Recollections

Guns’ collection

~ Alessandra

Our little rascal was about a year old when I got pregnant again. My desire was to have a May girl, but there was a glitch: while in my family girls abound, in my husband’s family they seemed to have lost the mold and there had not been a girl, nowhere also within his extended family, in 73 years. When I was wondering what the new baby would be, I was always told, “A boy, what else?”

My thought was, “I will love him to death, but will keep going for the girl!” “You have been warned!”, I notified my husband, expecting he could actually do something about it. The poor man almost collapsed at the thought of the couple of male sport teams we were going to create in the quest for a girl who would never materialize. Then for minor reasons I had to have a couple of medical tests done, and while giving us the results the doc inadvertently hinted that I might be expecting a girl. (We have never wanted to know the sex of the baby we were expecting.)

When the notion of the possibility that the new baby was going to be a girl hit him, my husband asked me, “What do we do with a girl?” There’s no need for special skills, really?! My parents had four of us, and finally a boy (one, the third baby after my second sister and I, had died in infancy). I am the eldest of the bunch and, since I was seven, the one who did with my dad what he would have done with a boy, while his son was still a baby. Also, my second sister and I never played with dolls, unless you consider the times we played cowboy and Indian and we used our younger sisters’ (“the girls”) dolls as prisoners.

In the countryside at the age of 12 I was driving the farm’s old, bitten up Fiat 500, with a weird ignition and obviously a manual shift, on the paths bordering the fields. My father, who in his youth had raced cars and motorcycles, and had scars to show for it, was as proud as he was worried when at 20 I got a Kawasaki 400*. Girls can do it all!

Not too early to teach her, is it?

Interesting enough, the first comment that came out of my husband’s mouth, an Italian man who was soon probably going to be the father of a girl, was, “I will have to start my collection of guns!”

*My Kawasaki was great fun and I felt so cool driving it in Florence until during a summer, to avoid a truck coming towards me on a narrow dirt road while at the beach (picture shorts and a flimsy top), I flew into a thick thorny bush, coming out of it looking like a porcupine. Note to self: the truck might actually have been the better choice!

I hope you all enjoyed a festive July 4th!

‘Ant jam’

~ Alessandra ~ 1 Comment

It is known that the sooner children are exposed to different languages the easier it is for them to learn to speak them effortlessly.

When our first born arrived my english was not the best, yet, and my Italian husband, raised in Italy by his American mother and having already lived in the US through college and a few years of work, seemed to have forgotten some of the correct Italian grammar, like the conjugation of some irregular verbs. No! No! NO! So we decided that he would speak English to the baby and I Italian. Little did we know, at 11 months the little fellow started to speak using both languages at the same time. When he wanted to be picked up he would say, “su-su-up!” raising his arms towards us; to be put back down he would squirm and voice, “giu’-giu’-down!” If he wanted to go back home we would hear, “casa-home“; to call our attention to something he would point and exclaim, “barca-boat!” or “cavallo-horse!“. We often wondered how messy it would be when he started to talk full sentences. To our enormous surprise words eventually fell into place in the right language, which was a big sigh of relief! Children are mysteriously clever from day one!

Those bruised legs say it all!
Not to speak of those eyes…

Anyway, our first little rascal was a might to be reckoned with, a firework of what seemed to be endless and fearless energy. When he wasn’t physically active his little brain was working full throttle (even more alarming!) and he would plunge into all kind of awkward situations. Once after looking for him for a while, my mom and I finally found him in a corner to the back of the house nobody went to; he was sitting on a low stone step fully concentrated on following with his index finger, and squashing, a line of ants on the ground. When asked what he was doing, with a proud smile he answered …”Ant jam!” (DAH!) We then realized that he was actually eating the little critters. Well ants, dirt, organic proteins and who knows what else… he wasn’t going to die.

Thankfully there was never a problem feeding our little fellow more orthodox food. One of the meals his nonna would prepare during the summer was zucchini ripieni, stuffed zucchini; a complete, simple and healthy meal that our busy chap happily devoured to refuel his growing body’s bottomless energy… SOB!

‘Ai miei tempi!’ ‘Back in my day!’…

~ Alessandra

When my siblings and I were growing up in Italy a fat child was a rarity. Families eat healthy, homemade, local food, and thankfully neither the fast food industry nor the internet had taken over yet.

