Il Giorno di Ringraziamento...

Thanksgiving. 

Of all the American holidays, this is top bananas for me.  And as long as I have been here in Italy, I have never made it back home for the celebration and it brings a little tear to my eye every time I think about it.

So, that means 6 years with no turkey. No dressing. No gravy. No pumpkin pie...

Really?  

Do you think that I would voluntarily miss out on that?

Do you also think I am dead inside? 

Well, I am not. Every year, I do the very best I can to re-create the holiday (never actually ON the holiday of course...work and school snuff that one out quickly...) Italian Style.

The 2009 Thanksgiving crew...Chris, Mooresy and Drama...

So this Friday, I will be hosting our annual Italian Style Thanksgiving.  To be honest it is not much different than the American style Thanksgiving, but one must be a bit more creative in finding ingredients fitting of a Turkey Day feast...they are not just stacked up to the ceiling in the entrance of Wal-Mart.  There are no "stations" for pie making in our local supermarket, and God forbid you ask where the canned pumpkin can be found!?

I make it a habit to peruse new recipes every year, and - as Thanksgiving fodder is quite specific to American tastes and availabilities - I always have a little giggle when the ingredients include canned green beans and cream of mushroom soup...

(Sorry Midwesterners, that means no Green Bean Casserole round these parts...)

Turkey Day 2010

The availibilities of "short cuts" seem sacreligious here in Italy, and I am fairly sure that the use of pre-diced garlic in a jar will warrant a trip to confession and 10 Hail Marys.

And then there is the turkey.  Our native American bird is an unappreciated little guy in our neck of the woods.  I can only imagine that an entire bird could be made avaiable by advance order from the butcher, but I have never been so brave (and I have also never been brave enough to attempt cooking one...best leave that to the true Americans...)  

So the substitute ends of being an entire breast of turkey with a 'pocket' cut into it and stuffed.  The stuffing can be anything - one year it was fresh chestnuts, breadcrumbs and apricots; another was chopped leek and spinach...

Sorry again, Yankees...not stuffed with a chicken and a guinea fowl, or McDonalds hamburgers.  We keep it simple round here ; )

Thanksgiving 2009 - with Uncle Chris...

To round out this menu, there are always a plethora of fresh sides; mashed potatoes, green beans and pancetta, and then there is the dressing.  To be specific, Neukam dressing.  

No you cannot have the recipe...it is a well guarded secret. 

(OK, that is a lie, but I don't part easily with my recipes...you need to bring me at least one bottle of wine before my secret recipe book is brought to the table...)

No Thanksgiving dinner would be complete without the pumpkin pie...that is where it gets a little hairy.  I quite envy the Yankees who have frozen pie crusts, canned pumpkin, pumpkin pie spice and Cool-Whip available at their fingertips...24 Hours a day at WalMart.  But the greatest discovery I have made since being here in Italy and learning to cook things - not just from scratch, but from whatever comes before scratch - has definitely been the good old fashioned pumpkin.

In the absence of precooked canned pumpkin, the filling for the pie must come from (GASP!) a REAL pumpkin!!  First chopped in half and roasted for about an hour until soft.  Then scooped out, pureed, and mixed with various spices and a bit of heavy cream.  All baked in a freshly made pie crust...

Wow. I am exhausted just reading that back.

Now, as I am married to a Brit, I have one tough customer to impress with my pumpkin pie...he is very highly unconvinced regarding the use of our North American friend in several recipes.

Just to make matters worse, we once enjoyed an episode of "Two Fat Ladies" (a British cooking programme...and pure culinary hilarity at it's FINEST) in which they insisted that Americans should...

"...never be allowed near a pumpkin, as they do awful things to them". 

It is officially the ONLY line from a TV show or film that the Hubby can quote...
Harumph...

So this year the pumpkin challenge continues.  After 6 years, he is still wildly unimpressed.

But, Thanksgiving.  It is not just about food...

It's a time when we sit with the people we love the most and remember how thankful we are for all we have got.  I may not be around the table this year, and most likely will not be able to return for many Thanksgivings to come, but I am certainly thankful for them most of all.  

Thankful that they don't give me TOO hard of a time for being so far away.  

Thankful that they are always there for me, even when I am a world away.  

