Parmesan weekend-DELECTABLE

September 30th, 2009

A weekend with the Parmesans

I spent the weekend in Parma with my girlfriend, Benedetta who is studying in Milan at Bocconi. It was a fantastic weekend, to say the very least, and a wonderful opportunity to discover another city in Italy.

Aside: I chose to write today in a park, and three little girls dressed in fuschia pink are running around me. They a flying around like little bees, swarming around me, the little one bouncing behind the others. They all are taking turns presenting me with pink flowers snatched from the nearest bush, and they giggle as they give me the pretty "presents." HOW CUTE!!!! They just asked me if they could make designs in my notebook, and of course I let them willingly draw all over this page. They are so adorable-with curly hair and one girl with clear glassy-blue eyes and dark messy hair. The youngest is precious, and she has rosy cheeks with bright chocolate eyes. They are so full of joy it makes me happy! Italian children and children in general are incredibly beautiful, it is striking.

Now this page is covered with their little drawings--the little ideas of the world, what they know and see, their imaginations at work so carelessly and freely, effortlessly. How wonderful! The one exclaimed that her sister was designing a belltower or "campanile". How fun to write between their scribbles of flowers, what-nots, and a faint "line drawing" made by the youngest who was the last to take her turn as the others ran away. The one boy who joined the bunch wanted to use a new page to trace his matchbox car, and he designed race car designs and numbers to his tracing. The church bells just started ringing, and there is a dog that is howling in tune along with the bells. There is an elderly woman in a wheel chair, and her caretakers are talking to her in the way that I am speaking to the little girls running around me. Life and its full circles. The air is filled with the voices of screaming children--hanging on trees, playing invented games, pushing strollers, and the sun is slowly sinking. haha, I am not surrounded by pink flowers, and the one girl with the blue eyes exclaimed as she was bouncing around, "She and I are dressed the same! That's because we're sisters!! hahaha!!" Twirl, giggle, hop, flight! I miss my sisters.

The mother came to collect the children so as to "let the nice lady alone." They are off now in another field playing. The simple things are so beautiful in life. I think that we adults will never fully learn the lesson that to live with childish joy and acceptance, and even wonder, is the key to happiness. Since when did growing up wilt away our soulful energy? Its like in the movie the "Christmas Story" where the grown-ups can't hear the bells of Christmas because the spirit of youthful joy leaves their hearts. Adults often miss the point. Its not like we all have the time to run around in fields scraping our knees, but they gave me flowers, and it made me happy.


Returning to Parma:

The weekend was FABULOUS! I will try not to give a long-winded summary, but it might be hard. Parma is a city built to the exact measure of the man and all his necessities, is what my new friend, Giacomo, said to me. It is one of the most livable cities in Italy, and it is renowned for its cultural preservation and appreciation. It is a city that was born in the Roman times, and since then, the people have been paving the the streets with their daily agendas, traditions, and communal habits.

It is located in the region of Italy called Emiglia Romagna, famed for its culinary expertise--the indisputable Mecca of the Italian kitchen to which every Italian tips his hat in acknowledged respect for these everyday practitioners of impeccable cuisine and alimentary product--a place where dishes ooze of infused flavor, simple style, and melt-in-your-mouth textures. Products of the highest quality are a necessity given the trained and scrutinizing taste buds of the region, let alone the country as a whole. I have not yet discussed the genetic sensitivity, precision, and hound-dog skill of the Italian palate, but it is a cut above the rest-superior-or trained from birth to measure and judge the quality of their food. This fact is for another "Italian Fact of the Day," but it was necessary to insert in my homage to this region. When I speak of the level of expectation from the people born and bread in Emiglia Romagna, in this case-the Parmesani, we are talking about pleasing serious, lean, and mean food critics. An infant cries to his mom--"Bahahahblahgla"--Translation: "Woah, Ma', there is way to much salt. Psssht." Okay, maybe I exaggerate, but you get the picture. From their famous prosciuto hams and cured meats to the infamous Parmesan cheese and sweets--the list goes on endlessly!

