Why Italians Love to Talk About Food (52 page)

 

Those who are fondest of friandises have delicate features, smaller, and are distinguished by a peculiar expression of the mouth.

Agreeable guests should be sought for among those who have this appearance. They receive all that is offered them, eat slowly, and taste advisedly. They do not seek to leave places too quickly where they have been kindly received. They are always in for all the evening, for they know all the games, and all that is necessary for a gastronomical soirée.

Those, on the contrary, to whom nature has refused a desire for the gratifications of taste, have a long nose and face. Whatever be their statures, the face seems out of order. Their hair is dark and flat, and they have no
embonpoint
. They invented pantaloons.

By Andrei Bourtsev

Women whom nature has thus afflicted, are very angulous, are uncomfortable at the table, and live on lenten fare.

This physiological theory will, I trust, meet with not many contradictions: any one may verify the matter. I will, however, rely on facts.

I was sitting one day at a great entertainment, and saw opposite to me a very pretty woman with a very sensual face. I leaned towards my neighbor and said, that the lady with such features must be
gourmande
.

“Bah!” said he, “she is not more than fifteen; she is not old enough—let us see though.”

. . . She not only ate what was set before her, but sent for dishes which were at the other end of the table. She tasted every thing, and we were surprised that so small a stomach could contain so much. My diagnostics succeeded and science triumphed.
¹

 

Brillat-Savarin then goes on to tell of meeting the young woman again two years later. She had been married a few days earlier and had become even more fascinating and coquettish, since she displayed all the charms that fashion now allowed her to exhibit. Whenever an admirer of the fair sex passed beside her, her unfortunate husband would quiver with jealousy, and not long afterward, in order to put an end to his suffering, he took his young wife and moved away.

Brillat-Savarin is a Frenchman. His philosophizing is universal. But Italy, the most Catholic of all the Catholic countries, has its own specific nature. The attitude of Italians toward eroticism has always been dominated not by the working of licentiousness, but by the allure and seduction of forbidden fruit. Half the liturgical year in Italy consisted of days of abstinence. During these periods priests required the faithful to observe sexual abstinence, both by direct prohibition—conjugal relations were forbidden—and by indirect action: anyone who fasts from morning to night doesn't get certain ideas. But it is inherent in the mechanism of eros that resistance strengthens attraction. Thus not only did chivalry flourish luxuriantly in Italy, so much that it became a model throughout the world, but so did the language of fasting and abstinence: it now became a substitute for obscene expressions. It was most likely in accordance with this principle that someone first got the idea of calling the male member
pesce
(fish) or
cavolo
(cabbage): foods associated with days of fasting. The same organ is also called
baccalà
(cod) in Italian: in the image of dried cod, the idea of “Lent diet food” is associated with the idea of rigidity.

When fasting, the thoughts of both sinners and the righteous naturally revolved around food. Hippolyte Taine recounts stories of the parishioners of the church of the Aracoeli, on the Campidoglio in Rome:

 

During Lent the sermons turned entirely on fasting, and on forbidden or permitted dishes; the preacher gesticulates and walks about on a platform describing hell, and, immediately after, the various ways of preparing macaroni and codfish which are so numerous as to render flesh-eating gourmands quite inexcusable . . . Unlike the German or Englishman, the Italian is not open to pure ideas; he involuntarily incorporates them in palpable form; the vague and abstract escape or repel him; the structure of his mind imposes definite forms on his conception, a strong relief, and this constant invasion of precise imagery, which formerly shaped his art, now shapes his religion.
²

 

Some “fat” foods (meats) are unforgivably fat, but others, if you don't put too fine a point on it, can also be eaten during Lent. Thus was born the indulgent attitude toward
tripe, permitted on fast days that are not too strict. Tripe may be meat, and may not. It depends on how you look at it. Generally speaking, during Lent there was a subtle desire to deceive someone: if not God, then at least oneself. What is a “false capon”? Apparently, a capon made of vegetable purée. One senses the extent to which ritual in these cases is made absolute in the Italian conscience, the ultramundane solidified. “Within a few days a sausage vender on the Corso arranged his hams in the shape of a sepulchre; above it were lights and garlands, and in the interior a glass globe filled with gold-fishes.—The principle is to appeal to the senses,” writes Taine with regard to the way in which the Church “intimidated” parishioners in Rome during Lent.
³

