Florence - Friday, May 28, 2010
My visit to Italy continues. Classes have begun in earnest. The routine of life takes over. Although I have pulled the plug on Connecticut for six weeks, life at my employer goes on. There are editorial board obligations, emails to answer, a book review to write, and a host of other minutae that consume hours of my time. I dare not overprotest, however. I like my work and actually don't mind the time spent clicking away at my laptop. This leaves less time for touring, and more adventures await.
And so I scribe the day-to-day, corresponding by date, in a summary fashion. This is as much for my few but appreciated readers (Hi Becky, Larry, and Dad!) as it is for me to set down the memories before they fade way.
Monday, 5/24/10 - the day begins with a visit to the police. No, I haven't done something bad. In fact, all the student and I travel together. Apparently each of us has to register with the local caribineri. We queue up in a chaotic mass of a line. A bureaucrat calls our name, glances at our passport, checks it with an application form we submitted earlier, and we are on our way. No questions. No fuss. The obligation seems more like a government relic than a measure of national security. I walk to the institute to present my class.
My course is legal and ethical issues of doing business in Italy. The morning is mostly an introduction and covering basic material about international business. The class ends at 12:30 and I trot off through a maze narrow cobblestone streets to a local eatery. A visual menu of hot lunch choices greet me behind glass. I grab whatever looks interesting (today, Lasagna) and carry it back to the institute to accompany an afternoon of emails and academic writing.
So now might be a good time to talk about food. So tell us, how good is the food in Italy, really? Can you find bad food in Florence? Sure, you can find your McDonalds or some bland grub if you really try. Recall my close encounter with mediocre gelato a few nights ago. But this is a challenge. The worst food I've eaten so far came from a cafeteria in the city center. This place made no pretentions to greatness. Tucked away on a second floor. Florescent lights and linoleum floors greet a patron who grabs a plastic tray and slides it down a metal serving line plucking choices from shelves. Picture your high school cafeteria. No frills. Just cheap food (my entire meal was 6 euros, and I ate too much). Snarfing down spaghetti with meat sauce, I realize that this institutional pasta from this el-cheapo cafeteria is not bad at all. It could pass for fine at any local generic Italian resturant in the states. From what I vaguely remember about Olive Garden, it tastes better than that. And remember this is the low low end stuff.
I could go on about the cuisine, but my assessment is essentially this. Food in Italy is one notch-higher quality than what you would get in equivalent type eatery in the US. Food from cheap-o cafeteria is as good as any local Italian restaurant in the United States in your hometown. Food in a local Italian eatery or luncheon place is as good as the semi-fancy Italian restaurants nearby where you live. Food at slightly more expensive Italian restaurants is as good or better than the real fancy stuff at home. And finally, if you choose to dine at a really reputable Italian resturant, it is simply higher quality and more delightful than anything back home.
One example sticks out. On a busy day I grab a small sandwich, prosuitto and cheese on a baguette roll for about 3-4 Euro. This is their quick food from a local place. Get it and go. The bread tastes fresh and doughy. The meat is full-flavored. The cheese is robust and flavorful. It tastes about as good as the reputable local deli in town at home. And to the Italians its a generic sandwich.
If Subway every tried to serve their food here, the franchise would implode and shatter the food-culture continuum. Only Americans would dare keep the place alive. The bottom line: food is better here. Not everywhere (near touristy spots with a captured clientele), and not always (basic grub spots), but food is better overall. The ingredients are fresh. The products are not shipped a thousand miles and frozen. Small shops, not mega-corporations, pervade the industry. Italians, 1. United States, 0.
Returning from my detour, the rest of the day proves uneventful. The afternoon is consumed by emails and journal article editing. The evening begins with an 'apertivo' (pre-dinner social) for the faculty here. I meet a wide array of interesting people. A few are business faculty, most are solidly in the humanities. These latter folks interest me. I learn that there is a whole sub-discipline on archiving and old manuscripts. I weasel invitations to class activities when I can. If I consider myself a student of life, then what better place to get an education than in Italy with local faculty. A dinner with the institute director completes the evening and I return home full and happy.
