Chapter 1 Italy

Alda was my Italian grandmother, she was special, she was food. What we call in todays lexicon “sustainable” and “seasonal” was what she practiced as a rule. This is the “old world”  ethos. You eat what is in season and you eat decent portion sizes so that you can have multiple courses. I don't know much of Alda, I know I loved her. She spoke no or very little english so our common language was Italian. On the other hand my english grandparents spoke no Italian, their common language was german. Remember these people came of  age in a pre ww2 Europe and Germany was the economic powerhouse sorta like the US is now. (Keep your opinions to yourself on the last statement.) She was stern but fair, and as Ive said before, everything was fresh and first rate. Alda grew up in Varese in northern Italy in the foothills of the alps in the economic powerhouse of Lombardia. The Swiss border and alpine regions of Piedmont and Alagna not far away. She had an eccentric mother, my great grandmother, who drove around town in a black cadillac and made her staff wear tailored uniforms, in black naturally. She had a staff of twelve and insisted on wearing a black throw rug when she drove through town, even in Summer. She had a big Brazilian parrot that was temperamental and apparently used to bite my mother when she would go visit. Alda went to a school in Florence area (Pistoia) called “Le Mantellante” which was very exclusive and had a very privileged upbringing. My great grandmother eventually remarried and had two additional daughters which she favored over Alda , so Alda settled in to a domesticated life of daily shopping at the market and lovingly tending her gardens. This horrified my great grandmother, she would never forgive Alda for not becoming upwardly mobile and treated her with disdain. How she met my grandfather, Egeo, I have no clue. He was tall and handsome, it must have been a natural attraction, one can only speculate. Once in a great while my great grandmother would come and visit and it was a big production. Big enough so that a menu was submitted for approval before her arrival! Now thats really all the information I have on her background and while its important its not the point. Alda was an incredible cook, in all ways.

The section of Italy where my mother grew up, and where I partially grew up is where the plains meet the foothills. It's oddly reminiscent of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Big, tall pines and a dry almost grassless underbrush with lots of duff. Summers are generally dry with little or no rain, winters are different. Rainy or snowy with periods of intense sunshine colder and drier yet still warm sometimes. It really is like being in the Tahoe area. There are about five large majestic lakes like Lake Como and Maggiore and many historical and perennially trendy towns and villages. It is the playground of some very famous people.

When we would come to visit in the winters and for easter, the entire family would come from London. Me, my brother, my father and my mother and sometimes a dog. We would come via plane or train and post up for at least a week in the winters. Summers my brother and I would usually fly out alone for a couple of weeks. My Italian family was traditional, with my grandfather owning some gas stations he would leave early for work, and arrive back in the afternoon for supper, he worked long hours. Breakfasts consisted of “mulino bianco” biscuits and cafe latte, always. There was no Italian version of “the great British breakfast” it was always a pastry with a hot drink. Simple. Heres a little carb with a splash of “up and at em” to sate you til lunch. Lunch, according to my mother, was the same thing every day: pasta pomodoro, cheese course, fruit. Sometimes I can recall some other things being served but I will defer to moms on this one. I can remember going to eat at a restaurant in Italy only once with my grandparents I have to believe we went out more than that but for the life of me I don't even remember going to another persons house to eat, only Egeo and Alda. They lived on a very large “compound” of sorts. It must have been about an acre of just over with a large Tyrolean style of house. There was an area with large mature old growth trees that my brother and I used to play under during the hot days. There was a large iron gate you had to unlock and commandeer your way through to get into the driveway, jesus I can still remember the smell of “Nonno's” Fiat vividly, after which you were in the front of the house. Off to the south side was the vegetable garden. A large, well tended and mature garden whose bounty used to spill directly into our kitchen all summer long. Rows, I mean rows not aisles of tomato plants, taller than I was. Zucchini, herbs and I think I remember corn. Actually I remember a lot of things, whether they happened or are real is another question altogether. We had two very large, or at least to me they were, guard dogs both “Alsatian's” or what yanks call german shepherds. Diana and Dino, they were awesomely majestic and scary at the same time. Back home in London we had a west highland terrier. Cool but by no means majestic, he was called “monster” and he was just that. Back to Italia. Whenever a car or a moped or the occasional foot traffic would wander by the house the dogs would go batshit nuts and sprint along the fence-line while barking and bearing their teeth. Our neighbors had even meaner dogs, one that would later embody the total summation of fear that I could manifest at the time, Lara. Dinners were a nightly multi course event. A big frigging deal every night. I can remember Nonno calling “lavarsi le mani” or “wash your hands” every night to signify the beginning of the feast. This ritual meant that great things were forthcoming. Starting with a soup course, then a pasta, then a protein course, then salad, then cheese nuts and fruit, then if we still had room and I always did chocolate and that chocolate was always “Perugina.” This was nightly, no shit, Nonno wouldn't have it any other way. Sometimes there was homemade ravioli, sometimes there was veal milanese, sometimes risotto. Bread was delivered every other day still warm from the bakery. Ahhhhhh, the old world. A couple of times Egeo and Alda came to London for christmas, which, as I recall wasn't a good idea.” I believe they got along fine but can someone who fought for Churchill get along with one of Mussolini's men? Somewhere in here should be a paragraph break but I don't know where to put it so I'm gonna keep going. My brother and I, despite all the good intentions of my grandparents, didn't really enjoy our time there. Firstly there was a communication barrier, we spoke Italian but some things just got lost in translation. Secondly we felt marginally isolated and cut off since all our other friends were back in London during that time. Thirdly we were kind of spoiled brats, enough said. One Summer, after crying like little bitches we demanded to be flown back to the UK since we were fed up with having nothing to do all day! Nonno, and Nonna acquiesced and got us memberships to the local swimming pool where the kids and teenagers hung out during the day, it was one of the most fun summers I ever had. Since we never went to a “camp” and always stayed home or travelled with our families this was the closest we came. Word.

We lost touch with our grandparents after my Mom and Dad got divorced. Eventually, after their passing, my Mother and my uncle got into such a terrific row that they have not spoken since. This is going on almost thirty years. I miss that food. Today when I go somewhere, and they pipe the whole “seasonal/local” thing down my throat it makes me cringe. Have we lost touch with our food roots to such a degree that we need to be reminded of them hourly? Has globalization potentially ruined the eating habits of cultures that cant process what we have made food become? What the hell IS corn nowadays? Shit.You got countries buying huge swaths of land in foreign places to hedge their bets against a food shortage home-side, what does that say? We haven't lost touch with the earth as a humanity, the western and developing world have; and now, since they control the wealth of the world, they are taking more and more. People are just greedy folks, thats how it is. I'm not saying that globalization and upward mobility are the cause of societal ruin but they are. Call me the “Vanguard of the Proletariat.”