On Artichokes

When I was a little girl artichoke night was one of my favorite days of the week.  We had them quite often, as you do when you grow up with a foodie mom living in California.  Still, it always seemed like a special event to have my very own artichoke, steaming fresh from the pot, placed on my plate.  In a family of 7 people, and being the smallest of that crew, I grew up sharing a lot, as is the right and good and fine thing to do... but I never had to share my artichoke.
We ate them leaf by leaf, dipping the ends of the petals in butter or mayonnaise.  The heart of the artichoke, hidden under a mash of prickle grass, was the best part of all; the trophy at the end that, somewhat cup shaped, could either be eaten completely on its own, or could be used as a fine goblet for a large wallop of mayonnaise.
Mmmm.  Delicious.
My relationship with artichokes changed when I grew up and moved to Seattle.  Artichokes weren’t as readily available, or were at best expensive and disappointing.  Tough, woody, stringy.  It’s no wonder my food-loving daughter who eats almost everything exclaimed at an early age that it was artichokes that she absolutely would not/could not eat.  Heartbreaking.
But now the story gets better.

You see “carciofi” (artichokes) are kind of a big deal in Rome.  And even though it’s not technically the season, they seem to be everywhere, and they are all as beautiful as the ones I grew up with in California.  Smallish, green and slightly purple like little painted Easter eggs; they are irresistiblely beautiful.
They are prepared mostly two ways: alla romana, and alla guidia.  Alla Romana is simmered until butter-soft in oil and water, parsley and mint, upside down, you eat only the heart and stem.
It is delicious, but I think Alla Guidada is our favorite).  It basically is a Alla Romana artichoke squashed flat, then fried to a crisp.  Even my artichoke skeptic daughter enjoys carciofi Alla Guidada.  The outside petals are a bit like eating extremely thin and flavorful potato chips, while the inside heart stays warm and soft.
We’ve traveled across the globe, but for the first time in my adulthood I feel as though I’ve returned to this part of my heart that is nestled in what I always considered to be a uniquely Californian food.  It’s nice, especially now with the horrible fires happening in my native state, to eat artichokes again and feel that love and closeness for my homeland.  Thank you, Rome, for this and more.

Watching from Afar

Our hearts are with you, from across the globe, watching as election results continue to filter in, as the fires burn through our California homeland, as angry men rampage in fits of violence through places of peace.

It’s weird to be living in this city that has fallen and risen so many times, watching from afar our own country feeling its bones and biting at its own tail.  We see our whole life displayed before us on the internet going on without us, and we feel both heartsick and somewhat grateful to have this moment of time and distance to reflect on our life from afar.  

One common theme you learn from Roman history: tyrant leaders rise and then fall hard;  history does not look kindly on leaders who take their people down a road of disgrace.
But who am I to say if these timelesss tales are indeed timeless... I guess we’ll see how this particular story ends.

Fall in Rome

Fall has come to Rome.  It changed in an instant with a news worthy Hailstorm..  We opened our window when the commotion began, and hail the size and shape of perfectly formed glass marbles came flying into the foyer.
Everywhere we go, I hear the sing-songy voices of the Italians chatting about the weather (che freddo!). Tyler says our fruit lady was alarmed the other morning when the girls flounced down to the market in the the early morning in only their dresses with no coats (it’s still warm by Seattle standards, and between the thunderstorms and hail there is bright blue sky that reflects beautifully off the marble and brick).
But fall is not summer.  There is a wind on the river.  There are old ladies bundled in cashmere running across the street.  There are men selling chestnuts in Piazza Navona.  And the fountain of the four rivers, finally freed from throngs of summer tourists, was drained this morning for a little post-season cleaning.
My girls were fascinated.

Piazza Navona Bubble Man

There is a bubble man in Piazza Navona.   

For us, this is a big deal.   St. Peter’s, The Pieta, the ancient streets and pillars of the Roman forum, even the colosseum— they are all fine, but honestly for my girls everything is secondary to the Bubble Man.  

This is what it means to be living in Rome:  to find the every day sparks of life that are living and working among the sites.  Piazza Navona is just down the road from where we are living.  We’ve gone through the obligatory mornings of admiring and learning about the sculptural fountains; we know about the four rivers, about Bernini and Borromini.  We very much love Neptune wresting the octopus. 

That said, now that we know all we are supposed to know— I feel like we are finally able to visit Piazza Navona (and so many other places around Rome) and just enjoy being here.  We can be done learning dates and names, and truly enjoy the piazza as it was intended to be experienced— as a place where life comes together in the city for art, music, games...  

... and bubbles? 

This man doesn’t know it yet, but he is numero uno on our list of Roman superstars and will probably be getting a lot of my Euros if he continues to fill the piazza every day with his masterwork to entertain my children.   

On the Streets of Rome

All the streets of Rome are a labyrinth of cobblestones, sometimes less than ten feet across, a Fiat easily filling the space in mass lined with tabacchi shops, gelatorias, trattorias, bars— scooters, taxis, meat trucks— all barely slowing as they pass your shared alley/walkway/roadway.
And all this I was used to, having lived in Italy before.

And yet—
I have been a mother for almost a decade now, and still I did not anticipate the anxiety I would feel from having to be responsible for leading two children around the streets of Rome.