Times have changed, not necessarily for the best when it comes to certain aspects of life. Oh, my! Am I starting to sound like my grandmother? “Ai miei tempi!” (Back in my day!), she used to lament, and I would roll my eyes…

Today fast food seems to be the inexpensive answer to an overly worked household. It isn’t easy to break habits and to see that to eat healthy doesn’t have to be expensive, or require a lot of time. To buy at local farmers’ markets (and they are all over), for example, provides us with the freshest of foods with out the high costs of the big supermarket chains.

But back in my day children also were not sitting for hours in front of television, at the time the closest thing to today’s internet. First of all in Italy we just had a couple of channels that provided few programs addressed to children. In any case our mind was not geared to choose sitting down over playing, especially if we could do it outside.

We were eating healthy, but we also were eating a lot! Aside the main meals, in school we enjoyed home provided snacks at recess, and hefty, very nutritious merende (afternoon snacks) in the middle of the afternoon. How come we weren’t overweight? What we ate fueled the energy we continuously relied on for our active life.

Most of us were engaged in after school activities; swimming, playing tennis, basket ball or soccer, and ballet. It is interesting that when in higher grades our studies became more time-consuming and many of us had to interrupt or reduce our afternoon activities, many of us gained some weight because we continued to eat the amount of food we were eating when we were more active. So, it isn’t just eating the wrong food that causes overweight; sitting for hours in front of a computer, or attached to a cellular, or any other gadget, contributes to it enormously.

Admittedly, though, there are times when a cellular is a godsend! What can you say when, at the restaurant, at the table next to yours sits a family enjoying a peaceful dinner while a toddler plays games with one of the parents’ cellular? How does a toddler even know what to do with a cellular?! (OK, mine is just jealousy, since I am not exactly an authority when it comes to technology.) Trust me, I know what it was like to take a baby to a restaurant and try to have a semi-civilized dinner! After all our keys had disappeared under our table, we used to ask the waiter for spoons to entertain our first born; he would play with one for a blink of an eye, and then throw it to the floor. And we would ask for another. By the end of our meal with our keys and dignity there were heaps of spoons under our table. We didn’t dare showing up to the same restaurant twice! EVER!

Imagination, childhood’s precious play pal.

~ Alessandra ~ 1 Comment

Childhood [chahyld-hoo d] noun: That too short time of our life when we are, or should be, totally carefree enjoying ourself with the help of basic toys and, above all, our imagination!

When in the countryside of Tuscany my siblings and I spent our days outdoor playing with cousins and the neighbors’ children. All we had to enjoy ourselves with were our bikes, a few balls, plastic buckets, shovels and rakes. We didn’t know any better and had the times of our lives!

Then, during their summer vacations, my siblings and I took our children to the same little village in the countryside to visit their nonna, our mother. Our offsprings all lived in technologically advanced places: Switzerland, Honk Kong, Paris, New York. Although they were not given a cellular or gadgets until later they were, of course, of a generation that was used to deal with some form of technology from as early as kindergarten.

Every time the kids first arrived at nonna’s they initially sort of… deflated. There was just nature around them and a TV that showed 4 channels on a good day. We, parents, would keep hearing, “What do we do here?!” Given the lack of alternatives the kids enjoyed riding bikes, playing ball and the simple things we, parents, had played with at their age. Most importantly they were engaging their very fertile imagination to pepper their games!

They played soldiers with a bucket on their heads as an helmet and a plastic rake as a rifle. They played house claiming on trees’ tall trunks, or under the long branches of a majestic Blue Cedar, decorating their nests with pillows from some deck chairs and whatever else came to mind; never forgetting to bring some yummy treat or other with them. They played soccer and run relays on the meadow, and biked along the footpaths bordering the fields. Like we had done years ago, the kids had elaborated funerals for little birds that had fallen from their nests. After dinner they still had the energy to count and chase fireflies.

At the end of the summer, we were taking home healthy, strong, tan and, yes, often bruised but very happy children! Our kids, now teens or in their twenties, have often recalled those summer times at nonna’s as the most magical they have spent, ever!

Blue Atlas Cedar
Merenda on tree trunks.

Imagination is a beautiful gift to have and cultivate. Childhood is when we are free to let it run our play times, turning them into magical moments that uncover part of who we are and future enterprises already budding in out brains.

Today things are different, but children are still children only for a short time of their lives. There are beautiful parks near all of us, places where children can still unleash their imagination while playing with others, and where they can benefit their growing limbs by biking, playing traditional ball games or invented ones, chasing each other on a relay, or playing any other game their imagination inspires. The kids will thrive because of it and will be thankful for it later on, when real life takes over, and they will realize how lucky they were for living their childhood to the fullest.

