I finally saw ‘Io sono Amore’ (‘I am Love’) yesterday. It was, in general, a very poetic moment in my life: a warm Sunday afternoon in New York City, an older art house theater, an audience made up of young professionals, seasoned movie goers, Upper East Side middle aged Jewish couples, couples who’ve probably been married for over 50 years, and students. Phrases and words that come to mind to describe the movie itself, however, range from artistic — sensual, evocative, stunning — to jarring — one big emotional mindfuck. Harsh words, yes, but there are no other phrases in daily vernancular to accurately describe what ‘I am Love’ does to the viewer, for it is indeed more of an experience than a film.

First, the cinamatography (and scenery and costumes), under the direction of Luca Guadagnino and Yorick le Saux, is artful, reminiscent of the days of Rosellini and Fellini. The camera frequently stays in one place, focusing on a particular geometric shape or piece of furniture while the action moves around it. The camera also frequently takes a microscopic focus, noting a mole on a character’s back or the position of a fork relative to a plate. Rarely does one get a panaramic view of the Recchi house or the Lombardian hillscapes.

Second, time is suspended. The pace is slow. The Recchi house is what one imagines is quintessential 1970s art-deco Italian. The tailoring on the clothing is classic and impecable. The family values are traditional in the harshest of ways. The family business is textiles. It is easy to allow one’s mind not to have a grasp on the time period, to let it exist in suspended space, often like one does with a fairytale. However, there are moments that propel the viewer — and the Recchi family — to present day, like when the vintage year is announced on a bottle of wine. The most prominent reminder, however, is the Muslim, American businessman who, while wearing religious and business clothing, operates from a high-powered office in London and speaks with an American accent stronger than mine. It is he who buys the factory from the Recchis. It’s the epitome of globalization.

But those two elements — the time and the art — are expected. Indeed, they are the selling points of the film. However, they are only just the surface. So much more happens to one’s senses and sensitivities in the movie. Not only did I walk away from the movie feeling shaky and emotionally empty but I also resented the reviews by The New Yorker and WSJ for only preparing me for that fateful scene in which Emma Recchi essentially orgasms because the prawn dish Antonio has made for her is so divinely exquisite. They should have told me not to take anything, even the most offhand coment, for granted. They should have told me not to get too caught up in the elegance of Tilda Swinton’s face and craftmanship of Jil Sander’s clothing or Antonio’s culinary delights. They shouldn’t have let me continue to believe that Emma and Antonio’s affair was going to be the movie’s pinaccle. But, on the other hand, if I explain any more of the movie to you, I would be doing both you and the movie a disservice.

I can, however, highlight 3 life lessons offered by this slice of cinema without giving too much away:

1. To change your life, change your appearance.

The movie supports the idea that everything — from the China you set the table with to how you dress — forms a picture of who you are. If you are unhappy with who you are, you can’t just change a small piece of your life, like give your grandfather a photograph instead of a painting or eat someone else’s cooking instead of your own. You must change your person, your actions and your appearance. Most specifically, you must cut your hair.

2. There is a fine line between adapting and conforming, the latter of which mars your individual identity.

Emma is a Russian artisan’s daughter so it is clear that, in becoming a part of the wealthy Recchi family, major cultural adaptations must ensue. But, there is a scene at the beginning when, right before the patriach’s birthday dinner, Emma’s husband puts her jewelry on for her, clasping her bangles like shackles and the viewer knows that the fate of the movie and the Recchi family is sealed.

3. Don’t save your secrets.

Elisabetta, Emma’s daughter and perhaps the most fragile character, reveals her secret early on, both directly and indirectly to the viewer and her mother and brother, and she flourishes. Others save theirs until the film’s end or never reveal them at all and it’s utterly destructive.

In sum, ‘I am Love’ is a sort of reverse Pygmalion, educating you in the finer things in life and then making you pray that they are taken away. Perhaps only the NYT was right when it hints that the film pays homage to both Italian operatic dramas and Alfred Hitchcock. But even the NYT failed to predict that the wife of the Upper East Side middle aged Jewish couple would be sitting in her seat, paralyzed by the abrupt silence at the end of the movie, her husband’s hand protectively more than comfortingly placed on her back, or the fact that I’m still asking, “What just happened?”

(“Non mi conosci di più” – “You don’t know me anymore.” – Some of the last words spoken by Emma.)

[Photo from the New York Times]

Dear Reader, since my last post, a lot has happened, but, most importantly, I entered the worlds of post-college employment and investment management and consulting. I moved to Boston. I (very modernly and precisely) decorated my studio apartment on the Common. I put my Amex to work on red wine and a subscription to the Financial Times. I discovered restaurants in the South End, boutiques in Beacon Hill and pop-up downtown dance floors. I’ve also read the following fantastic articles.

