It's getting boring? Another great lunch, and bones of the dead
This morning, more housecleaning and laundry chores.
Afterward, I started toward Mariella's with her cleaned bowl and an empty bottle to fill from the family's olive oil vat in the garage. I brought the candied orange peels I bought at Scandura yesterday, remembering she and Vincenzo said they like them. I had to wait until after 10:00, because on Fridays, Mariella has her Pilates class.
I heard her voice behind Elena's door.
Mariella, buon giorno! I said softly, since her back was toward the door and I didn't want to startle her. I handed her the bowl and the sweets, which she immediately opened and started eating.
"Giovanna è qua," she said, ushering me into the living room where Giovanna was playing with Matteo, and she handed Giovanna an orange peel.
Elena finished her work call and walked over, hugging me good morning, and asking why the hell her mother thinks she's an American, as I caught the tail end of a conversation where Mariella said she'd go somewhere dressed as she was. "Ma sei una donna Italiana, mamà," she scolded at her. It's true. Athleisure is not a dress code here. Someone on the Visit Italy site I contribute to just debriefed her trip, making a "wish I would've" list, topping it with "wish I had brought dressier clothes".
Mariella had on a black tee sporting a multicolored floral design, hot pink leggings, and sneakers. I said yes, she looks American, but she also looks very cute.
Elena told me that I brought Mariella her favorite candy; that was a good move. I explained that my sister and I also like them.
Mariella yelled, Why doesn't your sister come here with Doug? There is so much room! I said she doesn't like to travel, but perhaps if we get a house here, they'll come for a while.
"Mommy never had sisters, so she thinks of you and Lori as hers, since you are all family now," Elena explained.
"Possono rimanere alla vigna!" Mariella added, saying Lori and Doug can stay at the vineyard house (just a few miles up the mountain from here). That would be darn fun!
Although I woke up with a sore throat, I'm ignoring it. I asked Joe if he wanted to join me in a walk to Decò. I need disparate items, such as fresh ricotta and aluminum foil.
There is an older woman in town who is very poor, and will do any odd job. She had rung Mariella's doorbell a couple of years ago, offering cleaning services. But Mariella has her maid Piera, and Elena has Andrea to clean and Rodi as a nanny, so kindhearted Mariella decided to hire her to clean the common stairwell and foyer every week. I met her as she was cleaning last year. Walking downstairs today, Joe and I saw her at her work and greeted her. She asked if I remembered her name, which I remembered as Rosy, but defaulted to Rosa, because I wasn't sure. "Rosy," she corrected me. Dang! Trust my instincts next time! Rosy is always cheery.
At Decò, I spent half the time trying to figure out cleaning products. In the US, a can of Comet cleanser can double as stainless steel sink cleaner, toilet cleaner, and if needed, an abrasive scrub on burnt pans. Here, there's one purpose for each thing, and they're really divided (and no cleanser powder in sight): Anticalcare for hard water stains, floor cleaners for pavimento (most floors here are tile, marble, or terracotta, dividing the categories even further) which come in both no-rinse and need-to-rinse formulas, a Candeggina Gel, similar to SoftScrub, glass cleaners, toilet bowl cleaners, and finally, the multi-use Mr. Clean, but yuck, no; I hate the smell.
I narrowed it down to a couple of the aforementioned, probably driving poor Joe crazy while I translated labels up and down the cleaning aisle for far too long.
Finally finished, we checked out. I irked the cashier, giving her a €50 for a €27 total, but I figured Decò can handle it, so I played the dumb tourist. I'm starting to lose the ability to ignore my sore throat.
My phone rang on the walk back down viale dei Fiore, a strange ringtone, but I couldn't see how to answer it, as nothing showed up as a call on my screen. A minute later, I saw it was a WhatsApp call from Elena, but I have no idea why I couldn't see the incoming call.
I called right back.
"Karen, you are home?"
"No; just now walking back."
"You've eaten lunch?"
"No."
"Today there is the Mariella Cuisine for you. You go to Ristorante Mariella for lunch today, Ok?"