Every morning we put on our shoes.  We put on our coats.  We ready ourselves for the world outside our building.  We exit the campo de’ Fiori, and we brave the streets with enthusiasm, for whatever desitnation we have in mind.  But, by lunch we are exhausted.  On the streets we are playing frogger, continuously dodging traffic.  In the large piazzas we let go, but then it is a game of where’s Waldo, keeping track of one another is the challenge of the moment.
This is varsity level parenting for anyone who is prone to any level of anxiety.
I’m glad we are up for the challenge.
I am also glad we have copious amounts of cheese, wine, salami, and gelato.  These things help the anxiety level return to normal.  
Ciao from all of us.  We are feeling a bit homesick.  It helps to tell you that things are not always perfect here, but that we are facing the challenges head-on.
-Rachel

Reflection on life in Rome

As I was lying awake in bed the other night listening to all of the city, I was thinking about how easy it is where we come from to hide away.  Often in Seattle I slide through the day without speaking to hardly anyone outside from my own small family and close circle of friends and colleagues, possibly one clerk at one large grocery store.  But living in the heart of Rome the interaction with all of humanity is inescapable.  And maybe this is true when living in any large city— but also maybe not.   The rythym of the day here includes interactions with fruit vendors, bread-bakers, fish mongers.  I walk out the door and there are artists, nuns, old men smoking cigars, and someone immediately asking if I would like to buy a cup of fresh watermelon.  Everyone is a vendor of something— art, fruit, religion, bread, music— and they all passionately want to grab your attention.

And I love it.  In Seattle you buy fish at the supermarket, and no one cares.  There is complete separation, aside from at the farmer’s market, between production and consumption.   There are invisible walls.   And I think it adds to the loneliness of our society.   

I’m not saying it is always that great here.  With the Campo de’Fiori in our front yard, we are having to adjust to this pulse of humanity that is literally non-stop.   But there is a great comfort in living in this urban space, and strangely a sense of great peace.  

I’m going to have to reflect more on this.   As someone who loves green space and nature, it’s a foreign feeling to find myself comforted by this excessively urban life (Rome quite literally is city built upon city built upon city).   We are far from the forests of the great Pacific North West, and yet it feels as if we are in a different kind of old growth forest.   

Maybe that is going to far.  Maybe it’s time for [another] gelato break.   

ciao.   

-Rachel

Day 2: Life on the edge... of the Campo dei Fiori

Day 2. Still here, remarkably.  A better sleep than before, but we are still getting used to the sounds of the Campo dei Fiori – truly a remarkable urban space.  The beautiful market stalls all close up around 4pm, pack up everything (..everything – tables, fruit boxes, canopies, display cases) and then the street sweepers such up all the trash.  I could watch those things for hours – one guy tries to sweep the junk into piles, or ‘lanes’, and then the driver tries to line up each ‘lane’ and suck it all up.  The drive does these looping patterns around the vendors who are still packing up – mesmerizing – and leaving the cobblestones clean.  Just when you think he’s not going to get that bag,… he does!  As evening descends, the dinner crowd comes out to dine on the Campo, in front of the restaurants that line the side, and the music starts.  Every night is a different musician – so far we’ve heard trumpet, classical guitar, and accordion – and they play the ‘hits’.  From classical music to Despacito to Frank Sinatra.  Sometime after 10pm the party really gets going, with large groups of Italians letting loose.  From 10pm to 2am is the loudest time of day.  Some music but mainly just loud yelling, as Rick Steves call’s it – Rome’s Frat Party.   Around 2am, the party winds down gradually – and who comes back?  Streetsweeper!  Suck it up, buddy – getting all the napkins, bottles, cigarette butts.  This guy is done around 4am, and then there is peace.  Until 6am, when the fruit vendors move back in and begin reassembling their market stalls.  Incredible, the varied vibrancy of one, cobblestone plaza.

Our day was simple but exciting.  We went with the Rome Center intern, Katie, to register our passports at the police station (something about the EU, establishing ourselves in Rome, who knows).  Then I met with the other faculty and confirmed much about our first two weeks in the program.  I think we will basically plan one week in advance – as long as we stay one week ahead of the students, we should be fine. 

Back to the apartment for lunch, Rachel made some pasta and greenbeans from the market.  I think she has a favored stall, and a favored lady-vendor.  We will continue to grow this food-based relationship and see where it leads.  After lunch and a rest, we went to another grocery store (for coffee, potatoes, flour, prosciutto), and then to a butcher.  We ordered (mainly by pointing) a single chicken – butterflied open, and seasoned.  Not to spoil it, but this was our dinner.  We put some chopped vegetables (from the market – peppers, onions, eggplant, potatoes) in a roasting pan and then laid the chicken on top.  200-degrees Celsius later – it was incredible.  A different kind of chicken, so simple so good. 

After dinner, we got gelato.  After stating to the kids much of the day that we “weren’t going to be getting gelato everyday,” we got to watch their little minds getting blown when we said we were going to get some.  (Side note: we may have totally undercut our authority/authenticity as parents, but who cares).  A quick walk towards Trastavere, near Pont Sisto – another great gelato stop.  Cones this time, with a wafer cookie and cream on top.  Flavors:  Fior de latte and strawberry; salted carmel and pineapple.    

Now they are in bed, and the Campo is having dinner – with nice music for all.