DIY POSTAL SERVICE...Is this what it's come to?

I guess once people started emailing each other, Post Offices worldwide thought it might make a great re-branding initiative.  You know, where you can start delivering the mail yourself, much like bringing home an Ikea piece of furniture or going to a Home Depot.  And heck, they're such successful businesses...Why not?
And so, while the U.S. & Italy start slowing down the service, even the strange gets stranger...
A friend in Milan kept finding mail for other buildings up and down the block in his mailbox.  Considering the volume they now transport, you'd think they'd at least get the address right.  No matter, every so often, he'd drop the envelopes at the right address and not think about it any further.  Until he went away for awhile.  Upon return, he had quite a number of letters that needed forwarding to the correct address.
Seeing that he lives just across the street from the Post Office, he thought he'd inform them of the lapse in correct mailbox delivery, while bringing them the stack of envelopes.  You can imagine what transpired next:

- You want to post these letters?  Well, no, not exactly.
- I'm trying to tell you that the person from this very office and up & down this very street isn't very keen on looking at address numbers...so, here, go ahead & re-deliver them.

Instead of a Grazie, or even a lowly, We'll take care of it...or, any other host of intelligent responses, he was met with the most outlandish:

- If you're so concerned, why don't you just go & deliver them yourself?  Because, if you leave them here, you'll have to pay the postage to have them sent to the correct address.

Naturally, he turned and simply walked away.


** I dedicate an entire chapter in my book to the Post Office:  The postman never rings even once 
Who'da thunk I would have been so spot-on?   
 Book available thru paypal on my official blog page / Amazon & Kindle

Culture Shock - What to Expect when you're an Expat

The longer I live in Italy, the more I feel like an alien setting foot in the USA.  I don't know the TV shows, picking up a People magazine boggles my brain, I watch with envy as kids' friends blithely open the fridge - in other people's houses.  And everyone goes barefoot, as soon as they walk in (or out of) the house.  So, after my mini-vacation in the USA, a few things made me laugh (or wince) upon the rientro (re-entry).  Here's a short list:

- Driving around the Colosseum.   Still gives me goosebumps.  But the drive to get there just isn't the same.  You realize that you risk getting rear-ended whenever you stop for pedestrians since no one but no one is expecting that.  But, coming from the suburbs, you are thrilled to even see human beings out and about (tho' you see them in any big city).  But here, pedestrians always have a concerned look in their eyes, some flee by your car, terror in their eyes, and I regularly see little old ladies make three or four attempts as if landing a plane in a tornado before they muster up the courage to cross.

Naturally, driving in Italy is the thing that strikes you most.  You let a car in front of you, three more dart in before you have time to move along.  Or, the fact that Romans gave up on indicating lanes, since no one stayed within the white lines anyway.  And, I don't know what they teach in Driver's Ed here about making left hand turns in intersections, but it's not unlike a game of 'capture the flag', using cars as the flags.  Sadly, this involves the pedestrians as well, with the cars skirting up the pedestrian walks in order to get through their turn. When I deign to do it correctly, I'm met with honks and epithets that I cannot publish here.

- Mealtimes.  We all know that mealtimes are big in Italy, and much of life revolves around them.  In the USA as well.  Except there, mealtimes start at a nebulous four or five and don't ever really seem to end.  Everything is about food in the USA.  It's a place that started with ice cream socials back in the day, and now has food eating contests for everything from a new furniture store opening to a church party.  The food fixation starts upon landing when you're smothered in deep-fried everything - while still in the airport.  I'm surprised they still use the word for breakfast there, because by my calculations, Americans never let the fast begin.

- The Mercato.  Buying my food from the little corner mercato always makes me feel like I've gone back in time.  The only thing that brings you into the present are the prices and the use of plastic bags.  Who needs Trader Joe's when you can get fresh peaches picked off the branch by the farmers?

- Bicyclists without helmets, and kids sitting in the front seat, in mamma's arms.  No further comment.