And most of all thankful that we CAN all be together - no matter what time of the year it may be.  

My family - the ones in Indiana, the ones in Italy and the ones all over the world - make it all worth it.  

I can wake up every day knowing that I have them.  

I am thankful for my beautiful family...

 

...and my beautiful family.

I am the luckiest girl in the world.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

xoxo sjkh

Wine Time...

Hubs is travelling once again this week (Asia just can't get enough of that tall, salt and pepper, handsome English man...), so this drawing pretty much sums up my week - post 8pm bedtime of course...

Now, I remember when I was little that saying someone was a 'wino' was a derogatory statement and synonymous with being a bum.  But now, as I am older and wiser, I can honestly say that there is nothing bum-ish about hanging out on the sofa in your tracksuit and fluffy white socks in front of the fire drinking bottles of the stuff...

Hear ye, hear ye - I am a wino.

Wine lovers x 2 (pre-Olivia years...)

Once upon a time, I would scrounge all my change up out of my Lincoln Quad dorm room and head over to the Ghetto Market in good old Terre Haute to buy myself the finest box of wine $3.50 could buy.  These days living in Italy I am spoilt for choice... 

I live in Prosecco (Valdobbiadene as it is now formally known) country - for those of you who do not know what that is have obviously not hung out with me since I have lived here.  

 Definition: Prosecco is an Italian white wine — generally a Dry or Extra Dry sparkling wine, normally made from Glera ("Prosecco") grapes.  DOC prosecco is produced in the regions of Veneto and Friuli Venezia Giulia in Italy, and traditionally mainly in the areas near Conegliano and Valdobbiadene, in the hills north of Treviso.

Or to be more exact on the location...

View from my front yard....

At the base of that mountain in the distance is the main Prosecco production region...nothing like waking up every morning to this view.

For those of you who think you need to spend a load on good wine, it is untrue (at least here...).

A great mid-priced bottle of bubbles, which we often drink is Valdo...

About 5 euro a bottle...

Or my #1 favourite cantina (producer)...

I may be a bit biased...this is my student's family cantina ; )

Colesel produces Valdobbiande as well as Cartizze, another sparkling wine - a bit more specialised than Prosecco - SO good.  They also have a Rose that I love...

For you red lovers, there is no shortage of goodies from around here.

The best by far is Amarone...

Def: Amarone della Valpolicella, usually known as Amarone, is a typically rich Italian dry red wine made from the partially dried grapes of the Corvina (40.0% – 70.0%), Rondinella (20.0% – 40.0%) and Molinara (5.0% – 25.0%) varieties.

A good Amarone will set you back a few clams, but it is VERY WORTH IT.  

I am not much of a red wine drinker, but my good friend Chris introduced us to this a few years back and it stole my heart (and my liver?) in a moment...

This would be a tasty little drop...

Chris is our resident Red expert - so much that when Olivia sees a bottle of red enter our house, she immediately says "CHWIS!!"  ; )

Our wine loving "Family" - Mooresy, Chris and the Harts...Thank goodness we recycle bottles...

As far as whites go, we are not too versed, so I would be open to any suggestions from my fellow wine lovers...

So there you have it friends - a very short wine tour from yours truly....if you needed any more reason to save up and come visit the Harts I am sure the wine talk pushed you over the edge.  

And hey, even if you don't I will still be here enjoying my very own personal wine time...

8:15 pm... {hiccup!}...

Aussie version please - not the rubbish US version!!

xoxo sjkh

Diventando Americana...

The dreaded appointment had been in the books for weeks and I was panicking inside for about 5 days leading up to it...papers were flying, the entire contents of our filing cabinet was in our sitting room, and I was furiously printing copies of documents scanned and faxed from the US.  

I was ready...Good Lord I hoped so.

You see, there are many things that one must remember when getting involved with a foriegner.  

Language barriers.  Culture differences.  Strange habits.

But that is the easy part.  

If there is anything that has been more difficult, it is definitely having a kid with said foriegner.  

Not the actual labour bit, that was easy too...but rather the endless barrage of paperwork from any choice of any of our native countries at any time.  

A Cultural Profile of the Harts

Henry: Born in England.  Lived in Bahrain and Switzerland for a minute, and then back to England.  Then to Italy.

