Same spelling, same meaning, a slightly different pronunciation. The real difference is in the way it is organized. The typical Italian ristorante (restaurant) menu lists dishes divided into sections that include:

• antipasti (appetizers)
• primi (first courses)
• secondi (second courses)
• contorni (side dishes)
• dolci (desserts)

The middle three items describe the way we approach the main part of a meal. Primi are pasta or rice dishes, or soups (minestre). Polenta and gnocchi are also primi. Secondi are meat or fish dishes. Nowadays, vegetarian options are also usually available. Side dishes (contorni) are listed separately. As a customer, you may order an item from each section of the menu: antipasto (literally, before the meal), primo, secondo, contorno, dolce (these words are all the singular version of the ones given above in the plural). You may also choose to skip one or more items. Primo, secondo and contorno make up the basic meal. I grew up eating this triad at the main meal, pranzo (lunch).

At home now, I prefer a more egalitarian approach to the traditional organization based on courses. I like to put all offerings on the table, except for dessert, and let the guests decide the order and/or combination. I like seeing several serving plates being passed back and forth, while the conversation flows. (Note that the photo on the left was taken before I put a portion of secondo on my plate, which therefore only holds, from left to right, some antipasto, contorno and primo. Hopefully my friend Christine of Christine Cooks will post about her delicious contorno portrayed here and I will write about the primo.)

After the main part of the meal is over, I like to pause for a short time, then serve il dolce (dessert). At home in Italy, we ended up il pranzo with some frutta (fruit), except on Sunday (domenica), when we would have dessert, most often paste (pastries) from the pasticceria that happened to be the current family favorite. I am planning to talk more about paste in a future post. In the meantime, you can read about one type of them, bignè con la crema (cream puffs).

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menu

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A little while ago Peter of Detectives Beyond Borders asked me about the original expressions in a passage at the beginning of chapter 7 of “The Smell of the Night,” one of Camilleri’s Montalbano novels. I promised him I would write about them, e ora mantengo la mia promessa (now I keep my promise).

Peter expressed a desire:

to see the original versions of the sayings that in English became “count your chickens before they hatch,” “eat like a horse” and “sow your wild oats” in the scene.

Here they are, in the same order:

• vendere la pelle dell’orso prima di averlo ucciso
• mangiare a quattro palmenti
• correre la cavallina

In the original text the expressions are given in Italian, without any Sicilian influence. Montalbano gets upset at Livia, his eternal fiancée, for using a frase fatta (cliché, idiom) in a conversation and then comes up with the set of three examples listed above. You can read the the translation of the passage here, together with Peter’s thoughtful comments.

The literal translation of vendere la pelle dell’orso prima di averlo ucciso is to sell the pelt before killing the bear.

The next sentence has to do with food. Palmento is the millstone (however, the Italian word most commonly used in this sense is macina) and the sentence literally means to eat like four millstones. Millstones don’t eat, they grind, and in fact an alternative version of the same idiom is macinare a quattro palmenti, to grind like four millstones, i.e., like a mill that has four millstones¹. The idea then is to describe a voracious person that grinds as much food with his/her teeth as four millstones grind wheat. (June 11, 2014 update: Jeremy of DoBianchi has written an informative post on the subject of palmento which includes some vintage photos.)

Cavallina is a young mare, but also the (vaulting) horse and the game leapfrog. The Italian dictionary I usually consult associates the idiom to the first meaning. Still, the construct of the sentence sounds unusual. I will tentatively translate it as to run like a young mare (unbridled).

When he first started learning Italian, my husband was intrigued by the apparent love we harbor for the numbers four and two, and he wanted to know why we did not use other numbers in the same way. Non ne ho la piu pallida idea, as my mother would answer: I really don’t know. But it is indeed true that there are many Italian idioms that feature the two numbers, sometimes interchangeably. Here are four examples:

• fare quattro passi / fare due passi = to go for a short walk (passo is step)
• fare quattro salti = to go dancing (salto is jump)
• fare quattro chiacchiere / fare due chiacchiere = to chat (chiacchiera in this context is chat)
• fare due gocce = to rain just a little (goccia is drop)

The opposite of fare due gocce is piovere a catinelle, to bucket down (no cats and dogs involved). And speaking of rain, here is an image from my garden after a night of rain.

Final note: for an introduction to Salvo Montalbano, you can read this post or, better still, the novels that feature him.