- Bringing my dog pretty much anywhere is fantastic.  The US may have as many dogs as people, but you'd never know it.  There, dogs are like those cement lawn ornaments, frozen stiff on the front lawn lest they get shocked after chasing a squirrel off the property.

- Purchasing a cappuccino at "normal" prices, round about $1.50 makes you never want to drink coffee anywhere else again.  Americans toting those huge cups full of everything everywhere begins to look like they carry baby bottles sized up for adults.  You realize how nice it is that Italians haven't totally bought into the 'walkie cup' food phase.

- Men sitting on park benches.  I've never seen it in the USA, although in NYC the men play checkers or cards (although I'm sure in Brooklyn or Queens they're a common sight).  I love it when I see them there, chatting away, wondering always what it is they talk about for hours on end, day after day.

Eating out in Italy: Diner Dash

While scanning TripAdvisor for some restaurant recommendations in Rome (I was cross-referencing places on a link I posted on my Travel Trips page to gluten-free restaurants around town), I came across a comment from a frustrated patron.  He complained that at a certain place, everyone got their meal served at a different time instead of all at once.  This came as quite a shocker.  A shock, because, the author was Italian.  As long as I can remember, food in Italy, like sweet revenge, is always best served hot -- regardless of who or what else was ordered at your table.  I'm not quite sure when restaurants started serving everyone all at once, but I know it slowly, but surely, must have seeped into the serving practices of ristoranti everywhere when I wasn't looking.
The reason I'm not quite sure is because, not one to imbibe on too much pasta, I often  order a slew of scrumptious appetizers for my meal.  And then I beg, plead and cajole to receive those appetizers when everyone else got their primo (first pasta dish course) or secondo (their entrée).  This simplest of requests has yet to transpire in actual fact, but no matter.  And that's because, generally speaking, I had grown accustomed to plates being served willy-nilly, no matter if our entire table had ordered a primo or not.

Picture from mycookingrecipes.com*

 

I remember the very first time I noticed what I thought was tantamount to abetting a food fight. Having grown up in a family that made eating out its family pasttime, I knew the routine.  But it was 1982 and I was visiting family friends in Florence.  We all sat down, we all ordered.  And then I was left, mouth agape -- and not from plying it with tasty Tuscan pane (well, maybe that, too) -- at seeing some in our party happily indulging while the rest of us were left to longingly look on.  I soon found myself salivating like one of Pavlov's pets.  To a restaurant aficionado like me, it was blasphemy on the highest order.
From that point onward, however, I started to notice the trend.  Every so often I would venture to put forth a request that we all get our meal at the same time, but when my fancy was entertained in this way, inevitably someone's meal would be served cold or clammy.  And so it was that I happily took up my place as the dinner theater entertainment while someone else carried on chewing, and then, like in a game of table tennis, got my turn to receive the same treatment in return.
Now that the Italians are complaining about this funny turn of events, I'm wondering...when did everything start coming out of the cucina all at once and when, exactly, did I go wrong? 

*check out the article on Italian Chefs wanting to throw a proverbial pie in the face of a Junior Minister in Italy's new govt at www.mycookingrecipes.com

Ferrero's NO NUTELLA DAY: Eating Chocolate-Covered Crow

When I was growing up in the food-friendly, marketing savvy USA, field trips weren't always made to cultural sites [although, the Henry Ford Museum & The Stratford Festival were part of the programming, as was a concert in Chicago of - Engelbert Humperdinck no less -- it was the height of Motown, bordering on Bob Segar's Rock&Roll & Patty Smith, so you can imagine how thrilled a bunch of teens were about that choice of venue...] Some of my earliest memories were class trips taken to Detroit's Wonderbread Factory, the Vernor's Ginger Ale factory and even to Stroh's Brewery where we were served up helpings of ice cream, not beer (although the adults could imbibe - even those on the job!)  Companies made sure we were given copious helpings of whatever it was they happened to be making that day.  And it worked.  We were hooked (and anyone who knows me will know that I will walk to all ends of the earth for a cool glass of ginger ale, which one can find in Italy, if you just put your mind to it).
So I was somewhat surprised when, on the World Nutella Day facebook page, two fellow bloggers & Nutella aficionados had posted this picture of their factory visit along with this caption below:

 Guess where we are? Ferrero's factory in Alba, Italy. 