• Breaking up is hard to do, especially when it’s with Pinot Noir.
• The meaning of “Humpty Dumpty” changes depending on what language you speak.
• Ferragamo has a new creative director.
• Italy is too Italian because it values geography and quality.
• Why pay for a fake when you can have the real thing?
• Lego perpetuates gender stereotypes more than Mad Men.
• Organic food costs a lot. Anyone who read my thesis should know that this doesn’t have to be the case.
• Does productivity affect happiness or vice versa? Which came first…
• In the world of fast fashion, there are some brands that endure.
• Surprise, poor people give more to charity.
• I finally saw the perfect suit on a woman in Starbucks the other day. I got my inspiration from a stranger.
• Runway shows aren’t the magical reality they used to be.
• Is W, now under the direction of Tonchi, going to be that one pop culture tome we all desire, right next to LOVE?
• I also got my inspiration from these international sartorialists/-istas.
• There’s a new intellectual property law for designers. The style side of me is thrilled, the innovative side of me is nervous.

It is November 22. That means that in one month I leave Italy. That also means it’s time to start highlighting the best of Florence so far. Tonight’s emphasis: Cibo! (i.e. food). Because, really, what would Italy be without food?

Best Coffee: Caffe Mokkarico (move over Illy)
Best sit down dinner: Caffe Piti (surprisingly amazing despite its tourist location)
Best gelato: Sorriso (with chocolate fondente and banana)
Best chocolate: Perugina “Baci” (“Kiss” in English, except better)
Most attractive waiter: The restaurant in La Spezia (There are no words)
Biggest let down: Hemingway (Famous chocolate bar that wasn’t worth the effort to find it)
Best aperitivi: tie – Slowy, Kitsch (Slowly has the atmosphere and is close, but Kitsch has the good food)
Best atmosphere: Il Santino (A little wine, anyone?)
Most surprising flavor: Il Santo Bevitore (Marco’s restaurant that I finally tried)
Best condiment: tie – Balsamic vinegar, Nutella (When you can’t use one, use the other)
Best cheese: buratta (really buttery mozzarella)
Most quaint: Da Noi (hole in the wall lunch cafe that probably wouldn’t live up to US health codes)
Best pizza: 4 Formaggi at Cardillac Cafe (you have to wait at least 5 minutes for the cheese to harden)
Best snack: dried fruit (it’s everywhere and its addictive)
Best dinner wine: a Chianti with the majority Sangiovese and a little Merlot (who needs beer?)
Only American bakery: Mamma’s Bakery (winner: bagels, loser: drip coffee, eww)
Most randomly convenient supermarket: D Market (perfect for that little piece of sugar between classes)
Coolest food market in the world: Mercato Centrale (food….everywhere)
Best university hangout: Bar Brunellesco (a shot–of espresso–for just €.80, that’s a rare find)
Best way to eat meat: Meatballs (only if you don’t like steak)
Best pasta sauce: sausage and mushrooms (since when do I like mushrooms?)
Most alluring smell: Waffels (don’t ask)
Most christmasy: roasted chestnuts (they sell them like hotdogs on a stick at the state fair)
Most pervasive chocolate brand: Kinder (surprise!)
Best water: Aqua Panna (really, it’s legit the best water you’ve ever tasted)

Ok, this list could go on forever, but I’ll stop here. Any other food inquiries? Leave a comment!

I’ve decided that my favorite time to walk around Florence is at dusk (I can’t say dark because then my grandma won’t sleep for the next year or so).  My classes finish at six so by the time I grab a caffe and then run some errands the sun has begun to set, the Florentines start heading home from work and most of the unsuffrable tourists are away eating at cheap pizzarias. The shops are more attractive and yet you buy less because you’re exhausted. The music from the street musicians doesn’t sound quite as desperate. And the waffle stand next to the chestnut vendor in the Piazza Nuovo make the air smell warm and sweet. It’s still about two months before I return to the states, but I think it’s this memory of the city I’m going to take home with me.

Anyway, the best way to enjoy this dusk is to grab aperitivi with some friends. The aperitivi trend started in Milan a couple of years ago and has slowly spread its way down the country. It’s to the point that most guidebooks now, for all the major cities, list the best 5-7 best places to find aperitivi in the city. So what does apertivi mean exactly? It basically means cocktails and buffet. For some, this is just appetizers. For us, it’s dinner.

