What Fills My Plate

Liver and Onions with Polenta When I was a kid cowboy movies were big entertainment.  I couldn’t wait for every  Saturday morning when the theatres would program 3 westerns and 5 cartoons.  (This was in the 50’s before daytime television)   There were famous cowboys, Lash Larue with his whip, singing Gene Autry, toothless Gabby Hayes, and Hoot Gibson.  My hero was Roy Rogers and his horse Trigger , while his wife Dale had ol’ Buttermilk . This was about as close as I ever got to a horse and I never thought that people in the world would eat horse meat.  It was a shock to me to find that here in north of Italy there are restaurants that specialize in horse meat.  You can also find meat dealers in every market that sell horse meat.  You can buy steaks of horse meat, or even tiny strings of “gourmet” horse meat.  Italians will tell you that horse meat has less fat than beef, that it is better for you.  I have also seen horsemeat shops in Slovenia and Croatia.     There was a seri

Most house wines here in the Veneto are exceptional.   Restaurant owners take a pride in offering a house wine that the locals will happily drink.  You have to remember that the village restaurants are not ones frequented by tourists who only visit once and never more.  These locals know a good wine from a bad and will be vocal about a bad house wine.   One major type produced in the Veneto, called Prosecco, is something I enjoy.  Italians cannot and do not want to call it champagne.  It is not aged in oak casks or stored in underground tunnels for many years.  It is priced much cheaper than French champagne, and every bar has it on tap.  I can buy a jug of prosecco in my local supermarket.  They even provide the bottles.  When ordering in a restaurant you can get it in liter or half liter pitchers.  Sounds funny to order this  sparkling wine by the “jug”, but this is Italy.  They are quite proud of producing prosecco, and I am sure you will agree that it is exceptional.   N

Italian television has begun to provide access to American food shows with exception of the Food Network that does not even allow Europeans to see video content from their food articles on the internet.   My friends are shocked to see food piled onto plates,  consumed by eating activists with a high-wattage passion for large sized portions.  A perfect example is the program   Man Versus Food .   It is amazing to see the host grow in size through the year of eating his way through America.   After several seasons he was forced to change the format and have others competing for top glutton. Another show popular in the mainstream here is produced by the Brit, Jamie Oliver.  He has a knack for showmanship and in one series he visited American schools and made a serious attempt at changing the offerings in school cafeterias.  He was met with mean spirited and angry officials afraid to examine their carbohydrated menus.  Oliver features programs more closely to Italian thinking.  He c

Bruschetta, pronounced Brooskehtah Lingering over dessert In a noisy restaurant in Padova I tell my friends about conquering the Italian driver exam. Directly across my table, with face cupped inside her palm with a toothpick, my friend politely listens while she picks her teeth clean.  More than frequently when dining with a group of Italians I see the majority looking like a group of giggling Japanese school girls, hand over mouth.   It causes me to smile when I see the whole table mining their “denti.”  I never know whether I should stop talking to them and instead gaze off to do some people spying.  Encountering these teeth pickers I am a bit flummoxed .  (Now there’s a word you don’t see much.) The rooting out of stringy bits of flotsam and jetsam has caused me to consider my next few posts:  a good discussion of  Italian restaurant customs and idiosyncrasies as seen through my American eyes.  7 years of culinary exploration has revealed restaurant  behaviors displayed

Italian Horsepower In Italy pedestrians rule!   I have just finished my second “in the car” driving lesson.  I have been corrected, during my lesson, absolutely stopping for people who are standing at a crossing without a street light.   Even if they are standing there smoking a cigarette, without intention of going across, I must stop for them.   Driving the streets of Padova with my expert instructor has been as fun as a dental visit.   My armchair expert instructor has not been greatly impressed.   I am a defensive driver, while Italians are more aggressive.   Wrecked autos in junk yards here show mostly front end collisions.  Italians don’t stop at stop signs, I do.   My greatest flaw is forgetting to signal with my blinker when I exit a roundabout, the circular intersection that saves Italy from purchasing super expensive street lights.   Today I was forced  to drive through about 30 roundabouts.  It is confusing when I appear to be going in a straight direction across