¹ I added this clarification after publication. Apologies to the early readers.

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mangiare a quattro palmenti

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The store where Italians drink coffee is called a bar. The sign outside one of those establishments may carry additional specifications characterizing it. For example, it could be a bar tabacchi, meaning that it sells cigarettes and stamps. Or a bar pasticceria, meaning that it sells fresh pastries. Or a bar gelateria, which sells gelato. In a bar you can drink coffee beverages, fruit juice, alcoholic beverages and also eat pastries, panini, gelato, etc. (with many possible variations).

Andare al bar a bere un caffè is to go to a coffee shop to drink an espresso. We also say andare al bar a prendere un caffè (to get an espresso). It is a well-known fact that Italians drink espresso and that Italian espresso is excellent. Note that we don’t use the word espresso, but if you do, people usually understand what you mean. I have previously written posts that detail the different kinds of coffee and milk beverages that is possible to order in Italy: here, here and here.

While in Italy, you will not be able to replicate your experience of ordering and consuming a coffee beverage in an American coffee shop. In Italy, each beverage comes in a predefined size (an espresso cup or a cappuccino cup) and with a standard type of milk (usually pasteurized whole milk). Concepts like medium, large and non-fat are foreign to us. Decaf is (barely) accepted. You may be able to obtain soy milk in some establishments.

One important aspect of the transaction is the payment and placing of the order. In the U.S., you pay at the cash register and order the beverage of choice, then your order gets transmitted, possibly by computer, to the person in charge of making your drink. After obtaining the drink, you can walk away or sit at a table and consume it on the premises.

In Italy things are not so straightforward, mostly because there are no set rules that everybody follows and there is no computer next to the coffee machine. In most places, and always in the busy ones, you pay at the cash register and obtain the receipt. You then show it to the barista and repeat your order. He or she will usually tear the receipt a bit and give it back to you: do not throw it away. You are then given your beverage and you are supposed to consume it while standing at the counter.

Detail number 1: you are required to keep the receipt for any purchase you made until you are within some distance from the store (bar, restaurant, grocery store, department store, etc.). Outside the store you could be stopped by a policeman, in which case you should show the receipt. Failure to do so could result in a fine.

Detail number 2: you will pay extra if you sit down at a table. If you want to take your time drinking your espresso and maybe have a chat with your companion, you signal it by sitting at a table. A waiter will take your order and deliver it and you will pay before leaving, either at the cash register or to the waiter. Whatever you order, it will cost you more than if you had ordered it at the counter.

Sometimes the barista is also the cashier, in which case he or she will both get your money and prepare your drink. Other times you can order and consume first and then pay before leaving. The variability of arrangements is wide, so the best thing I can do is to alert you of what is possible. If you try to do things in a different order, you will be gently reminded of the correct one, no harm done. So, if you order your beverage before obtaining the receipt, the barista will ask you for it and allow you to obtain it without bad feelings. In some places, a sign asks customer to pay first and consume later.

A few more notes: in Italy we don’t walk around drinking coffee, so the concept of ‘to go’ is quite foreign. Because we do not routinely use disposable coffee cups, we don’t see the need to bring our own to reduce waste. We also don’t feel compelled to fill containers to the brim. In fact, in some cases, that is a veritable no-no. For example, a shot of espresso will never fill the cup.

In Italy we drink un caffè for the pleasure of tasting an intensely aromatic nectar that leaves behind a heavenly aftertaste. Water makes us suspicious, which is the reason why, when you order tea, you get a minuscule amount of water and no refill. (This is a very personal opinion, which I will hold on to until I find a better explanation.)

One of the things I do soon after arriving in Italy is bere un cappuccino al bar. This time I drank my first one at the Bar Cavour, an old (historical) establishment in Bergamo, a city not far from Milan, which is not known as much as it deserves to be and which I have always loved. In this case, the barista doubled as cashier and the bar was not busy, so we got our beverages and paid for them afterwards.

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bere un caffè al bar

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Although the Italian sentence does not include any reference to food, it is used to indicate the purchase of food items. To go grocery shopping is: andare a fare la spesa.

One of the first things I do after arriving in Italy is to find a supermercato (grocery store) and shop for specific food items, most importantly:

• prosciutto crudo (for my husband)
• ricotta di mucca (ricotta made with cow milk whey, for myself).

