Tag Archives: home

Finding Sticky Gold: The Greatest Grocery Store in Bra

culture, food, , , , , ,

Publication forthcoming in the January 2011 edition of the UNISG newsletter

The discontent arrived in fits and starts. Mere days after arriving in Italy, I stood crestfallen at the market, valiantly searching for a bunch of cilantro. Piles of parsley surrounded me, a taunting, isomorphic reminder that I was far from home. The bulk bins were swollen with cannellini beans and lentils, but there was nary a sign of black beans. In the baking aisle, I combed the shelves for baking powder. Instead, thin packages with florid photos of cakes touted the ammonia-based leavening agent inside. Skeptical, I stifled my frustration and went home to yet another meal with pasta.

In June, I fell in love with an avocado. The supple, emerald skin beckoned from across the supermarket aisle and I could not tear my eyes away. According to the label, the avocado had been imported from Israel. In lecture that morning, we had discussed the concept of food miles and the merits of buying local goods. I ignored a nagging feeling of guilt and bought the avocado anyway.

But wait, I moved abroad to learn about classic Italian cooking, did I not? Why on earth was I longing for corn tortillas? With freshly made focaccia and grissini in every corner bakery, how is it that I could not shake my yearning for one good bagel?

Italy is renowned for the depth and sophistication of its native cuisine, but the strength of this staunchly traditional food culture comes at a price. Despite the persistent forces of globalization, there have been few inroads made in the availability of international food products, particularly in Italy’s smaller towns. This poses a conundrum for UNISG’s international student body, accustomed to cooking and eating in a more cosmopolitan fashion. In a land blessed with over 25 officially recognized types of cured meats and 400 cheeses, what happens when all you can do is fixate on finding a jar of peanut butter?
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Temptation in the Garden of Italy

environment, , , , , ,

My eyes alighted on it as soon as I stepped into the Coop grocery store, akin to spotting the love of your life from across the room. It stared openly back at me. Green, smooth, palpable. An avocado, delicately ripe, full of rich promise and culinary inspiration.

Danielle looked at me with chagrin. “Didn’t we just discuss the merits of eating locally grown food in class? How many air miles has that flown? Where is it from anyway?” I grimaced. “Italy? They grow avocados in the foothills of Piedmont, right?” We inspected the sign. Origin: Israel. Damn. I tried to rationalize. At least we’re not so far from the Middle East, compared to the United States?

I hesitantly placed the avocado back into the basket. But the avocado kept speaking to me. I’m creamy and delicious. Just think of how great I will taste in a salad with locally-grown, humanely-raised, free-range lettuce, tomatoes and olives. Guacamole. Remember how marvelous that Super Bowl guac was? You can recapture those memories with me. Mexican food. Sure, cilantro is nowhere to be found, and the fagiole section is completely devoid of black beans, but at least you can feast on the most important part of a burrito. Eat me. Do it.

I picked up the avocado again. Clutching it with both hands, I went back to Danielle and pleaded. “But I really want this avocado. Screw eating locally; if I can’t get American peanut butter, then I’m at least getting this avocado.” She threw up her hands in surrender. “All right, but I’m going to pretend I don’t know you.” No matter. Gleefully, I carried my forbidden fruit to the check-out line. My expulsion from the Garden of Eatin’ was complete.

L’Appartamento

life, , , ,

Home is where the heart is, so your real home’s in your chest! -Captain Hammer

Unlike Cornell, which barrages you with information every other day about freshman orientation, the University of Gastronomic Sciences is a bit more laidback. To get information, you really have to be proactive and seek it out, which is fine because the administration staff is very responsive. In an email I exchanged before arriving in Italy, I was told that the flat would come furnished with desks, beds, blankets, a TV and a kitchen with pots and pans. Oh boy, a cable TV? I don’t even have one of those at home!

Anyway, the flat has definitely exceeded my expectations, considering the bare bones aesthetics of my Cornell dorm room. Here, I have two other flatmates, and we each have our own rooms, which are considerably larger than I expected. Actually, I wouldn’t have minded if the rooms were smaller to give more space in the kitchen, but that is the way the cookie crumbles.
My room opens out onto a balcony, which is conveniently equipped with wires for hang drying clothing, since we don’t have access to a dryer.

Outside my balcony, you can see a garden below, where the neighbor putters about in the morning with a watering can.
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Odyssey to Italy: Results

life, travel, , , , ,

My first Italian sunset, right before I realized I was hilariously lost.

It was going perfectly, until it wasn’t. I managed to navigate through London, catch my connecting flight in another airport, and got through Turin before making a mistake. At the Turin Porta Nuova train station, I asked for a ticket to Bra, and it was printed with the destination as “Bra.” Thus, I assumed that the train led directly to Bra, especially since the clerk didn’t mention any sort of transfer. An hour too late, and after some fitful dozing on the train, I panicked when I realized that this line didn’t directly go to Bra, and I should have transferred trains at Carmagnola. Luckily, the first person I asked for help was ludicrously well-prepared and whipped out a complete book of train timetables, and helped me figure out a new itinerary to get “home.” With palpable relief, I stepped off the bus at 22.37, about two hours later than planned. My flatmates came to pick me up in a car, and were overjoyed that I hadn’t inadvertently ended up in France or something. All in all, I have taken 10 planes/trains/buses to trek from New York to Bra, Italy in the last 24 hours, while lugging about 3/4 of my weight in luggage, up and down stairs, through traffic, across bumpy cobblestones. Heathrow might be my new favorite airport now because they offer the free usage of luggage carts. This has been one of the most draining days of my life.


The flat is beautiful, and decorated with all kinds of neat murals and photography. I don’t know if this is handiwork leftover from previous students, or designed by the school, but either way it is most impressive, and definitely better decorated than any of my previous apartments. I’ll try to post more photos of the place tomorrow, but below is a shot of my bedroom. There is a balcony where I can hang clothes to dry and a nice full-length mirror. The kitchen has some china, pots and utensils included, but I’m still glad I brought my trusty 10″ Calphalon. The one thing the apartment is sorely lacking is an oven; we have a large toaster oven, but it’s going to be difficult to do serious baking in that.


After picking me up from the train station, we all gathered round the kitchen and broke open a beer. Many of you will not be surprised to hear I was told several times that I have impressive amounts of energy. Jet lag, schmetlag. Tomorrow, the plan is to get the bureaucratic paperwork out of the way (I have to apply for a permesso di soggiorno residency permit within my first 8 days in Italy) and maybe explore the town a bit. Classes start at 9 am sharp on Wed.