Such a shame it is I have no natural capacity for learning a foreign language. I find the differences between languages and the reflections they make of their cultures absolutely fascinating. How wonderful it would be to devote a lifetime to this study, traveling the world, learning different languages, finding keys to cultural differences within the words and manner of speech and writing. The only drawback is I think it will take a flipping lifetime just to learn Italian. I think God damned this language when he realized how beautiful he made it sound. Certainly any language that sounds so beautiful should defy all logic, like any good art does. Can you tell I’m still frustrated that every two year old in the world is smarter than me right now? Little bastards…
Yesterday, Daniele and I were having a good ol’ traditional American breakfast - pancakes and syrup. I had brought back four packets of Bisquick and a bottle of syrup in my never-ending effort to find something truly American to make for the next ethnic dinner at Accademia Italiana. Have you ever noticed how little we Americans have contributed to the world in terms of ethnic food? The Italians gave the world spaghetti and lasagna; the Japanese, sushi; the Chinese, sweet and sour pork and moo goo gai pan; the Mexicans, enchildadas and burritos (God I miss Taco Bell). Do you know what the world knows us for? Hot dogs and peanut butter sandwiches. The richest, most powerful country in the world and the best we can do for food is press together leftover pig parts. I don’t know about you, but I’m just a little bit ashamed by this.
So, Daniele picks up the bottle of Log Cabin syrup – you know the one, made in the shape of a log cabin with a picture, of course, of a log cabin on front, nestled in the snow covered hills, smoke drifting up into the sunlit winter’s day – and asked me which mountain range produced this brand of syrup. Uh? The conversation was something like this (except in Italian, without all the sidetracks to figure out what each one is saying):
Daniele: “Where was this made?”
Sherry: “In the United States.”
D: Yes, I know, Sherry,” (with a slight tone of studied sarcasm) “but where in the United States?”
S: “How would I know?”
D: “Well, obviously it is made in the mountains.”
S: “It is?”
D: “Certo! Guarda al etichetta.!” (Certainly, look at the etiquette.)
S: “What does manners have to do with anything!?”
D: “How do you know it is good if you don’t know where it was made?”
S: “I don’t know where they make Oreos either, but I know they’re good!”
By this point I was thoroughly confused and unnecessarily exasperated (though my head was beginning to hurt from talking Italian for three hours). How the hell was I supposed to know where they made Log Cabin syrup? And why was he so frustrated that I didn’t know? And who the hell cares where they make the damned syrup. And somebody please remind what the hell I’m doing here trying to learn this god forsaken language in my god forsaken apartment which is always @$*#! FREEZING! (Funny the places our frustrations emerge sometimes.)
Daniele has a way of calming me down – he looks at me, ten years his senior, like I am seven and a self-imposed twit. I calm down. We backtracked through the conversation to find the places where our cultures diverged. In America we buy by the brand name. We know Log Cabin, Aunt Jemima, Peter Pan, Hershey’s, Oreos, Tropicana, Coca Cola. Of all seven of these top brand names, I know Hershey’s is from Pennsylvania and I’d bet Tropicana is from Florida – but I wouldn’t bet much. Hell, even our non-brand names that sell on the fact that they do not employ marketing techniques have brand names! (i.e. Harris Teeter’s “President’s Choice”) We know nothing about where our products are generated, probably because they are generally generated from a factory and it doesn’t really matter where the factory is. Our marketing images speak not of where the product is made or even what the product is, but rather bring to mind some fantasy, desire, wish, dream – like selling turkeys with Norman Rockwell paintings. We sell food with images of warm, cozy cabins and kitchens, cool moms with Koolaid, perfectly formed athletes who I’m sure got those bodies from drinking Gatorade.
Food is not (yet) a factory made, marketing production in Italy. The best food comes from “contadina”s – a handful of farmers that have been making the same product probably for hundreds of years. Italians know not only the name of the food but which region it comes from and often a history of the production process. The best lentils in Italy come from Castellucio. Norcia is known for its black truffles and exceptional meats. If you ask someone their favorite salami they will likely answer not with a name but with a place – salumi Milano or salumi Romano. Who can forget one of the greatest cheeses in the world – known in Italy as parmigiano reggiano. We use food names never recognizing they are meant to indicate the place something is from. True parmesan cheese – parmigiano – comes from… can you guess it? Parma. We eat fake imitations. I’ll bet money you know the brand name of your preferred parmesan cheese, or at least the colors on the package, but I’ll bet you don’t know where it is made. We fabricate food. Italians produce food. For a product to claim it is from a region, it must obtain a Denominatzione di Origine Controllata – DOC. A sort of legitimacy license. I had heard ‘DOC’ a hundred times in passing conversations before I finally understood what it meant. It is a stamp of quality in the name of the region that the product is of the quality known for in that region. No wonder the food is so much better here… We sell a concept. They sell food.
The conversation had settled now with both of us explaining to the other, Daniele in his best kindergartener Italian and me in my best Tarzan Italian (me-like-salami), the way food is thought of and chosen in our countries. The idea that we use image to sell food was lost on Daniele. Several times during our discussion, he picked up the log cabin bottle and again used the word etichetta – obviously it was from the English word etiquette, but I could not follow the relevance of the word to the discussion. Finally, I trudged off to get the dictionary. Etichetta1 – label; etichetta2 – etiquette. I started on another tirade about the stupidity of the Italian language using the same damn word for two entirely different concepts - label and manners what the fuck – when Daniele made the very wise point, sporting the look that said I was a seven year old self-imposed twit – “A label is the way a product presents itself, someone’s etiquette is the way a person presents themselves.”
Oh…. Didn’t say much for my label, did it?
I hope you discovered Slow Food after this! :-) We certainly don't recognize our own food regionality in the US so it would certainly be hard to export it.
There's bound to be a Creole restaurant in Paris somewhere...
The Renewing America’s Food Traditions Project:
http://www.slowfoodusa.org/raft/why.html
Posted by: Robbin | February 16, 2008 at 02:06 PM