From what my friends and I have come to learn is that there are four types of aperitivi.
1) Sunday brunch – €10-15 for a buffet filled with interesting eggs, mozzarella and rice dishes with bread, water and espresso. The only time we’ve ever tried this was in Rome and I think we all agreed that the higher price was bearable since there was no grease to be seen for miles.
2) Sidle up to a bar, buy a drink and nibble at the little chees plates – €7,  This is really not the way to go if you’re looking for a full meal, but it’s a good way to rendezvous before dinner. It’s also a cop-out for some restaurants to say they serve aperitivi so beware.
3) Grab a table, buy a cocktail and help yourself to a buffet - €6-11, This is what we did in Rome. We walked in circles four about 45 min looking for this place that Lonely Planet described as being full of “effortlessly beautiful people streaming out into the piazza”. Who wouldn’t want to go? Needless to say, Lonely Planet was correct and the people watching was glorious and the atmosphere warm and welcoming. However, because you pay for the cocktail and then get food, the quality, despite the French-Asian fusion, was a little lacking in quality.
4) Grab a table, say you want aperitivi then order a cocktail - €7-12, What’s the difference between this and #3? You’re paying for the food and the first drink comes free. It’s a subtle distinction but one that’s important because it means that the food will be better. There are a couple of places like this in central Florence, but last night my friends and I stopped at this place we’d seen once from the autobus, called Kitsch, before seeing the movie Vicky Cristina Barcelona that was by far the best we’ve had so far. The buffet was much more like a full dinner, but more flavorful, and much more Tuscan. (The drinks were also great).

In all cases, if you stay long enough by either a) eating enough or b) catching the eye of a guy sitting with a group of friends who want to know more about American girls who speak Italian, you won’t miss the dessert that replaces the pasta and prosciutto later in the night. Who could resist, really?

Other than exploring the many variations on aperitivi in the region, my life has been absolutely crazy for the past two weeks or so, filled with a whirlwind weekend in Rome (pictures hopefully coming soon), university classes and protests, Eurochocolate 2008 in the underground part of the city of Perugia (capital of Umbria), midterms, bus strikes, and one mean home cooked ossa buco (which literally means “bone with a hole”). Today, my art history class spent about four hours running about the city-like six little ducklings scurrying after our sideburned yellow corduroy wearing professor-exploring various churches and looking for paintings of saints and martyrs. (All topped off with a side trip to the best gelateria in the Santa Croce neighborhood of course.)

Anyway, it’s only 12 days until the election so go vote early or send in your absentee ballot NOW. I have every intention of finally filling out my ballot and sending it tomorrow and then pulling a Sarah Palin and going to buy some designer boots.

There’s this thing called the “Mediterranean Diet,” except that it’s not really a diet. It’s just the way people in the Mediterranean region actually eat. The essentials? Pasta, fruit, vegetables, wine and olive oil. What’s missing? Fat, salt and meat. Anyway, since I’m in the Mediterranean region, I’ve been curious about this “diet.” Thus, today, when I was reading one of my usual blogs, I came across a list of recipes of the week, and it include this week’s Mediterranean favorite, “Eggplant Steaks with chickpeas.” Since it’s the weekend, I was feeling a little indulgent and instead of dropping into the shoe store in the Piazza della Santa Maria dei fiori, I kind of went crazy and bought a lot of fruits, vegetables and beans and decided to try the recipe.

One word: paradiso.

I don’t think I’ve ever made a better dinner for myself. Plus, I could make it for only one and it only took 15 min. (NB: I don’t like feta so I used aged swiss and I didn’t want to buy parsley or oregano so I used some dried basil that I had and it was still fabulous). I really need to cook more often.

I just returned from the perfect little Italian bristro outside the Palazzo Pitti here in Florence. Notwithstanding that fact that the prices were exorbitant because a) It was near a tourist haven b) I can order a glass of wine with dinner c) Due to my in capabilities to order the right amount of meat for one and then cook it, I’ve resolved to order meat every time I eat out and d) Everything in Italy is expensive, it was the perfect little meal after two and half days of little sleep and large amounts of walking.

All my flights went smoothly and I arrived in Florence to a gorgeous hot and sticky Florentine morning. I arrived in a bit of confusion because I neglected to send an email to my landlords reminding them of my arrival and so the keys were not at the restaurant as planned. But all was quickly settled and I moved into my little room in their apartment on the Via Romana.

The difference between moving into una citta’ like Florence instead of New York is this: If I had moved to New York, I would have located the nearest Whole Foods and H&M, run some other errands and then been set. In Firenze, I have to start from scratch. I have to buy some foods here, some foods there and coffee someplace else entirely. And, do you know how hard it is to find a hairdryer? I don’t mind it though. It’s all part of building a frame of reference for the coming months and future years of travel.

