Food is the foundation of most every culture, providing a path toward decoding a place’s heritage and social rituals. The case is no different in Italy where life revolves around good food. Pizza and pasta are the life blood of the Italian people and signify a food continuum that goes back hundreds of years.
I made the mistake a week ago of asking an Italian student what he preferred more, pizza or pasta. It seems an innocuous enough of a question, but I was met with an animated response where he proceeded to explain, through ample gesticulation, that choosing one or the other would be like cutting off an arm. Passion such as his about food is something universally shared by Italians.
Unlike Americans, Italians have a very clear culinary identity and this seeps into all aspects of everyday life. There is not much snacking going on in Italy so one’s day is marked by a small breakfast of most likely a caffè and some sort of baked good, a medium sized lunch of a panino or equivalent, and a large dinner with a few different courses, or piatti.
One of the things that I’ve become accustomed to since arriving in Italy is the rhythm of eating. At Holy Cross and when I’m at home, I feel like each day I eat at a different time and am devouring snacks sporadically. But here my schedule stays the same and, at least in my head, has become synced with the inhabitants of the city.
Out of all the other Holy Cross students here with me, I think I have developed a reputation for being a hedonist when it comes to food (the following pictures are a testament of my addiction to cheese and prosciutto). If I could do anything other than be a prospective devotee to the study of religion, I think I would want to be a chef or explore food in some way. But alas, I will have to be content with the mere consumption of copious amounts of Italian delicacies.
I’ve always had an affinity for Anthony Bourdain and have been trying to tap into his perspective on food here where, “Food is everything we are. It’s an extension of nationalist feeling, ethnic feeling, your personal history, your province, your region, your tribe, your grandma. It’s inseparable from those from the get-go.”
In Italy, this could not be more true. The cooking and later communing in the presence of a good meal is like a combination of art and religion. It’s as if a true Italian feast is one that unfolds in accordance with past traditions while still feeling new each time. Every night my host mom, the Italian grandmother I never had, cooks dinner and presents the fruits of her labor with an impish smile.
Food carries a special weight in Italy and like Bourdain said, it also carries a special feeling. There is a feeling impossible to articulate that comes along with breaking bread with people from a different country and being welcomed into their secret world of food. There’s a crossing over an invisible cultural threshold. It is an intoxicating and mesmerizing experience, and I can guarantee that I have a dumb smile on my face each time I get to do it.
-Kate