living like a local experiment – 3 weeks in Venice. Wow.
Americans don’t take three week vacations. I mean, you may have that much time allotted to
you, but no one ever goes ‘on holiday’ like they do over here. We work too hard, we multi-task way too
much. And oh yeah, the business would
probably close down without us there – right?
Reality check.
So I asked for the time off. I hoped that they would understand the
importance this trip has to me – and to my surprise, they did! But Italian Catholic guilt, which is second
only to Jewish guilt, had me concerned that I not give them even a moment’s
pause or cause to rethink their decision.
So I busted my ass for more than a month before leaving so that
everything that I could possibly control and complete was done. Finito.
Kaput. Projects that were
sitting on my desk gathering dust were miraculously moved to the top of the To
Do list. I asked a couple of my team
mates to pinch hit for me for a few tasks, but other than that, my desk was
clean, my away messages were set and I was O-U-T out!
So we get here (see previous
post) and the apartment is great – for that first night. Apparently our apartment, (we shall call it ‘the
step-apartment’) was occupado the night we arrived so they put us in the
Italian Palazzo equivalent of the Penthouse.
Only problem with that was that we only got to enjoy it that first
night. Two bedrooms, Murano glass chandelier,
view of the canal and a damn good-sized kitchen. And then on day two we get its red-haired
step sister.
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| It was nice while it lasted... |
You ever been to IKEA? Seen those tableaus they put together where
they show you how you can live in 300 square feet? Well welcome to the next three weeks.
Not that it’s bad, it’s actually
pretty comfortable. By European
standards. We've got a small living
room, a decent sized bedroom and bathroom but a teensy, tiny galley style
kitchen. Maybe it’s a kitchenette? Wait, it’s Italy so it’s probably a ‘kitchetini’
– yeah, that’s the ticket! The
refrigerator is like a dorm sized fridge.
Which is fine; we plan on cooking a lot and I don’t need to lay in
supplies to feed a Biafran family of 12, but wow. Oh and under the sink there are three (3!!)
different garbage cans for your various recyclables. Paper in one, glass and plastic in another
and biodegradables (read: food and other yucky stuff) in the third.
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| Garbage is a big thing here |
Now I’m a horrible recycler – I honestly
don’t think about it all that much. So I've
got that going against me. But
everything on this island garbage-wise has got to be floated off. So these people take this stuff way seriously. I now fret over the garbage. I second guess myself over garbage. Oh my God, I wrapped the banana peel in a paper
napkin – is that bio or paper? Oh wait, it's both. I must separate and categorize my waste. Good Lord. When I’m in a hotel on
vacation I want to leave the towels on the floor and have my sheets changed
every damn day – I do not want to have to ponder the deeper meaning of garbage.
*Massive
run-on sentence alert* So in making my garbage, we visited the
market in Garibaldi which is also in our neighborhood of Castelo to gather some
food to make dinner and some snacks so we aren't spending every minute in
pursuit of pasta. The thing I love about
Garibaldi is that it’s a real neighborhood.
So many of the neighborhoods in Venice aren't really neighborhood-ish. Not that you can always see anyway. A lot of people live above stores or above restaurants,
bakeries, etc. There doesn't seem to be
any difference between being zoned residential or commercial. You just are.
Single family detached dwellings don’t really exist here. So if you live in an apartment over a glass
store, you don’t have a yard, or a stoop or a campo to hang out and meet your
neighbors in. But Castelo and Garibaldi
are different. There are more parks and
green space; there are wider streets so the shopping is more centralized. And in addition to the little green grocer
markets and fish stands … there’s the barge.
The barge is a floating green
grocer – every fruit and vegetable you can imagine as well as some you've
probably never seen before. Everything
is sold by weight and even the crudest of markets here have all invested in
pretty impressive weights and measures technology. Like most Americans, I buy food based on the
size portion I need, actual weight be damned. I rarely know the weight of the containers,
boxes or packages I regularly buy and I’ve managed to survive this long. Personally I like to stay as far away from
ANY scale as possible. And here’s another
newsflash – I don’t know jack about the Metric
system.
Everything in Europe is measured
using the Metric system. President Jimmy
Carter tried to get the U.S. to embrace this otherwise universal measuring
system back in the 70’s. It was a dismal
failure and may be one of the reasons he was only a single term President. Regardless, I’m convinced that aside from a 2
liter bottle of Diet Coke, the only Americans who recognize grams, kilos, etc.
are drug dealers and DEA Agents.
So I’ve got my beautiful
zucchini, fresh peppers, asparagus and fragola (strawberries) and it all comes
to about six Euros (around 8 bucks and change). We head to another market to buy pasta, bread
and oh look (she said rather excitedly) fresh pesto!!
So it was about 10 Euros per
kilo, I figure there are only 2 of us so 250 grams should be perfect. Well, she gave me 272 grams which wouldn’t
bother me much, but damn! 272 grams of
pesto is like a vat of pesto!! And of
course I can’t tell her it’s too much – wouldn’t know how to anyway. She’s looking at me like I’m a dumb tourist
who’s holding up the line (I am). So I
duck my head and take my bucket ‘o pesto and bury it in the basket hoping
Michael doesn’t ask me if there’s some reason I’m stocking up for
Pestomagedden.
The good news is the stupid pesto
is the best I’ve ever had. We’ve done Pappardelle
with veggies and sausage (and pesto), chicken scaloppini with fresh gnocchi
(and pesto) and used it as a condiment on an antipasti platter as well. And I still have damn pesto. I think it freakin’ regenerates itself
overnight or something. It just won’t go
away. When the big one hits there will
be three things left standing:
cockroaches, Cher and this pesto.
By the way, you’re all invited
for an authentic Italian meal sometime soon.
Guess what I’m serving…
I crack myself up.
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