After a nap yesterday, I spent the afternoon and early evening wandering around the main streets of the city getting my bearings. I feel somewhat sheepish for not visiting a museum yet, but it’s different when you’ve just moved to a city and have so many competing objectives as well as sightseeing to do. After grocery shopping, I made a small dinner of prosciutto, bread, mozzarella, an apple and a glass of red wine and then went to bed. This morning, I got up around 8 and was at a caffe drinking the world’s best cappuccino by 9:30. After that, I walked to the school just so that, come Monday, I know where I’m going. The location of the apartment is such that it takes less than 10 min to walk to the Ponte Vecchio, after which is everything, and then only another 15 to school. The walk is interesting and not even remotely uphill, so it’s definitely do-able everyday, but I’ve decided I need a bike. Before lunch, I walked through the Piazza della Repubblica and passed the Duomo. I stopped at a bookstore and bought the latest major Italian magazines, which ironically include Marie Claire and Elle in Italian, and a Nora Roberts book. I figure it’s the best way to start picking up on conversational Italian.

My Italian is coming along all right. I wouldn’t say it’s improved since I got here (all of 36 hours ago) but it’s not proving to be an obstacle. I suspect that my speaking abilities will improve by leaps and bounds once school starts and I have occasion to speak in full sentences. It’s funny how when I practice to myself or mutter under my breath, my Italian is strong and sure of itself just like other Italian women speak, but when spoken out loud, it’s under my breath and sounds very Mid-Western, thereby instantly branding me as more American than I already am. I must work on that.

It’s interesting that after, 24+ hours without sleep and little food, everything that is quintessential about a country that you want to experience can be daunting, like the climb up 6 flights of stairs to my surprisingly modern apartment on a prime  street in the city or a walk to see the Statue of David. It helped to walk around today though, to stop in a few shops and see just how expensive everything is, to take stock of how much grocery shopping I’ll need to do, to see how long the lines to museums are. It all reminded me exactly why I wanted to move to an older European city. I love it! However, I can tell I’ll definitely be ready for classes on Monday so that I have a purpose every day. I don’t have many pictures to post yet, but, I promise, they’re coming.

Buona sera tutti!

-Em

I have a task for you.

Visit Il Santo Bevitore (pictured below).

First their website.

And then actually the restaurant.

In Florence.

Where I’ll be.

Because it’s my landlords’ restaurant.

The website is in Italian so you’ll have to just bask in the aura of it. But to give you a hint about what it’s like, here’s a translation of the first page:

Ecco quello che sono veramente cattivo, sbronzo ma in gamba.

This is what I really am: nasty, drunk but clever.  [Updated]

The line as well as the restuarant title come from Joseph Roth, Austrian novelist and author of Hotel Savoy, and a 1988 film called “La leggenda del santo bevitore” or “The Legend of the Holy Drinker.” It tells the story of a homeless man on the streets of Paris (of all places) who is given a large sum of money by a stranger on the condition that, when he does have money, he’ll give back to the church. Of course, the homeless man spends all/most of the money on drinks. And I don’t know how it ends.

Ironically, the restuarant is located on the Via di Santo Spirito or the street of the Holy Spirit.

I know, I never vented my frustrations over Thursday’s Gun Control Ruling. Just trust me when I say that there were many, which my mother can attest to since she’s the one who heard me curse at the tv screen for several hours after work (in front of my grandmother, mind you).

Today, however, I want to talk about a new word I just learned: Umami.

It’s a Japanese word that implies a fifth type of taste sensing (on top of the Western concepts of sweet, sour, bitter and salty). I suppose it broadly falls under the “savory” category, but, in its purest firm, seems to imply a perfection of flavors and tastes that brings together the senses (mainly smell and sigh) and brings the human quite nearly close to Nirvana (OK, not really, but theoretically I think this is the goal).

As with most concepts that transcend Western categorization, I still can’t quite get my head around the concept (so, if someone could explain it in layman’s terms, that’d be great), but I’m quite intrigued by the idea of it. Basically, the amino acid glutamate causes umani, or a sense of heartiness to the flavor of a particular food, commonly meat, cheese and all things Italian (sweet). From my understanding, the presence of glutamate acid, along with other factors of sight and smell, is what helps us decide whether or not a food is delicious. I suppose, on some levels, this explains our obsession with red meat.

Somehow I think umami is a word best understood when put into use. So, next time you eat a hearty or delicious meal, drop this word on the dinner table (make sure you have a look of utter pleasure and satisfaction on your face when you use the word, to help cue your peers in but still look cool–and no, this word does not refer to foods that are aphrodiasics specifically).

Still confused both by the concept and my babble? Visit the website completely devoted to Umami (or just go to the Wikipedia entry).