Unfortunately, it's not open to the public--no Nutella tasting on site!

Anyone who follows my blog will know that one of my favorite mantras of Life in Italy is that the entire country needs a crash course in Marketing101.  Here we have one of the most successful companies on Planet Earth, and...no kiddie visits, no free samples, no glorious Benvenuti! from the likes of Guglielmo Wonka.  If I were a marketing consultant, I would send the entire staff on a field trip over to Hershey, Pennsylvania--rollercoaster park and all--but then again, given their global success, perhaps Ferrero really doesn't need the hassle.

Well, this became quite true when founders of the (unpaid) no. 1 Fan Club and probably most successful food fan club at that, having proudly established a worldwide phenomenon of World Nutella Day, were given 30 days to cease & desist.  Basically, seal it up like a heavy glass jar and, leave our brand alone, Grazie (or no Grazie as the case may be).

I cannot, for the life of me, get my head around what a short-sighted and unbelievably stupid move this has been for one great conglomerate.  You want to shut down people who freely profess their love of your product, and all the while for free?  To do what?  Give it to an ad agency who will charge you millions to produce the same warm fuzzies?  If this is not a case of sour grapes, I don't know what is.

It reminded me of the guy who made incredibly sturdy and recyclable furniture out of Fedex boxes.  He, too, was told in no uncertain terms to box it up.  A smart marketing exec over at UPS immediately offered him as many cartons as he'd like to keep production going strong.  Lego™, in an effort to protect their brand, just allowed the Rest of the World to dilute it by forcing them to call the Lego's, 'Bricks'.

But World Nutella Day is not a moniker, like Kleenex™ or Xerox™.  It's an event.  Did I mention a 'free' one at that?  And one that no one involved was making any money out of, besides?  Simply put, it was a fun-filled, deliciously chocolately experience.  So you shut them down 'cuz it's too popular?

It's no wonder I'm not a beer drinker. Not given the samples when we were youngsters, I never got truly hooked (save for during my college years, which I can't truly comment on, because I don't remember a thing).  As for Nutella™, once you come out of your sugar-induced stupor, perhaps you can tell us what's really behind all this.  In the meantime, I can't wait to see you in Business School marketing textbooks as a case history on 'what went wrong' - right up there with the change of recipe of Classic Coke, or Perrier's botched response to the chemical scare back in the 1980s. 

In the meantime, for all you Nutella Lovers out there, I propose a boycott.  And, to help you along, here's a wonderful little recipe on how to make your very own chocolate spread delight.  You can even freeze it in ice cube trays and make your very own little Lego Blocks errr...Not Nutella Bricks. 

 http://www.edamam.com/recipe/homemade-nutella-recipe-a646122aef54636bbe135d5f689bc488/nutella

Picture from http://thekotykreport.blogspot.it/2012/05/nutella-lawsuit-nonsense.html

Kept Under Wraps

We’ve been experiencing a cool spring, with temperatures this week barely creeping over the ‘60s. But to judge by the kids going to and from the school yards, well, you’d think that the ice age was upon us. Those kids are so wrapped up, they look like mini-replicas of the Michelin Man.
Here in Rome, you can always spot the foreigners a mile away. In November and March,  the Germans run around in their shorts and sandals (with socks). The Americans, not much better (they even wear shorts on the plane, while I'm seated, fretfully wrapped up in three blankets under my winter coat, scarf and hat). My sister’s kids, on a chilly April day were running around Cortona as if they were on the beach in August. Needless to say, I had on a hat, coat and scarf.
They actually stopped traffic.
People thought they must be misguided street urchins, and I spent the day fearful someone would call the authorities to pick them up off the streets & rush them into foster care. Upon seeing I somehow spoke the natives' tongue, however, it opened up a whole slew of comments -- mostly on how cold the kids must be (they weren't). One mother (and I am not making this up), whose child was actually wearing a hooded parka, leggings and mittens, ushered her kid away from the playground as fast as his thunder thighs could take him, as if the very idea of liberty might be contagious. The little boy took one last desperate look at these alien children, footloose and fancy free, as he waddled away in his winter wraps, probably into a heated vehicle.
But, what I can’t figure out is that while le mamme are deathly afraid of their kids ‘catching cold’, they’re even more paranoid about kids' sweating – and ultimately caving in from an attack of consumption. In what is seriously a case of mass denial, the mammas look on fondly at their little rosy-faced bundles of joy (bundle being the operative word here). Except it's not the cool air which gives them their cherub-like appearance, but the fact that they are actually roasting underneath their handknit sweaters & down coats. Alas, they're protected by the ubiquitous undershirts, right out of a 1940s neorealism flick. Probably coated with the Italian version of Vick's Vapor Rub besides.
And so it seems, even with the arrival of new generations of mammas & bambini, it is still the calendar which dictates the dress code. And that explains why you’ll only find crazy foreigners seated in the outdoor cafès on a sunny December day.