A part from the notoriety in the world of the kitchen, they also have a deep-rooted cultural tradition as a city known for their passion for melodrama. The arts were patroned in this city by the Farnese family during the turn of the 16th century, and music, opera, poetry and art have always been inspired and cultivated in this center. The famous opera composer, Verdi, is among the list of proud Parmesans, and in fact a festival in his honor is quickly approaching in October. Many of my new Parmesan friends have season tickets to the shows during theater season at the Teatro Regio, a theater inaugurated by the Duchess of Parma, Maria Luigia d'Asburgo, the wife of Napoleon, with the lyric opera, Zaira, by Vincenzo Bellini in 1829.

As soon as we arrived in Parma, Benedetta took me around a quick and grand tour of the city. Piazza Garibaldi, on of the principle piazzas and gathering points of the city shined brightly in the afternoon light for my newly gazing eyes. She took me to the Duomo where I was again taken aback by the simple Romanesque facade and the lavishly decorated and frescoed interior. The designs were covering every wall surface, and it was as if it grew like ivy over the years, suffocating the walls with angels, saints, and biblical stories. Antonio di Correggio’s ceiling frescoes in the cupola of the Duomo are phenomenal, a sensual illusionistic painter that foreshadowed later Baroque and Rococo art, but never achieving great recognition outside Parma during his time. He might be one of my all time favorite Renaissance artists, and the dramatism of his work makes you dizzy in the swirling flurry of angels amassing in tornado circles as the clouds open up to let Christ ascend into the gold of heaven. Coreggio’s work can also be found in the church situated behind the Duomo, San Giovanni Evangelista, a church that accompanies its monastic complex.

I will stop giving a history lesson, but I will say that the combination of its history produced a vibrant and beautiful city, and the colors of the buildings are sunny and citrus, almost as delicious as its food!

Benni took me to her favorite gelateria, K2, and it was luscious and creamily delicious. If you ever thought that Italian ice cream has no ranking, you are wrong. I’ve never had a gelato so velvety lovely—I almost passed out after eating the chocolate, “Fior di Nutella”. She guided me around the winding streets, pointing out buildings and monuments and greeting many familiar friends and faces along the way.

Friday night we went to the graduation party of two of Benni’s friends and my acquaintances who were having a joint graduation party. They decided to have an aperitivo-style (appetizer/drink event) festa at a bar in the main piazza. I interrupt for the…

Italian Fact of the Day:

Graduation parties:

In the USA: we have a huge celebration for the high school graduation, inviting all of our friends and family to an organized party in the honor of our high school achievements. College graduation parties are not usually organized and widely popular.

In Italy: There is never a celebration for their graduation from their 5 years attending high school. They always celebrate the “festa di laurea” according to their graduations from university. Why do I say “graduations?” Well, the university system in Italia is broken up into two sections: Triennio (3 year) and the Biennio (2 year) degrees. The Biennio specializing degree is usually a necessary component to the Triennio degree, which comprises more general studies. They write a thesis for both. The “festa di laurea” is a very popular event, and there are fun traditions of playing jokes, presenting gag gifts, and writing funny/embarassing poems about the graduates. Of course in Italy, they have two graduations, celebrating both with high-flying regales and colors.

Allora, where was I?? Okay, we went to the party. There were tons of friends, and I met a sack of Parmesan people. Haha, I just translated an Italian expression, “Sacco di gente”, literally—a “Sack of People” instead of “Ton.” We drank wine and the popular “spritz” drink while conversing. Everyone I met was all very welcoming and friendly.

Later we went to a discoteca club, and we all danced until 5:30am to a ridiculous mixture of Italian/English/American 80’s music. I remember looking around at the dance floor at 4am, as “Dancing Queen” was playing, thinking about how absurd the whole array of people and dance moves were. Our feet stuck to the floor due to the “spillage” of drinks. We crashed at her friend’s house for the night.

Her friend’s house was the equivalent of a Parmesan mansion in apartment form! Her dad is a noted Architect in the area, and I enjoyed the taste of the house immensely. There were two floors, high frescoed-ceilings, incredible furniture and accent pieces, and I was very impressed with the paintings hung in the house. A perfect mixture of old structures meeting modern day convenience, style, and technology. I slept in a bed on the second floor with a leopard-skin cover and headboard. We all laughed because I got to sleep in the second-floor “leopard-room,” sharing the bed with their friend Luca (adding to the joke.) No, I didn’t even kiss him! We are just friends, and we both passed out at 6:30am after the group chatted in the kitchen and the girls danced to the “Spice Girls” in her living room at ear-piercing volumes. I bet the angels in that ceiling fresco and antique mammoth chandelier never thought they’d hear the likes of the Spice Girls pumping through hidden booming speakers through the house. If I can personify them for a moment, I would guess they were crying.

