Anyway, Russ told us that it was easy to do. I think that one of the reasons it was easy to do is because of the measuring system. Italians use this crazy system called 'metric' which is based on something logical, like the distance light can travel in a void in some absurdly small amount of time, instead of the size of Prince So-and-So's thumb at the time of his entrance into adulthood, or whatever the American system is based on. And then, using this logical (and repeatable!) basis, they divide it into tens, and permutations thereof which was about the only division problem I could solve until 5th grade or so.What do we Americans divide things into? 12, 4, 5,218, etc. Perfectly easy to remember. 5 points for anyone who can tell me what a furlong is. 10 for anyone who can tell me what an acre is based on. Click comment on the bottom of this blog entry to enter the contest. The reward and recognition will be worth it by far. In any case, pasta is absurdly easy to make. Just remember that you use one egg to every 100 grams of flour. For every three eggs, use one half eggshell of water (or oil, depending on which Italian grandmother is giving you the recipe). Then mix it up till it gets good and doughy and roll it out with a pasta roller or a rolling pin, fold it over itself a few times, and then cut it into whatever shapes you want. Simple, if you have a nice little scale in grams, which in America only exists in high school science labs, waiting to be stolen by the local pot dealer so he can accurately measure the amount of weed he stole from your friend's father's crop...okay, maybe only in my high school. But most of us don't have the luxury of one of these scales, so we have to rely on Google to convert grams to cups, or ounces. And by this time, booting up the computer, going to Google, entering all those numbers, well...you could probably just buy some Buitoni and not worry about it at all. Damn metric system, anyway.
But our pasta was good, by first-time American standards. I was going to make an analogy to losing your virginity and first-times and quality, which you can probably fill in from here, but this is a family blog, dammit. Suffice to say, we liked it, but were glad at the same time that Michela and Russ, who are both really good at cooking Italian food, weren't there to witness the entire process. It probably looked a lot like people from the Midwest trying to eat a Maine lobster, or me trying to eat an armadillo, which I've heard is possible.
After the post-dinner food coma sunk in, we decided to watch Gladiator, a quality film that plays fast and loose with such things as 'facts,' 'history,' and 'melodrama.' But it's about Italy, sort of, and so it's appropriate to talk about, I guess. Really, I have very little else to say, but I didn't want to disappoint you, 'cause chances are good you're at your job, pretending to work by G-Mail chatting with someone, and this blog is a pretty good diversion that your boss might not be able to distinguish from real work. Brief tangent aside, Gladiator got me to thinking. Italy, or at least the Romans, built a super impressive civilization, committed some major atrocities, gave us a pretty good model of governance, at least in theory, and built some of the greatest architectural wonders the world will ever see. And then the whole she-bang collapsed on itself for reasons that have inspired thousands of Ph.D theses and Italy, as we know it now, is a sort of anomaly in Europe. They've got all the outward trappings of the other countries in the EU, like trains, social welfare, and excessively good pastries, but none of the attitude, the holier-than-thou, our-system-will-kick-your-system's-ass mentality. They take the time to enjoy the day, smoke a cigarette, drink a coffee, buy some really high leather boots, what have you. They're fun. They're like you're friend who doesn't have a job, who just skis all the time, doesn't have prospects, etc. No wonder I feel at home here.
It make me wonder if any other former empire nations will becomg like the Italians in a few years. I'd love to see the Brits take themselves less seriously, relax, develop a better cuisine, take the entire month of August off to go to the beach. Or maybe, in a long, long time, us Americans will stop being afraid of everything, stop selling guns to people who then shoot the people we're trying to protect, and just calm down, take a deep breath, and step back. If only we hadn't outlawed lead plumbing and incest, I'm sure the whole process would be sped along nicely.
Well, from pasta to cultural politics, that got involved. Meanwhile, Louise and I ski pretty much all day, everyday. It's ten days since the last storm ended and we're still getting lift-accessed fresh tracks, with more snow on the way in the next few days, says local freeride guru Jean-Lucca. Somewhere around 60 centimeters. Quick, how many feet is that?
By the way, this is how we get Wi-Fi access. We wander around Entreves or Courmayeur until we find a nice little spot, like this, and then we steal all the time we can. No one's yelled at us. Yet.
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