"Certo!"
And though I'm feeling under the weather, I can't pass up a Friday lunch at Ristorante Mariella. It's Venerdì Pesce! Fish on Friday!
Joe brought the groceries up to our place. I stopped in to Mariella's, set the table, then ran upstairs to get the Cusamano Lucido we had in the fridge. Vincenzo and Giuseppe Uno were pleased with the wine selection, which made me happy.
Today, pasta con le cozze. I heard Giuseppe the fish vendor at the front door this morning; Mariella had tried to get clams, but vendor Giuseppe said they're not good. It's better to get the mussels. He knew his stuff, because the mussels are sweet as all heck. What a great lunch! Mariella once again made a pan of baby shrimp and cut up calamarò, tossed with parsley and toasted bread crumbs. Conversations flowed regarding Trump and why oh why is this race even close? What's wrong with the USA? They were such a grand example at one time! Trump is worse than Berlusconi; can't you see the similarities to Hitler? I said, why do you think I'm trying to buy a house here?! I need an escape plan!
And then Vincenzo gave us a history lesson on the ancient pre-Byzantine settlement of Tabas/Tavaca, which is now Leonforte, a place I said I wanted to visit. Mariella winked at me from across the table-- here goes another history lesson.
It was a marvelous lunch, with ficodindia for a second course, and biscotti ossi dei morti (bones of the dead) for dessert.
Much like Day of the Dead, il giorno i morti is celebrated November 2nd, the day after the Hispanic Dias de los Muertos, which is the day Italian Catholics call Tutti Santi, and the Catholic gringos back home call All Saints Day. But it's the following day, the 2nd, that is celebrated like Christmas.
Here, in years past, this day was celebrated as the day the dead ancestors brought gifts for children from "the other side," (a little creepy, if you think about it) and took the place of Christmas gift giving. Christmas was a sombre and religious series of observance days back then. Now, it's flipped so Christmas is celebrated as we now know it.
Before we left to go home, Rodi came bearing a small gift for Mariella, a tiny succulent plant in a small skull-shaped ceramic pot, much like I've seen at Trader Joe's for Dias de los Muertos. What timing!
The biscotti for this occasion are seen everywhere right now. I noticed them at A Maidda and at Scandura. There are the white shortbread cookies with a yummy lemon icing, the 'rama,' which are chocolate batons, and the 'Totò," which are a cookie-cake hybrid, covered in bitter chocolate. Those are my favorite. I remember Elena bought them for us the very first time we arrived, which was on November 1st, 2021. (It's hard to believe we're entering the start of a fourth year here).
I opted to blog versus taking a nap, so I hope I'm not beaten up by a 4-year old later. Maybe an early bedtime for me?
Tomorrow or Sunday we will carve pumpkins.
************
No 4-year-old arrived this evening, but I got a nice call from my firstborn, John. He is on the way to a hunting weekend with my nephew Sam and brother-in-law Doug. Their bond delights me.
I cooked the sanapuddhi, prepared earlier, into a ricotta omelette, which may not have been Joe's favorite, but we had other leftovers that he liked, and heated up.
I was pleased that I flipped (without breaking) what I think must be my very first omelette attempt! I was feeling smug. To me, it tasted good. I heated yesterday's bread in the "brioche oven," another first, and made a simple salad.
It's been a bit of a night; house hunting and myriad things are hard. Ettore would yell schema! at me if he were in my head. But, I'll cut myself some slack for not feeling great, and will end the day. Or not. Through the walls, I hear Agnese, loudly upset about something, as well the TV. We've been using the bigger bedroom and bathroom adjacent to Alessandro's place; it's normally quieter and more private than sleeping upstairs.
When I need a laugh to smile myself to sleep, I think of one of the million funnies elicited from Elena, Mariella, Marisa... or Ettore! They, along with my sister, are a good circle, and though I'm crabby and sick, I'm still grateful, especially for them.
To earplugs, and the sweetness of dreams🥂
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