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Welcome to my third monthly post of my culinary memoir- Simply Divina: Becoming Italian One Recipe At A Time. Thank you for subscribing. I appreciate the love. When you become a paying subscriber, you have access to all the archives, which include the guides to the Markets of Italy, which I created last year and my ebook, Secrets From My Tuscan Kitchen. This newsletter is recipe heavy, especially this year that I am celebrating my 40th year in Italy. Cook along with me and become a little more Italian every day!
I had met someone and was dating him. He had told me to move from the horrible apartment I was in and that he would help me open my cooking school. He had bought me a ring and planned that I would come and live with him and his mother. I shouldn’t be living alone. I had heard about “mammismo” in Italy, Italian men super attached to their mothers. I wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing. When moving to another country, you must adapt to the local customs.
At the time, my girlfriend Jan had come to Florence and needed a place to live. It was perfect. We could room together until we both got settled.
I met Andrea in the piazza of the village of Fiesole. I was waiting tables at a restaurant, and he was a cab driver. He and his friend Walter had a giant room for rent in Florence. I asked if we could rent it. It was common to rent rooms, not apartments, at the time.
Their apartment was in a wonderful palazzo on Via Ghibellina. Andrea and his roommate Walter decided to have dinner first to interview us and see if we fit in. Andrea and Walter made dinner and invited their friends. My Italian was what it was, but I did love to talk. I was so nervous. I don’t even remember what we ate. We passed the test and moved in.
Andrea had rented the apartment years before and restored it to make it liveable. It was on the top floor of the Palazzo Quaratesi Salviate, just in front of the Teatro Verde and around the corner from the gelateria Vivoli.
The Palazzo Quaratesi Salviati is one of the many famous palazzi in Florence from the 1300’s. Location, location, location.
The house had 14 rooms. The kitchen was a modern open kitchen in a huge room with a large dining table. The house was made for parties. Our bedroom had an affresco on the ceiling. It was a dream.
This was the Florence I dreamed about. Italian roommates and living in a fabulous old house downtown. Hanging out with non-English speakers. Full immersion. Not knowing a language makes life a challenge. The sooner I could speak Italian, the sooner I could work.
Just after I moved in, I found out my “boyfriend” had forgotten to tell me he was married with two kids. OOPS. He tried to explain that they were separated. At that time, a divorce in Italy took 10 years if you had children. Italy is a Catholic country, I felt so stupid. It might have been okay for someone to start a new relationship in Italy while still legally married, but it wasn’t for me. Live and learn.
When I found out, my friend Jan was on her way out and handed me a bottle of wine to drown my sorrows. Andrea saw me crying, and although he was on his way out, he stayed home to comfort me.
I was crushed. Living in a country where you don’t speak the language or understand the customs is an emotional journey. It’s so hard not to be able to convey what you are thinking or feeling without the right words. Many people say I was brave. I think stubborn is the word I would use.
I hadn’t known that Andrea had a crush on me from all the time we spent talking up in the piazza of Fiesole. He hadn’t known I was dating anyone. After I was drinking the wine to drown my sorrows, we kissed.
We were already friends, which was a wonderful way to begin a relationship. I thought I had ruined everything by kissing my landlord.
Andrea tells everyone his story of renting a room to two Americans, but I only paid one month’s rent. It was not the great deal he thought it was going to be.
My bad luck was the best thing that could have happened.
Work to learn
I had not applied for a visa to work in Italy, and not speaking Italian fluently, it wouldn’t have been easy to get a real job. I wanted to work in a kitchen to improve my Italian cooking skills. However, small trattorias in Italy have very small kitchens, and I couldn't work without being able to speak Italian.
I found jobs waiting tables in various restaurants and slowly started building up my collection of recipes and my vocabulary. I would buy cooking magazines, La Cucina Italiana and Sale e Pepe to learn the cooking vocabulary. They don’t teach you that in Italian class.
Tuscan food was nothing like what I had seen in North Beach, San Francisco. Most restaurants served southern Italian cuisine, and I began to understand “regional” Italian cooking.
At the apartment, I could cook. One of my first disasters was trying to recreate Italian dishes from American recipes with Italian ingredients. I made pesto which almost made me throw up. The Italian basil was so much stronger as was the Tuscan olive oil. All the ingredients had so much more flavor.
Jan and I decided to return the favor to our new roommates and offered to fix dinner.
I made Penne with Amatriciana sauce, and Jan made gnocchi with four-cheese sauce.
We were so proud.
Andrea took one taste and pushed the plates away and walked away from the table.
What did we do wrong?
He didn’t tell us right away, but… now I know.
There is only one right way to make recipes. Once you master the right way, you can personalize it, but first, you must learn the traditional way to cook.
I can write a book on How Not to Cook for an Italian.
This is what Pasta all’Amatriciana is supposed to look like.
I followed recipes from America. Everything went wrong.
How NOT to make pasta all’amatriciana
Don’t salt the pasta water.
Saute the pancetta with onions, garlic and chili pepper. Add the tomato sauce to the pan with the pancetta.
Drain the pasta and put the sauce on top
If you would like to learn as I did, one recipe at a time, become a paid subscriber to have access to the recipe PDF. Please don’t make the same mistakes I did.
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