To Market - Part I

When I talk to my friends back home, many have the same question: "What do you do all day?" I used to be a bit of a workaholic, always on my blackberry to now, wondering what I am going to cook for dinner while I hang up the clothes to dry. But what I realized is this: everyone can be busy, if they decide they want to be. For me, being busy means shopping.

There is something amazing here that America doesn't have. It's called il mercato. It is an open air market where you can buy everything you can think of. From fruit, to fresh fish, to cleaning products and yes ladies CLOTHES. And there is a market everyday. The market moves around to different villages everyday.

For me, the market is a lot of fun. You walk around, you look at everything and if you go to the same market every week, people start to know who you are. And Mamma G is pazza (crazy) for the market too. In her mind, it is not possible to buy anything at a store that you couldn't buy cheaper at the market. And what I have learned since I've been here is that she is right. I now buy everything at the market and must admit I am a little obsessed- to the point I am in a bad mood if for some reason I can't go to the market and I have to go to a supermarket instead.

So we go to the market together every Monday and Friday. Every Monday, the market is in Cambiago, where Mamma G. lives and Cris grew up. Here we have a strict routine. It's not just walk to the market, buy what you need and leave. Sei matto? (Are you crazy?) Going to the market is a job. We leave the house at 9 a.m. which means I have to wake up at 7 in order to shower and look my best (for those who know me well, I am very slow in the morning and need at least 1-2 hours to prepare for anything). My husband thinks I'm crazy as the alarm goes off so I have time to shower, drink my coffee, eat breakfast and do my hair.

But the preparation is important. For you can't go to the market in jeans. Jeans are for ragazzi (young people). If you are married and going to the market with your "suocera" (mother-in-law) you need to be dressed nice with good shoes (preferably heels) and a good jacket. Many women wear skirts and dresses here which is actually kind of nice as you do feel more feminine. But being a lady isn't easy. And then of course I have to be at Mamma G's on time- by 9 a.m. And then it's off to market we go.

Probably the best thing about the market is walking away feeling like you got a "deal." Mamma G is brava per questa. The first step is to establish a relationship with the person that runs the bancarella. This is accomplished by frequenting the bancarella when possible, establishing it is worthy (good quality, good prices) and then asking for a discount, if you find an item you are interested in. A typical discount is enough to buy a cup of coffee (1 euro) or if there are 2 of you "un caffe' per me e per lei" (a coffee for me and for her). The amount of the discount can increase over time, depending on how much you spend at the bancarella. So instead of coupons or sales like in America...there is relationship-building and a bit of bantering. But in the end, you walk away feeling accomplished- like you just purchased the most beautiful thing in the world for the best possible price.

Can you tell I like to shop? I think this is the best job yet.

Dinner With the American

This past weekend my husband and I went out to dinner with four of his friends from high school. I was a little nervous as although I speak Italian now, it's not perfect and it's always hard to speak a different language with new people. Everyone has a different speed and accent when speaking.

So we get to the restaurant and there are eight of us in total. Little did I know, Italian men like to sit together- away from the women. My husband is like, "Don't you want to sit at that end of the table with the women?" To which I responded with a big, fat American "NO. I don't even know them."

Don't get me wrong, I am not shy. It's actually been said that I can talk to anyone, anywhere. In fact, I met my husband on a plane! But the thought of sitting with my husband's friends wives while they asked me questions about my life in Italy, made me nervous. What would we talk about? They all have kids so are they going to ask me when I'll have kids? Or where do I shop? Or how often do I go for facials? Because FYI, Italian women have amazing skin. I guess I am not really a "girly, girl."

So there I stayed, with the guys, and tried to follow the conversation the best I could. But in case you didn't know, dinners in Italy are LONG. There is antipasto, primo piatto, secondo piatto, dolce e caffe'. You take your time even when you order. You don't order the second dish when you order the first dish...no, no! Are you crazy? You order the first dish...wait to get it....eat it....and then you order the second dish. In America, we order everything at once and then we tap our foot and wonder why the food is taking so long.

So after 3 1/2 hours, we were ready to order dessert. At this point, I had a headache from trying to follow the conversation and I couldn't wait for some coffee. So when I ordered my crema catalana, I asked for coffee as well. I thought the waiter was going to fall over and the men were like "Cosa?" ( "what?"). Little did I know, you can't drink coffee with your dessert. Coffee is always last e sempre da solo (and always alone). One of his friends actually joked about sending me back to America...then of course a conversation about Americans ensued. How all we eat is burgers and fries and how we don't really cook that much. I always defend the American way of life for I will always be American and proud. But when it comes to food, Italy has us beat.

So the Italian lesson for the day is this: take your time when you eat and don't think about what you are eating next. Think about what you are eating now...and savour it. Ogni morso (every bite).

And for heavens sake, whatever you do, don't order coffee with your dessert.