Steffi: Born in USA.  Never ventured farther than an afternoon's car drive from home, then moved to Italy.

Prada: Mexican and Yappy. Born in Indianapolis, but you would never know, her English is rubbish.

Olivia: Born in Italy.  Lives in Italy.  But due to foriegn parents she has NO rights to Italian citizenship. So, she is British - passport issued at one week old (you should see the photo...she is a little blob of baby and it is valid for 6 years?!).  Also eligible for an American passport and citizenship - we left it for two years because, hey she is European and therefore isn't the British Passport good enough?  Nope, says every port of entry to the USA.  Not good enough.  And as I am sick and tired of getting put through the discussion every time I go home, and have spent even just a few minutes in THAT room (you know the one I am talking about - the one reserved for sketchy people, NOT a former Miss USA contestant) I made the executive decision to apply for the good old American citizenship and Passport.  Easy Peasy! 

Um.  Think again.  

One full day off work...BOTH parents.  Three train tickets to Milano to visit the Consulate.  5 am start. 

Check. Check. Check.

Apples and Tractors on the train!

Then came the paperwork requests.  

There were normal ones of course - birth certificates, marriage certificates, residence certificates. 

But then they asked me to PROVE my American-ness (as having only one American parent only requires evidence of a stay of 7 years or so after age 14).  

Wow.  

Social Security statement?  OK, but we need more.  W2?  OK but more even then...

That's when I started running out of ideas...but my mother came to the rescue and helped out by scanning and sending my high school transcript.  

OK!  That should do it!  

Side Note: After receiving the transcripts, I can no longer call myself a nerd.  Dear husband has seen my Mathematics and Algebra grades.  And they were not pretty....

So the diaper bag was full of documents and Hubs, baby, and I were off on the first train to Milano.  Easy journey.  Easy finding the Consulate.  Getting in was like going through airport security but much worse...

And then, as you step through a door guarded by a Marine in uniform...it actually SMELLS like America.

45 minutes later and after several attacks of the nerves (would all that paperwork be enough!?!), all that remained to do was take an oath and sign on the dotted line.  

Olivia called the Consualte Head "Granny"...thank goodness she didn't hear that one.  

But all went well, and I am now very proud to say that I have myself a little American baby girl...Officially.  
So what does any good American do to celebrate that good news? 

Why, we eat of course!!!

Henry directed us to the most AMAZING restaurant just up the street from the Duomo (so little you would never even take ANY notice of it).  We ordered a giant plate of fresh sliced proscuitto di Parma 24 mesi, some fresh bread, and two BOWLS of Lambrusco wine - Dark, fizzy, and red. 

It was the best celebratory meal I had ever had.   

This place is definitely up there in the top 3 restaurants recommended by the Harts...it is intimate, quiet, full of locals, and the Parma ham is to DIE for.  It melts in your mouth. 

Happy Henry...

Lambrusco...yummmmmm.....

A quick visit to the original Prada Luggage shop... Love.

A bit tipsy and baby sleeping in the stroller, we boarded the train back home to Monfumo...

For such a day full of stresses, business, and balls-ache, it actually ended up being one of our best family days out ever...

Now off to teach Liv the most important American song ever - Take Me Out to the Ball Game! ; )

xoxo sjkh

Cara Steffi...

Dear Steffi,
   
   Please stop watching Downton Abbey and eating cupcakes and write another blog post for crap's sake.

Love, 
La Vita di Cuori

But seriously...have you watched Downton Abbey?  

It's like a posh, prim and proper version of Melrose Place.  

But set in England.  

In the Early 1900s.  

OK, so not really at all like Melrose Place but the dramatics, the costuming and the settings are freaking fantastic!

Also, I have no idea what the hell a Dowager Countess is, but thanks to you, Downton Abbey, I want to be one...now where DID I put that Hart family history - there MUST be a title up for grabs??

Disclaimer: My husband is working in China this week.  He hates period dramas.  Your husband probably hates them too if he has a pair of bollocks, so best keep Downton for ladies' nights...

xoxo sjkh

Sei Pazza...

I simply cannot tell you how many times I have head the phrase - "Sei pazza..." 

Translation: "You're crazy..."