The next day we ate lunch at Benni’s grandparent’s house. They own a furniture store in Parma, which she pointed out to me the day before. She spends every Saturday afternoon eating lunch with them, and they kindly invited me for this weekend occasion. We came bearing gifts of different foccacia breads and arancini (Breaded rice balls with meat and sausage stuffed inside—the size of small oranges, or “arancini”). I also chugged water to get rid of my headache induced by nocturnal dancing and wine-drinking. Benni told her grandparents to change up the menu this Saturday because she was unsure if I would like their normal meal, which is eating high-grade meat bought fresh from the machellaio (butcher)—HORSE!!!—but I insisted on sticking to tradition! I wanted to try it! Her grandparents were adorable and very kind and welcoming.

Her grandparents asked me many questions, and they conversed with their two granddaughters, Benni and Bianca, her sister. Her grandmother LOADED my plate with a mushroom-sauced Pasta for our first course, so much that the thick noodles were draping over the size of the curved plate! I could barely fit it all in my stomach, but if I have learned anything from having two doting grandmothers who are amazing cooks in the Italian kitchen—Never leave anything on your plate or it is the biggest insult to the love-labored meal and its maker! I stuffed all 10 pounds of delicious savory pasta in my stomach, washing it down with sparkling water. Last to finish.

We then dug into the foccaccia breads and arancini rice balls as her grandmother prepared the second course, the horse! They asked me if I wanted to eat it crude, as does habitually her grandfather—who literally spreads the raw horse meat on bread as if it were peanut butter! I kindly refused saying that I’d eat it partially cooked with Benni—one step at a time! It is hard to find horse meat, even in Italy; however, they have gone to their trusted Parmesan butcher for years who produces fine cuts of the regal beast. Bianca, the younger sister, never participates in the horse-meat meal, having given it up after she rode a horse for the first time. Drum rollllllllllll--------It was delicious!!!!

Later that evening, the itinerary was to walk around the outdoor “BoulevArt” art show of young Parmesan artists. This was a lovely event sponsored by all of the stores in the center of Parma that featured a street display of 300 artists, predominantly photographers. Taken from its flyer: “A unique event for Parma: Art shows, concerts, dance, theatrical performances, the exit from the darkness of drawers, hundreds of artistic products, fruit of young Parmesan creative minds between the ages of 14 and 35…a multitude of places in which young artists can express their art freely, also through elaboration of “en plain air” (outside) operas…” It was an open theater of art and performance lining every street—all of the stores remaining open as well--until midnight. Okay you get the idea! I was in my glory. Benni’s two friends were displaying their photography in the outdoor show.

This night was fantastic, and Parma was dressed at its best, the art show augmenting the vibrancy of the night. The life of Parma was so consuming and vivacious that I felt like it was actually inhaling and giving back breath to its nightly crowd. The city was way more than its parts; “life” was tangible and ripe to bite and experience its spectrum of flavor as if it were a juicy zangy orange or a chunk of aged Parmesan cheese. People were in droves, participating in the evening passeggiata and swarming in particular high numbers to appreciate the art and support their fellow friends and their art displays. The passeggiata can also be called, in a newly-coined term (by me), “peacocking” in its most conceited form.

I was meeting many many more Parmesan friends, and I revisited many that were at the graduation festival from the night before. We roamed through the sea of heads, and we stopped frequently to greet the many passing friends and acquaintences. In fact, we moved like snails—inch by inch—“ciao” by “ciao”! Parma, despite its many attributes, is richly packed into a rather small city, livable, hospitable. Therefore, there is a strong spirit of the collective unity and cordial recognition between the inhabitants of the town: spirit of place, home, family, friend, neighbor, comradarie, collective memory, gossip, sharing of business. One friend in particular, Giacomo, is hilarious with an animated disposition, and we hit it off from the beginning. He seemed to know everyone in the city, and I found his personable relationship with everyone very tickling and amusing—almost nostalgic for that idea or experience of “community.” However, he also explained that Parma, at times, can become “way too small” with regards to information.