Eros appears constantly in the Italian culinary code. Overly pious devotion inevitably ends up instilling forbidden erotic thoughts in the minds of the faithful. Thus, in Fellini's
Amarcord
, it is not the zeal of a pastor of young souls that prevails in the insistent questioning of the priest who hears the children's confessions, but a reprehensible voyeurism. Taine writes:

 

I entered a church one day and saw a priest engaged in instructing forty little girls of about seven or eight years of age: they looked about inquisitively with sparkling eyes, all whispering together like tiny little mice, and their roguish animated little heads in constant motion. With a mild paternal aspect he went from bench to bench, restraining his excited little flock with his hand, always repeating the word
il diavolo
. “Be careful of the devil, my dear little children, the devil who is so wicked, the devil who devours your souls,” etc. Fifteen or twenty years from this, this word will surely arise in their minds, and along with it the horrible mouth, the sharp claws of the image, the burning flames, and so on.
⁴

 

Catholicism inspires a philosophy of a constant sense of sinfulness in the faithful in order to grant rare moments of catharsis, of joyful absolution: that enthusiasm that possesses the faithful after confession, just at the moment when the “food,” namely communion, is distributed. Permission to forget their sins coincides with the sublimation of the food's forbidden eros.

Wherever you look, the lexicon of cooking is erotic. The whole world is familiar with the dessert tiramisù. A colorful legend has it that tiramisù was a favorite of Venice's courtesans, who needed a “pick-me-up” (the literal translation of the dessert's name) to fortify themselves between their amorous encounters; another version says it was their male visitors who required the pick-me-up. Also renowned are Perugina Baci. Few know that in 1922, when these chocolates were created, a Futurist poet was invited to concoct a
name, something that was often done in those days. Trying to come up with some popular tradition, the Futurist immediately found the very aggressive name
cazzotti
(punches), and only after a few years did the owner of the factory, Giovanni Buitoni, rename them
baci
(kisses), slipping a card with a sentimental saying into each individually wrapped chocolate.

In the crisp and vivid Tuscan tongue, the ability to
ingravidarsi
, or become pregnant, is even attributed to a sandwich which has sinned with a slice of prosciutto: “She has been up and prepared: four boiled eggs, two
panini gravidi
(what nations deficient in sexual fancies call
sandwiches
), a nice round slice of goat's milk cheese, and a flask of native wine.”
⁵

The flavors of ice cream in a cone “marry,” as do the greens in a salad.

As we've seen, “married soup,” that is, vegetable soup with meat, is found in Neapolitan cuisine. The vegetarian element is penitential and God-fearing, so vegetable soup is guilt-free. When meat ends up in this meatless soup, it produces a change that is perceived as a loss of virginity; hence the idea that the soup is “married.” The meaning of
maritozzi
(husbands) is analogous: sweet buns whose shape is decidedly phallic. And altered food products, even in court, are officially called adulterated.

The names of certain food preparations take on a double meaning, in vulgar parlance, that refers to the erotic sphere. Allusions to “dunking the biscuit” or “stirring the polenta” are sexually explicit, according to the dictionaries. But even in the literal sense, these procedures trigger particular associations. In the painting
La polenta
by Pietro Longhi (Ca' Rezzonico, Venice), hot, scantily dressed serving maids can be seen pouring soft polenta from a cauldron onto a white cloth spread on the table. Both the seductive allure of the female body as well as the fervor of the collective movement, the stirring and ladling, are rendered in the painting. An equally vivid sensuality is concealed in another Venetian work, this one theatrical: the dialogue between Rosaura and Arlecchino in the comedy
La donna di garbo
(The admirable woman), 1743, by Carlo Goldoni. Here Rosaura promises to prepare for Arlecchino a rich polenta:

 

“Look: we'll wait until everyone is in bed, even that eagle-eyed Brighella, whom I can't stand; then very softly we'll both go to the kitchen . . . When the water begins to murmur, I'll take some of that ingredient, beautiful as gold dust, called cornmeal; and little by little I'll add it to the cauldron, in which you with a knowing rod will make circles and strokes. When the substance thickens, we'll remove it from the fire, and both of us in concert, a spoon for each of us, will move it from the cauldron to a plate. There from hand to hand we'll top it
with an abundant portion of fresh, yellow, creamy Butirro cheese, then equally buttery, yellow, and well-grated hard cheese . . .”

“Oh, hush, my dear, you're making me swoon.”

 

The word “polenta,” not surprisingly, often replaces the word “Madonna” in exclamations (“Santa polenta!”), since it is forbidden to take the Madonna's name in vain.

Literature and the visual arts give us many impressions like this. But even normal, everyday life or a simple evening in a trattoria can lead us to similar associations. The fact is that many Italian dishes are difficult to eat and force us to drabble. This is probably their greatest attraction.

It is not easy to wrap spaghetti around a fork, especially when it is dripping with red sauce. Before Italian cooking was introduced to tomatoes (prior to Columbus), Neapolitan vermicelli and macaroni were not seasoned with
pummarola
. Even much later, at the end of the eighteenth century, Goethe wrote of spaghetti eaten directly with the hands, along the street: it was a convenient food, which did not get you dirty. But now, it's torture.

Just think about
pasta all'amatriciana
, which is also called whistle-style pasta by some cooking historians, because if you suck it too frenziedly, the pierced noodle (
bucatino
) bathed in sauce emits a hissing sound that does not sound very polite. While enjoying the dinner as well as the refined conversation, it is imperative to keep an eye on jackets, ties, shirts, and blouses at the same time, since the
bucatino
is unforgiving:

 

And since bucatini must be slippery as eels, someone will easily end up with sauce on the tablecloth, or on his shirt, or tie, or trousers, or on the carpet. But no true pasta eater will allow the joy of the moment to be disturbed by these inevitable accidents. No talcum powder, which with its scent would ruin everything. We'll sprinkle that on later. The ideal thing would be to roll up the bucatini while sitting comfortably bare-chested in the shade of a pinewood, followed by the watchful eye of a faithful dog.
⁶

 

Thus Aldo Buzzi, meditating on the relationship between pleasure and inconvenience, develops the theme of the joy inherent in the eating process, carrying the idea to its extreme consequences, to the point of having to undress and invite the dinner guest to more intimate relations, unrestrained by modesty. Better if this dinner companion is someone who loves you unconditionally, such as a boyfriend, girlfriend, or your faithful dog!

It's awkward eating a huge pizza and smearing sauce all around. It's not clear how to
hold it: with your fingers, maybe, getting it all over your hands? Cut it into triangular slices and furl it, tucking the strands of piping hot mozzarella inside?

It's troublesome to peel a shrimp or prawn covered with tomato sauce, fishing out the meat and leaving the shell in the sauce. It's extremely distasteful to extract what little meat there is from a slippery oxtail, firm in the middle, that leaps away, squirting treacherously; not to mention having to do so blindly, since oxtail
vaccinara
-style is served submerged in a fiery red sauce at the very bottom of a tall ceramic container. It's cumbersome to remove mollusks from the shell. It's almost always difficult to eat fish. In a fancy restaurant they show you the whole fish first, then they take it away and fillet it, but in an ordinary trattoria (the kind of restaurant more commonly preferred by the majority of Italians) they are apt to serve it whole, with the skin and all the rest: it's up to the customer to remove the bones. You have to use your wits to eat even the simplest meal—whether a focaccia with olive oil or a seasoned, big-leaf salad—without staining your tie or shirt.