Italy, you know you've got me, but we're gonna have a "Come-To-Jesus" right now, which I find pretty appropriate this close to Easter.
1. What's up with everything being so little? This six-footer of a dude goes cruising by the apartment today in a three-wheeled "truck" whose front tire looked better suited to dunking in a cup of coffee than guiding your vehicle-ette along the streets of Italy. The paper towels are more like Kleenex and don't even get me started on the clothes. I will forever be doomed to buy trousers in the U.S. Italian dudes simply do not carry as much in the trunk as THIS GUY. Shirts are fine. The buttons spread a little wide around the chest area, but that's livable. Your country is fueled by simple sugars. Act like it. "Relaxed fit" is not a flippin' crime. If it's such a problem, make 'em in fashion colors and roll the legs. It's OK.
2. Yesterday we made a cake for Martina's friend Viviana's birthday. I was given a cookbook to peruse and found a recipe for carrot cake which turned out to be the final answer to the question. After locating this recipe, I flipped back and forth through a few more pages, but couldn't see the one for the accompanying frosting. "Where's the recipe for the icing, baby?" "We don't really do that in Italy." HOLD. THE. PHONE. Folks, back me up: what's the best part of a carrot or red velvet cake?! THE ICING. Am I right? I'm right. CAN I GET AN AMEN?! Praise Him. The American gets on the internet and finds the recipe for the frosting, hits the neighborhood grocery, whips up the solution to aforementioned problem, upping the calorie count by 200% and the flavor content by a THOUSAND. You're welcome, Italy. PREGO, ITALIA.
3. Why's it such a special occasion to have meat at a meal? Yesterday Martina and I were walking through town and SOMEONE was cooking an "arrosto," that beautiful roast beef dish that Nonna Betty made for us two nights ago. I kept sniffing the air and remarking on how incredible that smell was. Martina got a bit of a worried look on her face and asked if I wanted meat for lunch. It's just not commonplace to have meat at every meal here. Dinner? Sure. But lunch? Not the norm. So I had to "settle" for artichoke tortellini with pan-sautéed tomato and mozzarella, homemade tiramisu for dessert. OK, if that's the trade, I think I can handle it.
4. Cookies for breakfast. Ain't nothin' wrong with that.
5. Cosmetics ads for men in Italy. You pass by the window of a pharmacy or department store and there are just as many male-centric ads for beauty creams, unctions and potions as those for women. No WONDER these guys can't fill a pair of pants. Buck up, uomini.
That's about it for now. Italy, I love you. I LOVE YOU. Your language, your food, your PEOPLE. But nothing's perfect. I've said my peace. Now gimme a hug.