2004-04-08 Gli Italiani ‘The Italians’
The more I’m exposed to the Italian people, the more I want to become them. Men and women, slim and portly, young and old, all carry themselves in a way that makes them so appealing. Somehow, though, I can’t distill what it IS that makes someone Italian…
It is not what they wear, but it IS how they dress. Every outfit somehow looks fantastic, whether it is a business suit with a wide-knotted tie, or a denim skirt and a silk scarf, or the T-shirt and Jeans look that I used to think was perfected in the US.
It is not what they eat, but how they prepare and present it. Lunch generally consists of grabbing a panino from a bar and sitting outside for the better part of an hour, watching natives and tourists float by. Dinner consumes as much time as we do food. We joke with Carlo, our waiter at the Abruzzi, as he brings course after course of meals whose names we recall from the Chef Boyardee cans that line the shelves of most college students’ pantries back in the States. “But Carlo, this can’t be ravioli… it’s not thick with prcessed meat, nor does it have a metallic taste from sitting in a can for months.” Besides, it tastes too good to pass as ravioli. “Come si chiame, vero?” (what is it called, really) Wine glasses clink as we all get to know each other over bottles of red and white, decanters of mouth-puckering vinegar and extra virgin olive oil, and slices of warm, hard-crusted bread.
And it is not what they have, but how they use it. One thing Americans complain about not having is time. Italians apparently are without this problem. If something can’t happen, so be it; far be it from me to have to rush someone, and I hope they afford me the same courtesy. It is not time that is the enemy of Italy, but space. As with most of Europe, personal, private space is a luxury afforded to few. While extravagant piazzas too numerous to count can be found everywhere around the city, the home of the modern Italian might appear claustrophobic to an American. Full bathrooms occupy about nine square feet. Magnificent Palazzos increase the density of the urban space until your ears pop. These giant downtown palaces force the streets to narrow until they’re little more than alleys, and still the pocket-sized Smart Cars and motorinis find room to park on the sidewalk. Those who say Roman life is relaxing have never tried to cross the street – I have seen saner driving in Mad Max movies!
So then perhaps the question I should ask is not what makes an Italian, but how does one earn that title?
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