Our cohort of expat bloggers in Italy (#COSI) has bitten off about as much as it can chew this time: Italian regional food wars.
I occasionally get asked to summarize my vast (ha!) knowledge on life in Reggio Emilia to those who are looking to visit or move here. The following is what I usually tell them… (UPDATE: Plus, get info on our live Q&A session on what it’s REALLY like to live in Italy)
Somewhere in Sweden there’s a well designed room of blonde people eating meatballs and discussing how to best debilitate various consumer groups into subjection. I am here to report that they have yet to conquer the Italians!
I would like to put forth a prediction that this refreshing, fizzy, chilled red wine soon gets picked up as the go-to drink in trendy wine bars all over America. Here are my reasons:
This is the Hollywood-like (only not really) dramatic retelling of our persistent loathing of the vista from our balcony: ‘La Casa di Sand and Fog’.
What is sisso? Some would say it’s like gold. It’s the fuel of the regional agricultural industry. It’s the byproduct of the rich food culture of traditional Emilia. It’s a farmer’s most essential source of nourishment. It’s the smell that fills the air at dinner time in the summer. It’s the taste that lingers in your mouth after exhaling.
It’s pig poo.
I just started this blog last weekend, but I’ve already had a couple of people note that I’m located in the area where we’ve had multiple earthquakes recently… they’ve asked what it’s like, so I thought I would just write a quick note about our experience here.
Whence last we spoke, back in October, I was very focused on cocktail creation. Why? Well, drinking helps, right? 🙂 K, maybe that humor is a little dark for the moment. Joking aside, the short and diplomatic version of my story over the past few months is this…
So let’s say, hypothetically, that you’re a Texpat living in the province of Reggio Emilia (totally hypothetical), and you want to treat your Italian girlfriends to a Margarita Night. It’s not as easy as you think…
“Authenticity… consists in having a true and lucid consciousness of the situation, in assuming the responsibilities and risks that it involves, in accepting it in pride or humiliation, sometimes in horror and hate.” – Sartre
A journey through 6 Italian sayings that may or may not aid you in your search for sex this Valentine’s Day weekend.
I am back from my recent adventure, and I am overwhelmed by the quantity of material that warrants this blog’s attention and your comments. Take, for example, Tony.
Yesterday I was supposed to publish a post for you all to read, as part of our super-cool expat blogger group, C.O.S.I. (Crazy Observations by Stranieri in Italy. My fellow bloggers have dutifully presented theirs to you, but not me. Nope, I’m sorry to say that you will not be getting my thoughts on our…
It took six years (to the day) to glean this little pearl of cultural wisdom… just one of many in the long pearl necklace that alternately chokes and adorns my neck.
I’m writing to you on this beautiful Sunday morning with a quick post that perhaps differs from my usual jesting with the Italian culture. My marito and I woke up to an Italian news article by La Repubblica that surprised us quite a bit.
Check out our new Facebook Page and follow us to get all the #COSItaly posts as they are published! You are here because you want to learn more about the authors who have (most likely) blown your mind with their incredible insights on what it’s REALLY like to live in Italy as a foreigner. The COSI…
It’s hard not to love the Tico team. They’re like the little engine that could.
It’s hard not to hate the Italian team. They sucked it up pretty hard.
This week, a group of us stranieri pazzi expatriate bloggers here in Italy have decided to join forces and tackle a common subject: Stuff we didn’t do before moving to Italy.
Many of the culturally shocking aspects of my life here in Italy cannot actually be attributed to living in Italy, but instead to living in a small town. Case in point, this past weekend I voyaged to rural Ireland and found it shockingly comparable to a small town experience here in Italy.
Please allow me to introduce you to someone very special. She is but a concept, yet at the same time very very real. She is the true heart of Italy. And she is the thorn in my side.
My tips about how to watch American men in spandex… with an Italian husband.
If two Italian staples like Buffalo Mozzarella and Catholic Nuns aren’t pure… then how do I know if anything is really pure?
Beer + Christmas Season + Crazy Italian Ladies = This.
A quantification of the amount of life being sucked out of an expat, as well as a measurement of the subsequent reaction one can expect.
A cryptic, yet literal, ‘How To’ guide for the logistics of buying land in Italy. (By the way, we now own 0.000023% of Italy!!!)
A caseifico is a cheese factory (case comes from the dialect for cheese; -ificio is from building “edificio”). Aperto means open. So it’s like an Open House event for cheese factories. Here are my photos and notes for your enjoyment and curiosity.
The whole region of Emilia is a buzz today with the impending demolition of this hideous, abandoned vertical pig farm that has been blighting the countryside next to Canossa Castle for decades. Come watch it go down!
I am telling you, there is old stuff everywhere in Italy. Stuff just lying around all over the place. It boggles my mind.
A fun recipe for your pears AND for your marriage to an Italian man. Remember, your job is to open his horizons!
You ain’t got the blues ’til you lose what you got. I may have met the love of my life, but at what cost? Fluffy towels, baby, fluffy towels.
I can now officially report that my sprouts have sprouted, and that I have consumed said sprouts without dying. So, I think that’s a pretty good outcome. Here’s what I learned along the way (#fitaly):
Am I the only nutcase English-speaking expat who has problems with these words? Better question – am I the only nutcase who uses visualization techniques?
Tips for how to combat these potentially dangerous (and certainly annoying) pests.
While the chains of love will forever bind me to tortelli and Parmigiano-Reggiano, I feel that I must break free. I must rebel. I must grow sprouts.
An analysis of the keys to a fulfilling life, according a Reggiano farmer.
My daily life can no longer support the onslaught of carbohydrates and pork that this country is wielding at me. This is my call for help. (#fitaly)
The title of this post may be misleading, in that it implies that I already know how to porcini like a pro… Which is not, in fact, the case. It is the quest! Join me…
How do you tactfully beg this of your fiance’s brother at their mother’s dinner table? This was the task I was charged with one memorable evening two years ago.
The second week after arriving in Italy, as I was knee deep in my attempt to nest in my boyfriend’s bachelor pad, our toilet broke… it was a Friday morning. This is the story of my naive attempt to have it fixed.
This post provides photographic and definitive proof that Permigiano-Reggiano is Reggiano first and foremost.
What Valentine’s Day is complete without an extensive discussion of Italian slang derived from female private parts?
Somehow, between the chocolate covered strawberries and the bottle of passito wine, my husband and I ventured into this graphic subject late last night. It was actually kind of fascinating.
It’s that time of year again here in rural Emilia… that time of year when La Famiglia gets together for a full day of literally pigging out. The Maialata (‘maiale’ means ‘pig’ and ‘-ata’ kind of makes it a ‘fest’) is a traditional meal that takes place in January, when farmers used to butcher their pigs for the coming year’s supply of prosciutto and salame.
The word ‘fighetto’ has recently become somewhat of a staple in my ever evolving Itanglish vocabulary. Let’s dissect, shall me?
Welcome to ‘Married to Italy’ Big city Texan girl meets small town Italian boy. Chaos ensues. My expat blog stories – both funny and tragic – about loving, dating, living with, and marrying an Italian man in the province of Reggio Emilia… … with a dog. I am a thirty-ahahencoughugh-year-old American expat, married to a…
Yes, that’s right… I may have found it. While I cannot claim to have tried EVERY burger in Italy… (someday perhaps)… I will say that I have been grossly disappointed multiple times by restaurants claiming to have the real deal and not following through. My disappointment does not just stem from the simple fact that…