Guess who lives in Italy?

Italy's Taxis-What's Wrong with this Picture?

I know there's a joke in there somewhere...about how you can spot a tourist on the streets of Italy.  In the old days, it was the awful way they dressed, but now everyone has co-opted the ridiculously casual-everyday-look.  The elderly still stick out like sore thumbs, usually due to their dove white skin vis-a-vis Italy's elderly, who are more likely soaking up the rays at their beach house.  Men with socks in their sandals are still a dead giveaway. Living in Rome, the tourists are, of course, the ones on pretty much every street corner looking with some bewilderment at their maps.  So, aside from those, how else can you tell the tourists?  Ah yes...they are the ones on every street waving their arms frantically...at the sea of white taxis whizzing by them.  
That's because, in Italy, like in many other countries, you have to call a cab by name.  Or, you need to head over to the spots where the taxis are beached and catch your cab.  They're easy to spot, because there are dozens upon dozens of these white elephants lounging as if they have just had their mid-day snack in the Bush. A few blocks away, dozens of people are busying themselves waving their arms as if trying to keep away a swarm of bees.  
There are plenty of sites dealing with the dilemma of taking taxis in Italy, and I've listed some tips in the Caveat Emptor section on my Travel Tips Page on my official blog.  Rome was recently voted the worst place in Europe for getting ripped off by taxis, but generally, that has not been my experience.  And besides...it would seem that Naples wasn't in the running, or most people just don't bother with the Naples taxis in the first place - which is a very good thing.  As for the Roman taxi drivers, they're way nicer than those chip-on-the-shoulder Milanese ones but then again, the Milanese never ever refuse a doggie passenger.  In that business capital of Italy, they know a customer when they see one.

Picture from http://www.mollicone.it
Italian Taxis wait for a fare

But what to this day still never ceases to amaze me is the standstill of the Roman cabbies.  They cite the cost of gas, which I can understand, although they pay less than the rest of us.  It's also by law that they can only pick up at the cab stands, so there is that to contend with as well.  But, every time I see them amassed there, swapping stories, reading newspapers, while the vast majority would rather hop in a cab than wait upwards of 30 mins for a bus ride, it just makes me wince.  

Picture from http://www.vostrisoldi.it
New York City cabbies - always on the move

With the tough economic situation in Italy, taxi drivers continue to plead poverty while waging mass protests until they can up the cost of a ride.  My Econ 101 Professor taught me that, actually, they needed to lower the price to attract the passengers.  
I don't know how one could ever break the literal standstill of Italy's taxis without suffering politically, but just once -- I would love to take the whole cabbie union on a field trip to New York City.  Heck, we don't even have to go that far.  Barcelona or Màlaga would do.  Finally, they could see firsthand what a dynamic day they could be having in their aerodynamic vehicles, whisking people here, there and everywhere--instead of using their time to catch up on the news and soccer scores.
And just think--tourists would love it, because then, not only would they no longer need to wave their arms in the feeble attempt to catch a cabbie's attention, they'd finally blend right in with everyone else on the sidewalk.