The sea rocks traveling intercontinentally .

~ Alessandra ~ 3 Comments

During the summers of our youth my siblings and I spent time at our grandmothers’, which didn’t take a lot of traveling since both our mother and father’s families are from Tuscany.

For my children, all born and living in the US, the story was different. My family is in Tuscany and my husband’s in Switzerland; which means we didn’t just have to cross the Atlantic, but also ‘travel whit-in the travel’, as we all came to call it. The first visit was to the Tuscan countryside, followed by the seaside along the Mediterranean coast. From there we would leave towards the Swiss Alps to vacation with the other grandparents.

Like we had done as children, the kids always played using a lot of their imagination. At the beach rules were looser compared to the ones we grew up with. Beside building sand castles and racing marbles the older kids, always in large groups, spent hours biking in the pinewoods bordering the beach. Also, the children didn’t have to beg to play for hours coming in and out of the water as much as we used to.

Old habits are hard to break and, as I had done as a girl, I took the children on long walks along the shore while the sun was setting, searching for the most colorful rocks we could find. That had a dual purpose: to calm the children down after the energetic games they had played until then and, yes, to give myself a treat since I have always been fascinated by the awesome beauty of the rocks along the shore*. The children would come along and enjoy the search. I have always suspected that in those already very capable little brains they had figured out that if they agreed to play mamma’s game towards the end of the day, she might then be very nice to them? Who knows, fragole (strawberries) or lamponi (raspberries) with gelato al fior di latte for dessert?

We, young and brave mothers, also organized some picnics on the beach at dinner time, when the sun was almost gone from the sky. One of the kids’ favorite dishes was insalata di riso, rice salad, which they devoured to then go back to… play. After dinner it would be dark, and the children dedicated whatever was left of their energy (which seemed to be endless) to playing for a while with flashlights in the dark. Let me tell you, by the end of the day, it wasn’t clear who was the most exhausted; the children or their mothers?

*The awe for the stunning nature’s artifacts inspired me to create “Antologia di Sassi“, ‘The Stones’ Anthology‘, the painting project I worked on while raising my family. (See ‘About me‘)

Fun Fact:

After our stay at the seaside my siblings and I used to bring our collected rocks back to nonna’s garden in the countryside. Of course also my kids and I didn’t want to part from our newly found treasures?! So, the rocks would travel by car with us to the little town in the Swiss Alps that was our next destination. From there I would send them back to the States through the Swiss Post Office. The first couple of times I did it, when I was asked, “What is in the (heavy) box?” and answered, “Rocks.”, the facial expressions of the usually unflappable Swiss tellers was a sight to be relished. At the Post Office of the small Swiss mountain town they eventually got used to my yearly August oddity and didn’t pay attention to it any longer: “Here she comes. It must be mid August!”

I will see you tomorrow for a simple and delicious insalata di riso recipe.

La ghiacciaia

~ Alessandra ~ 1 Comment

My siblings and I learned from a young age that especially when it comes to food nothing is thrown away in the countryside! It is a habit passed from a generation to the next that originated during tough times, when food was scarce and every bite was to be cherished.

This brings back to mind several dishes that originated from putting together left overs stored in the ghiacciaia: the coldest room of the house, usually near the kitchen (often underground), where hunks of ghiaccio, ice, were stored in order to preserve meats, milk, cheeses and all perishables before every household had a refrigerator. Our nonna kept her ghiacciaia long after she got a refrigerator, as did many people in the countryside still preferring to store some perishables the good old way. We, kids, loved that freezing room so rich of mouthwatering scents, and nick named it Siberia. To keep the ice from melting and the temperature from raising the door wasn’t supposed to be opened often, so we would sneak in any time we caught an adult enter it to leave or retrieve something. 

Panmolle.

Left overs make a delicious summer salad, panzanella. As it has happened for many other dishes that humbly originated in the countryside centuries ago, today there are different recipes for panzanella; they all sound delicious, but some require roasting the bred or making a vinaigrette when, in fact, the essence of the original Tuscan panzanella, or panmolle (soaked bread), we grew up with is just that, soaked bread!

Join me tomorrow for a simple and delicious recipe for the original Tuscan panzanella.

Fregata? Bruschetta!

~ Alessandra

During our summers at our grandmother’s in the Tuscan countryside, my siblings and I were playing outdoors for most of the day. Italian grandmothers are pretty authoritarian, especially when it comes to feeding their growing grandkids. Nonna carefully monitored each meal, making sure we were fed the freshest food. Needless to say, everything was made from scratch.