I will not bore you with more details regarding my shopping list (la lista della spesa). Instead, I will describe a few characteristics of the way Italians, at least in Milan (where I lived for almost 10 years before moving to California and where I am right now) shop in a supermercato, which may be a bit puzzling for an American visitor.

First of all, you need a coin to release the lock that chains each shopping cart (il carrello) to its neighbor. The coin is only a deposit, and you will get a full refund before you leave the store, provided you return the cart to the appropriate place and lock it.

When you buy lose fruit and vegetables, you need to weigh them yourself and print the label with the price: the cashier will not be able to do this for you. Each item is marked with a number and, by pressing the relevant button on the scales, you print the label that needs to be attached to the bag containing the purchased items.

When you are done filling your cart with goodies, you need to bag them yourself, possibly keeping up with the cashier, so that by the time he or she is done scanning, you are almost done bagging. Failure to keep up may be rewarded with stern looks on the part of the people in line behind you.

What I consider the most difficult part of the supermercato experience is the bargaining about coins (monete) that occurs with the cashier. From time immemorial, in Italy we have a dearth of coins, a situation that the advent of the euro seems to have left uncured and possibly made worse, considering that certain amounts of money that once were lira banknotes (banconote) are now euro coins. As a result, you are almost always asked whether you have some coins (ha della moneta?) which will make the change include only banknotes or a smaller number of coins. For example, if your total charge is €16.30, and you pay with a €20 banknote, the cashier will probably ask you whether you can produce €1.30 in coins, so that he or she can complete the transaction by handing you a €5 banknote. If you don’t have €1.30, but do have €0.30, you are still good, since that amount will require a change made up of only two €2 coins, versus the four coins needed to make up €3.70. I am so used to this way of adjusting payments that I tend to apply the same reasoning when I am in the US, often to the grave consternation of the cashier, who has the change automatically calculated by the cash register and plenty of coins to handle it without any special provisions on my part.

I hope I have not scared you with my tales of the supermercato. I actually strongly recommend you find a nice one and take the time to explore it: it will be an interesting visit, from both a culinary and a sociological perspective.

Addendum: here is another post on the same topic.

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fare la spesa

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Every now and then I have visions of some fried food my mother used to make. However, here I will focus on some words that may be useful when navigating Italian menus and also on some funny expressions.

If you fry something (nell’olio o nel burro, in oil or butter), it becomes fritto or fritta, depending on whether it is masculine or feminine, or fritti or fritte, if that something is plural. Here are some tasty examples:

• pesce fritto (fried fish)
• fritto misto (a combination of various fried items)
• salvia fritta (fried sage)
• fiori di zucca fritti (fried zucchini blossoms)
• patatine fritte (French fries)

Some items (like fiori di zucca) are dipped in batter before being fried and we call the batter pastella. A Wiener Schnitzel (cotoletta alla milanese) is breaded before being fried: it is impanata.

My three favorite fried foods are:

• supplì al telefono (typical of Rome, these croquettes are made with risotto seasoned with tomato and meat sauce, and they have a heart of mozzarella; they are breaded and fried and are eaten hot, so that when you take a bite, the piece in your mouth and the one still in your hands are joined via a thread of mozzarella)
• crocchette di patate (potato croquettes, which are rolled into flour, instead of breadcrumbs, before being fried; they are also eaten hot)
• fiori di zucca fritti.

One of the first Italian expressions I taught my husband is: sono fritto (literally, I am fried). Essere fritto means to be done for. We call empty words aria fritta (fried air). Una cosa fritta e rifritta is an old story, old news. I hope this post is not all old news for the readers.

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friggere

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If the sight, smell of thought of a certain food mi fa venire l’acquolina in bocca then, as a result ho l’acquolina in bocca (my mouth is watering). Both expressions are of widespread use in Italy. I have always found the word acquolina (which literally is is a diminutive of acqua, water) particularly charming: it dances in my mouth like a tasty morsel.

Avere l’acquolina in bocca should not be confused with acqua in bocca!, which is an injunction to keep something a secret. The idea is that if your mouth is full of water, you cannot talk. I taught my American husband to both say and act acqua in bocca! In fact, as a kid, after saying to someone acqua in bocca!, I would inflate my cheeks and purse my lips slightly, simulating a mouth full of water. I am no longer a kid, but I still get to do it with my husband and then we both burst into laughter (scoppiamo a ridere).

[This post was inspired by Valli, who used the adjective droolworthy in a comment on a post and got me thinking of Italian acquolina.]

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acquolina in bocca

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