Tu vuò fà la napoletana… ma sei nata in Canada !

Tu vuò fà la napoletana… ma sei nata in Canada !

Italian hospitality never ceases to amaze me. I was the recipient of whirlwind hospitality last summer and this time around, I’ve been welcomed into an Italian home for as long as I need and want. I’ve come to learn that hospitality, especially in southern Italy, is an art form that is not to be taken lightly.

My role in Gio’s family is still in progress, as living with your boyfriend’s parents in any country is not an easily defined role. We’ve all been transitioning and adapting. I will always be grateful to them for not only welcoming me into their home, but for: entirely transforming two rooms to create a bedroom for us (an unmarried couple in a Catholic household), getting me a job where I am able to make a decent amount of money, acquiring a new (used) vehicle for my use, refusing to let me pay room and board… and the list goes on. However, for me, it’s hard to accept such overwhelming generosity without feeling the need to contribute something.

At the start of my sojourn, I had a few hiccups in my quest to not be a burden on the family. After Gio’s mom made a comment about how quickly we ran out of toilet paper in our bathroom, I went out and bought some as well as a bottle of their preferred laundry soap, thinking that might be a thoughtful contribution. Well, it turns out that I was scolded for spending money on such paltry household items, and as a dear friend pointed out, I’m not living in a shared apartment L’auberge espagnole style! Basically, it wasn’t the appropriate contribution.

I’ve also had a couple of hilarious cooking snafus. I’ve since realized that offering to make a whole meal for the family does not work so well with the flow of their household. Since this realization, I’ve made food, but not entire meals. Is there a more direct route to anyone’s heart than… fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies? However, if anyone has ever tried baking in a different country, you’ll know that it’s not so simple. Ingredients are different and altitude and climate are different, which all interfere with the science of baking. My cookies lacked brown sugar (which I am pretty sure doesn’t exist here) and a proper leavening agent (I used sodium bicarbonate because baking soda also doesn’t exist here… and then realized that one does not equal the other). Also, the nonna helped me grease the pan which resulted in the first batch of cookies pretty much being fried instead of baked! The family did happily eat the “cookies” over the next few days, but I felt those cookies did not well represent my baking abilities.

The second cooking snafu was trying to make quinoa for a traditional Italian family.  What’s wrong with quinoa? Well, nothing, but I went about it the wrong way. Quinoa was the principal ingredient in the dish whereas I probably should have used it to bulk up a salad or other ingredients. The dish turned very earthy and so the flavour profiles just weren’t something the family was used to. Gio proclaimed in Italian (not realizing how good my comprehension has gotten) “If I ate this every day, I would lose so much weight!” which is exactly how it tasted. To be completely honest, it just wasn’t very yummy. My next starch attempt was a mayonnaise-laden potato salad. Much better results that time!

 “Going out for Thai” or “picking up Chinese” isn’t in the Italian vocabulary. Many Italians are used to cooking only Italian food. To a North American, this may seem like a very limited way of cooking, but it really isn’t. I’ve been here for more than a month and a half and we’ve rarely eaten the same thing more than once, except for a few basic lunchtime pasta dishes.  Italy has an extremely diverse food culture, especially between the North and South. However, sometimes the family surprises me with what they find exotic. At lunchtime today, Gio’s mom asked me how I usually use mustard. Then his brother proceeded to put some on a piece of bread with a slice of cheese and salami (sounds pretty standard, right?) and proclaimed the flavour of the mustard to be “troppo forte.” Oh well, they’ve liked it when I’ve snuck it in a few sauces.

My quest to find a rhythm in the family hit a speed bump a few weeks ago when I was sick with a high fever, “la febbre,” which seems to be a common Italian virus that goes around, like the flu. My way of dealing with sickness in Canada is sleeping and drinking water and ginger ale until I feel better. My parents involvement is basically doing what I ask (“please make me a hot water bottle” or “can you bring me some water and an advil?”) and leaving me to sleep (thanks parents!) The Italian way of dealing with illness is much more involved. This caused some issues.

The whole family was very concerned with my fever, which was kind and caring of them, but also very intense. My temperature was measured every few hours (to accurately give me the appropriate dose of medicine), no matter if I was sleeping or not. This was mostly okay, except for one time when I was woken up by two very concerned parents at 9 am, while I was in the middle of a deep, sweaty-fever sleep. I was groggy and disoriented, Gio wasn’t around to translate, and his parents were asking me a number of rapid-fire Italian questions! If anyone has had to speak another language they aren’t 100% comfortable with a 101.8 F fever, you’ll know this is no easy task.

Another difference is that my parents give sleep the number one priority when sick, whereas Gio’s parents give eating the number one priority. The problem with this was that my fever was making me feel nauseous. I forced myself to eat a bit and ended up throwing up! So here I am, refusing to eat, and Gio’s parents are completely insistent that I eat, and are very worried when I don’t. Enter Gio himself, who got caught in the eating battle crossfire, with me on one side refusing to eat and trying to get him to tell his parents I don’t need to eat, and his parents on the other trying to get him to get me to eat. It was a stressful situation that escalated as the days when on and the fever had not broken yet. I felt very bad because I felt like my fever was making the whole house completely stressed out, and when I finally got better, I felt very nervous about my position in the family because I felt like my way of dealing with illness could be seen as obstinate and uncooperative.

Luckily for me, after that, three delightful visitors blew into town and really made things better. My dear friend Annette came with her parents (luckily after la febbre), which was a nice shift of focus after being cooped up for a week, sick as a dog. Gio mentioned to his parents that I had friends coming, and they immediately went into super-southern-Italian-hospitality mode. They invited them to their hill house in Casertavecchia for a grand feast that took two cooking days and one cleaning day to put together. We made a thoughtful linguistic arrangement at the table to make sure that those who didn’t speak either Italian or English had someone nearby to help. The evening started off with a historic walk around the city itself with a bottle of prosecco to enjoy the view before heading to the house to enjoy prosciutto direct from Casertavecchia itself, marinated vegetables as well as grilled fish, mozzarella di bufala and a traditional babà cake for dessert. The efforts Gio’s family went to to put on this meal for friends of mine, who they had never met, were incredible. It also made me feel really touched that they would do such a thing for my friends and therefore, for me. It was the reassurance I needed after feeling uneasy about how I was being perceived after being sick.

Life here continues to evolve and unfold, but as the days pass, it seems like a rhythm is starting to develop. It’s still a little offbeat, and may always be that way based on the situation, but Italy is definitely starting to embrace me with its charms. 

View from Casertavecchia to Caserta below