The other day in fact, I heard it no less than 5 times from one lady in the space of one conversation.

This really made me wonder...AM I crazy?  A little touched?  

I know I'm different, but seriously?  Crazy?

Well, what does an every day 'un-crazy' lady do when she hears this...she makes a list of all the things that the Italians have called her crazy for - and includes a rebuttal.  

That'll show 'em...

'La Lista di 'Sei Pazza" and Steffi's Rebuttal...'

(It's sort of like church...follow each question with the response "You're Crazy!")

1. "You moved to Italy from the USA?"  (Well, yeah.  I finally found a dude who could tolerate me)
2. "You have a small chihuahua?" (It's a dog. Get over it.)
3. "You want to ride a mountainbike?" (Well, you can blame my husband for that...I do)
4. "Oh my goodness you're not wearing a scarf!" (It's 70 degrees for Christ's sake)
5. "What? Sandals? In this weather?" (See Above...)
6. "Aren't you cold in that short sleeved shirt?" (Ahem.  70 degrees.)
7. "You have never been to the beach near here?" (100 degrees and a bunch of smelly, half naked Italians about 2 inches from me does not sound like fun...)
8. "You want to buy a house that needs work?" (Because spending double the money on a small apartment in the middle of a hundred other apartments is a MUCH better investment, right?)
9. "You don't want the name of a guy who does the gardening for you?" (I think I can dig up some flower beds and prune roses myself thank you very much)
10. "What? You don't think your child needs to go to the International English School?" (Yes, because the English we speak here at home is obviously inferior to that of the Italian mother tongue teachers there)
11. "You will fly to the US all alone...just you and the baby??" (Yep.  Got me there.)
12. "Dentist appointments every 6 months?" (Right, because the yellow on your teeth really brings out the sparkle in your eyes)
13. "You're going to paint the (insert room name, house, baseboards, and whatever here)??" (I have arms and can buy paint in the hardware store, seems like a waste of energy to pick up the phone and ask someone else to do it for me)
14. "Jogging? In this weather?" (I am a human, not the Wicked Witch of the West...a bit of drizzle never killed me)
15. "You don't have a nanny?" (Nope.  And yes, I think I am a bit crazy for that one...)
16. "You are going to put carpet in your house?" (Because an ice cold floor in the winter is so comfy)
17. "And you are going to put it down by yourself???" (Again.  Got me there.  That is definitely freaking nuts)
18. "You read a book to quit smoking? And you don't think that you were brainwashed?" (Yes. Damn you, Evil Brainwashing Mr. Carr.  Damn you for brainwashing me into thinking that smoking is bad for me...)

Aaand.  The one I have heard more often than I care to admit...

  19. "You have been here for 6 years??"

(Yep.  That is crazy.  Even crazier is that I may or may not even like it just a teensy little bit...shhhhhhh)

 So....am I crazy or not???

Here's how it is.  Americans are different.  Different to even the Brits.  

The crash of cultures in this house is mental...Mexican Prada insists on playing La Cucaracha at all hours while British Henry wants to drink tea constantly and cannot choose a suitable cravat on any given occasion.  British/American/Italian Olivia really cannot stop arguing with herself about which country David Beckham REALLY belongs to (I mean, really - he's played for Milan, he's played for LA, he's played for Manchester United...it's like a bad episode of Maury Povich...)...and all the while this crazy American Mamma spends her days humming the National Anthem and wishing I owned a gun.  

Hold on a minute...    

Ah yes. Stereotypes.  

The thing is, nobody is crazy.  I think the Italians are crazy. I think the Brits are crazy (Shhh.  Don't tell my husband...).  

I think Australians, Russians, and Californians are crazy (they really ARE crazy though).

Each culture has their way of doing things, and it is not always easy to understand why.  I really don't understand why Italians think if you don't wear a scarf that any light breeze has the ability to kill you - or give you diarrhea - but, hey, guess who wears a scarf!? (Unless it's 70 degrees...I've gotta draw the line somewhere).

The key to NOT going crazy is trying to understand WHY - not just calling someone out for being crazy...different is not crazy.

So there you have it my faithful readers...Verdict - NOT Crazy. 

Um.  YET.

xoxo sjkh