He is a photographer, and we enjoyed walking around amidst all of the art displays discussing the merit of the artists and our favorite photos. There were antique markets and young street performers improvising for crowds as they sat down for outside dinner seating. I almost bought an antique Italian-Latin dictionary from 1839 for 30E, but unfortunately I couldn't justify the purchase without a paycheck. We all stopped for a coffee and gathered to go to a restaurant for dinner. We ate at the restaurant, “Trattoria del Tribunale,” and they make their pasta “in casa.” Beni and her friends were all insistent that I try a famous plate in Parma, the “Torta Fritta.”

We found the restaurant on a quiet more peaceful street away from the commotion of the center city, and we all sat at a big table near the Tribunale (the Justice court); the low lit streets were calming as groups of friends wandered off to their nightly activities and bicycles rode past with the girlfriend or child balancing or secured on the front. I just love the sight of bicycles with big baskets or people piled on one bike bumping across the cobbled stones! It fits so perfectly with the picture!

Anyways, we all had a very enjoyable, relaxing dinner, and they all advised me to try the tortelli d’erbetto—a specialty of Parma and of the restaurant. For our appetizer, they brought out the “torta fritta,” which is basically fried hollow dough (more salty than sweet), and you eat it with a selection of thinly sliced meats: prosciutto di Parma, salame, bresaola, etc. Oh My GOODNESS—it was incredible. My meal came shortly after, and I have no more words left to describe the creamy mouth-watering flavorful sensation of the pasta. I wanted to cry! Tortelli are a kind of small ravioli, and the filling was a creamy cheese, erb combination. Mamma mia, che buona!!!

After dinner, we all took a passeggiata along the streets, past the bustling city center, past the piazzas, past the churches with their belltowers hovering above us in the starry sky—ending at none other but the K2 gelateria, which provided the perfect finishing-touch for my overly-contented and spoiled stomach. We ate our gelato on the steps of a church, and we talked as Giacomo tried to hit on me. Haha. We took one final passeggiata past the hopping street of Via Farini where the masses all flocked to the many bars lining the street. There was music, parties spilling out into the middle of the street, and lots of good-looking men. Wow.

Parma certainly has a style to it, and I have to comment on the number of good-looking people I saw during my days spent in the city. They are definitely a lovely breed, and my eyes were slightly spinning in circles to view all the suave men with sweaters dashed across their shoulders, dark brooding eyes or light features nicely contrasted—some seemingly aloof to their beauty, others clearly conceited “players”, and maybe a few were gay. Who knows! My ignorant guess to describe my initial reaction to these people aside from the water in Parma, would be the mix of French blood that exists there due to the historical control of the city. Many have the lovely combination of light eyes and dark hair-good genes.

I went to sleep with a stomachache due to my excessive ingestion of food during the day, and at one point I thought I would throw up. Luckily, I was determined not to do that and to let digestion work its slow course from the daily smorgasbord.

The next day we woke up and went to Forte dei Marmi, a popular Tuscan vacation spot. Benni’s family owns a house there, and it is a rather chic summer tourist city. It was lovely, and the weather was fantastic!! Benni, her sister and I rode around in a convertible with the top down, they showed me the city, and I relaxed on the beach as the large mountains sat in lounge chairs in the background with margheritas. We joined her family for lunch, and they are incredibly warm and genuine people. I ate small gniocchis with salmon---we ate for 4 hours under a shaded umbrella next to the beach. I felt very much at peace looking at the sparkling ocean. Benni, her sister Bianca and I drove home with the radio, and that night we returned to Milan.

Summary: I think that I gained about 10 pounds. I also met about 200 Parmesan people. I've never eaten such amazing food in all of my FLIPPING life!!! I also ate the creamiest ice cream I've ever tried. My first trip to Parma was absolutely enjoyable, unforgettable, and I hope to return soon. Advice of the day: When life hands you a chunk of fine Parmesan aged cheese—eat it, eat all of it, and soak it in. Hell, use it as soap if you please.