Superstitions

My first night at the opera in Florence. Not Verdi or Puccini, unfortunately. This one is by Strauss. I've been advised not to wear purple. Although it's the color of Fiorentina, the home team--they're called "Viola" for short, even--purple also is a funerary color and considered bad luck in the theater.

I guess it's no crazier than "Break a Leg!" or the curse of Macbeth...

Good Neighbors

In a recent poll, Italians were evenly split between the celebrities they would like to live next to. About one-fourth said they would like to live next to George Clooney (perhaps they want to live at Lake Como). Another 20 percent preferred Monica Bellucci and the same number picked two Italian soccer stars. But nearly half said they would not want to live next to the most famous Italian paparazzo, Fabrizio Corona.

Seems counterintuitive: If you're living next to Bellucci or Clooney, isn't Corona likely to be parked outside all the time anyway?

Poppies

Last year, we arrived in Tuscany too late to see the fields of poppies. But this week, the first red heads popped up in Cascine....

Italian T.P.

In honor of Earth Day, a note about Toilet Paper:

Virtually all the toilet paper in Europe comes from recycled paper. But not so in the States. We Americans still like our Charmin to come from virgin forest.

I've been trying out Italian brands to find one that meets our exacting standards. (Some feel a bit like sandpaper.) This one is slightly over the top. Called "Regina," it has a royal blue monogram and smells like baby powder...

Bad tippers

Compared to other residents of Western Europe and the U.S., Italians are stingy with their gratuities: According to a recent poll, 62 percent of English tourists are regular tippers, followed by the French and then, far behind, the Italians. (American tourists are on par with the Brits.)

Few Italians tip even when they're home--not in cabs, restaurants or hotels. I figure there are several explanations for this miserliness: Italian restaurants usually add a "service" charge meant to cover the water and bread brought at the start of a meal. Waiting tables is a career here, as it is in France, so base salaries are higher. And finally, Italian wages on the whole are much less than those in Northern Europe--$29,000 a year in 2007.

Still, Italian waiters seem to expect a little something from American diners...

Enchanted April

It's like someone flipped a switch...The tourists have descended en masse since Easter. The cold, gray drizzle of winter is over and the glorious Tuscan sun is back.

I'm figuring out the international travel itinerary:

January--the Japanese

February--French and Germans

March--British

Early April--British

Late April--French students on spring break

and...Americans with Rick Steve's books

May--Americans with Frommer's in hand

June--Americans

July--Americans

August--Americans

September--Americans

October--Americans

November--French and Germans

December--Italians

The restaurant waiters are becoming slightly more hostile...

No-Fault Divorce, Italian Style

Divorce didn't happen in Italy until the 1970s. Even now, the law sets up a rigorous process meant to discourage marriage splits: First, couples have to legally register their separation. And then they wait FOR THREE YEARS for the divorce to be final. No Vegas weddings here...

Adopt-a-Highway, Italian Style

In Tuscany, there are streetsweepers whose job it is to clean up after everyone else--dog poop, water bottles, newspapers. All the flotsam residents can't be bothered to throw in trash bins themselves.

In the south, there don't seem to be any hired streetsweepers, and the difference is noticeable. While American tourists get most of the blame, I saw all the evidence to the contrary: locals burning piles of garbage, sifting trash out their car doors or hauling black garbage bags to dump at scenic overlooks along the Amalfi Coast highway. This can't ALL be the mafia's fault.

They seriously need a crying Indian commercial or Lady Bird Johnson here...

Pizza Nazis

Along with everyone else, we found the most famous pizzeria in Napoli last weekend--L'Antica Pizzeria da Michele. Circa, 1870, it's a well-oiled machine:

Arriving just after noon, we dutifully took our number and stood outside on the sidewalk for 20 minutes. At the appointed time, we were ushered to a table in the cramped front room--family-style seating is not unheard of if you're a small party. (Two kinds of pie to choose from--Marinara and Margherita, 4.50 euros. Extra mozzarella is 50 cents more. Water, beer or Coke to drink.) The guy took our order. It arrived hot and steamy 10 minutes later--almost like they knew what we were going to have. Perfectly salty, charred crust and a mild tomato sauce...

Fifteen minutes later, we were out the door again. The line was down the block when we left.

Mysteries of the Ancients

Our budding archeologist FINALLY got to see Pompeii and was bitterly disappointed by the lack of bodies (the real reason he wanted to go, apparently).

Half the fun of Pompeii is figuring out what things are: A giant raised sidewalk or an obstacle course? Toilet or food receptable in an ancient tavern?

We told Jack the brothel was the "House of Love" and left it at that....

Rest Stops, Italian Style

In the States, a rest stop is the drive-through at McDonald's or a cold-water-only public restroom on the windswept prairie. Here, the highway is the autostrada (a toll road), so you're trapped on the asphalt. But there are worse things...

The Italian rest stop is an engineering and gastronomic marvel: Many are built as bridges over the highway so travelers heading in both directions can take advantage of the same cafeteria. And several have solar panels installed as carports for shade. Most are stocked with books, CDs and toys for last-minute birthday gifts. And the eats go far beyond American fast food -- You can order pasta made to order, veal cutlets, insalata caprese or a simple panino.

In this Autogrill between Napoli and Roma, they were selling big hunks of buffalo mozzarella with fresh baguettes....

Speckled hens

White eggs in that lovely shade of eggshell are impossible to find in Italy. All the eggs are brown, brown, brown. And the dye tablets I shipped were a year old. So, I wasn't sure how our egg-dyeing tradition would go...

Yellow and orange were a waste--although Jack insists you can see the color change. The pink, blue and green turned out muted, earthy tones.

In Like a Lamb

Agnello has finally arrived in Firenze grocery chains this week. Apparently, with the hind leg, you also get the spine...

Let Them Eat Cake

In Italy, there seems to be a cake or pastry for every occasion: Schiacciata con L'Uvo for the grape harvest, Panettone for Christmas, Cenci for Carnevale and La Colomba for Easter.

I took gingerbread cookies to a Christmas party and the assembled guests were amazed there isn't one treat--aside from maybe pumpkin pie--that Americans collectively eat on our holidays.

This bread has peaches and pine nuts and almonds.

I kinda feel I should be making hot-cross buns or something.