And so I scribe the day-to-day, corresponding by date, in a summary fashion. This is as much for my few but appreciated readers (Hi Becky, Larry, and Dad!) as it is for me to set down the memories before they fade way.
Monday, 5/24/10 - the day begins with a visit to the police. No, I haven't done something bad. In fact, all the student and I travel together. Apparently each of us has to register with the local caribineri. We queue up in a chaotic mass of a line. A bureaucrat calls our name, glances at our passport, checks it with an application form we submitted earlier, and we are on our way. No questions. No fuss. The obligation seems more like a government relic than a measure of national security. I walk to the institute to present my class.
My course is legal and ethical issues of doing business in Italy. The morning is mostly an introduction and covering basic material about international business. The class ends at 12:30 and I trot off through a maze narrow cobblestone streets to a local eatery. A visual menu of hot lunch choices greet me behind glass. I grab whatever looks interesting (today, Lasagna) and carry it back to the institute to accompany an afternoon of emails and academic writing.
So now might be a good time to talk about food. So tell us, how good is the food in Italy, really? Can you find bad food in Florence? Sure, you can find your McDonalds or some bland grub if you really try. Recall my close encounter with mediocre gelato a few nights ago. But this is a challenge. The worst food I've eaten so far came from a cafeteria in the city center. This place made no pretentions to greatness. Tucked away on a second floor. Florescent lights and linoleum floors greet a patron who grabs a plastic tray and slides it down a metal serving line plucking choices from shelves. Picture your high school cafeteria. No frills. Just cheap food (my entire meal was 6 euros, and I ate too much). Snarfing down spaghetti with meat sauce, I realize that this institutional pasta from this el-cheapo cafeteria is not bad at all. It could pass for fine at any local generic Italian resturant in the states. From what I vaguely remember about Olive Garden, it tastes better than that. And remember this is the low low end stuff.
I could go on about the cuisine, but my assessment is essentially this. Food in Italy is one notch-higher quality than what you would get in equivalent type eatery in the US. Food from cheap-o cafeteria is as good as any local Italian restaurant in the United States in your hometown. Food in a local Italian eatery or luncheon place is as good as the semi-fancy Italian restaurants nearby where you live. Food at slightly more expensive Italian restaurants is as good or better than the real fancy stuff at home. And finally, if you choose to dine at a really reputable Italian resturant, it is simply higher quality and more delightful than anything back home.
One example sticks out. On a busy day I grab a small sandwich, prosuitto and cheese on a baguette roll for about 3-4 Euro. This is their quick food from a local place. Get it and go. The bread tastes fresh and doughy. The meat is full-flavored. The cheese is robust and flavorful. It tastes about as good as the reputable local deli in town at home. And to the Italians its a generic sandwich.
If Subway every tried to serve their food here, the franchise would implode and shatter the food-culture continuum. Only Americans would dare keep the place alive. The bottom line: food is better here. Not everywhere (near touristy spots with a captured clientele), and not always (basic grub spots), but food is better overall. The ingredients are fresh. The products are not shipped a thousand miles and frozen. Small shops, not mega-corporations, pervade the industry. Italians, 1. United States, 0.
Returning from my detour, the rest of the day proves uneventful. The afternoon is consumed by emails and journal article editing. The evening begins with an 'apertivo' (pre-dinner social) for the faculty here. I meet a wide array of interesting people. A few are business faculty, most are solidly in the humanities. These latter folks interest me. I learn that there is a whole sub-discipline on archiving and old manuscripts. I weasel invitations to class activities when I can. If I consider myself a student of life, then what better place to get an education than in Italy with local faculty. A dinner with the institute director completes the evening and I return home full and happy.