Given the fact that every day we spent many hours outdoors, nonna made sure that in the middle of the afternoon, between lunch and dinner, we were given a healthy merenda (snack), to support the growth of our young bodies, constantly on the move.

Merenda is a common daily tradition in Italy, but in the country those were occasions to witness the preparation of simply made, delicious treats.

One of our favorite merende (plural) was the fregata (rubbed slice). We loved it because it was delicious, but also because we could actually prepare it by ourselves. Thick slices of rustic Tuscan bread were grilled (by a grown up) on embers in the large kitchen hearth. Then we were each given a plate (not that much actually stayed into it for long anyway…), half a clove of garlic and between a quarter and a half of a ripe tomato (depending on size). And here the fun started! Each of us was to rub, first the garlic then the tomato, lacerating it, on the grilled slice of bread. We then would dress it with some virgin olive oil and a pinch of salt. So yummy!

In the States I went to one of my kids’ kindergarten classes to show how to make fregata. What fun the children had! We all had! And we all loved every morsel of it!

We still call it fregata because that is how it originated, but the recipe is famous now in Italian restaurants as bruschetta. In many cases, instead of rubbing the tomato on the bread, like described before, the slices are coated with tomatoes cut into small cubes, and mixed with torn basil leaves. Everything is dressed with oil and salt. Some people also add a few drops of balsamic vinegar.

This is a merenda that children can prepare themselves. Simply hand them the grilled (or toasted) slice of bread, garlic, and a half of a ripe tomato (if you are the brave kind). Or prepare beforehand the chopped tomatoes mixed with torn basil leaves, dressing them with some oil and salt. The children will have fun rubbing the garlic on their bread, and either lacerating the tomato on their slice with gusto, or loading the bread with the tomato cubes! De-licious!

All you need is:

bread (best if Italian rustic or French country) cut into slices

extra virgin olive oil (best if cold pressed)

ripe tomatoes, either cut into a quarter or a half to be rubbed on the bread (for the fearless grown up), or in small cubes

garlic cloves

basil leaves, better if torn by hand

salt

I am looking forward to sharing more morsels with you again on Tuesday. Enjoy the week-end.

A feast for olives’ first squeezed oil.

~ Alessandra ~ 1 Comment
Our meetings for the month of May.

I could keep sharing with you non stop, but should probably schedule a couple of days of the week, and a time during those days, when I will publish my new posts, so that you can come and visit. It has been suggested that I publish on Tuesday and Wednesday morning, eastern time.

There is so much I want to share. I should start with giving you an idea of where I come from, and how recollections of my childhood have partially inspired me to write for children, about children.

Growing up in Italy, I had the fortune of spending long summers in the country side. To escape the torrid heat of the city, our mother would take us to visit grandmother; from Florence, we would move to the much cooler, small village in Tuscany where our nonna resided.

It is in the country side that I learned that a delicious snack doesn’t have to cost much at all, or be tremendously complicated to make. During those beautifully carefree summers, I witnessed the making of some of the most mouthwatering food I have ever tasted! Everything was made from scratch, with the natural ingredients provided by nonna’s garden, orchard, hen-house, sheepfold or pigpen.

Some of the most humble, rustic dishes, over the years and with many influences from our shrinking world, have become more sophisticated, and quite costly in Italian restaurants around the planet. The original, ancient versions, teach us that a snack or meal, does not need any added frills to be delicious, healthy, and cheap!

Today I will recall the festive gatherings we enjoyed every year for the ‘fett’unta’, a mouthwatering treat made with the deliciously tasty oil from the olives’ first pressing.

In the fall, olives are harvested, then brought to the mill, were a big stone wheel grinds them. The olives’ first squeeze is cause for celebration at the mill; farmers and their neighbors gather around big rustic tables to taste, for the first time, the thick, spicy, green liquid; one of the many nature’s bounties for which Tuscany is famous.

Thick slices of country bread are grilled over embers. Cloves of garlic are then rubbed over the warm bread, where the new oil is poured and spread, for the delight of all participants to the feast!

It is still possible to enjoy a delicious fett’unta, even if not at an old mill in the Tuscan country side!

What we need is:

good bread, best if it is country style

pealed garlic cloves

virgin olive oil, tastier if it is cold pressed

salt to taste

What to do:

Cut the bread in slices of about three eights of an inch

Grill (best) or toast the bread

Rub the garlic, pour and spread the oil over the slices, add salt as you wish

ENJOY one of nature’s simplest, most delicious gifts.