As I write this, I am wearing a shirt that’s got an image of a DMC DeLorean on it and the words “NEVER EVER SET IT TO 2020”. Skirting the edges of copyright infringement, there are also two arrows going in different directions. We children of the 80s get the meaning, and even more significantly, in 2021 all of us understand that it can be hard to project into the future with any real certainty. But still, I feel positive in mentioning that this month marks the first time that I’ve had houseguests in a year and a half.
The last time I had someone here, it was my brother. We’d purchased tickets to visit Florence and then almost immediately decided not to go. Backing out seemed obvious as we watched Italian TV and witnessed how quickly this new virus was spreading from the north of the country. Instead we opted to visit Bomarzo because we could go in a car and we knew it would be deserted. All of that feels like ten years ago.
So life is snailing back towards normalcy? I hope so—but I am not going to proclaim anything ever. Again I am old, which means I am unable to forego scanning the news once I pad out of bed. Such is life even under the most normal of conditions.
Last week I took a short trip into the region of Umbria. I chose Umbria because it’s an easy drive from Rome, and also because I have heard plenty of good things about the various towns perched up in higher elevations.
“In Umbria, you can literally die eating.” This is how the quality of food is described even by Italians. Especially if you are a carnivore, then you’ll be quite happy here. But even still, the truffle dishes, the pasta, the lobster tails (think sfogliatella in Naples) are all as calorically delicious as they are abundant. October means that the fall is really here, and the cold weather is practically pushing comfort food into your conscience.
I felt no guilt in ordering a creamy pasta called Cappelli del prete (preacher’s hats) that had hazelnuts and cheese with fresh vegetables stuffed inside each one. I felt no remorse as I knew that in Umbria, you give your body a decent workout in scaling the steep roads that make up the perched towns like Todi, Assisi and Spoleto. Walking and eating in the autumn in Italy is a great pleasure, the vendors start selling roasted chestnuts reappear in the streets but if the sun is still high in the sky, it’s warm enough to still go for a gelato. It might be my favorite time of year.
No matter where I am, October really is one of my favorite times of the year. Visiting landlocked and hilly Umbria, the colors on the trees are just starting to change and some of the sites were reminiscent of the Kancamagus Highway. New England stuff. Home stuff.
Once back in home after my weekend, I was driving home from work and passed on of the city’s many ortofrutta— fruit & veg sellers. I wasn’t planning on stopping, but out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a flash of their main table upon which sat a small jumble of bright orange pumpkins. Knowing that these are not in heavy rotation here in Italy, I immediately pulled over, Italian-style (because parking spots are for suckers). I put my mask on and walked into the semi-open air fruit stand.
Facing the main table, I pointed at the small collection of pumpkins and told the vendor that I’d like to buy a couple. At first he looked at me strangely. I wondered if it was my Italian (it usually is).
“These,” he replied, “are not for eating.” Then he turned around and gestured to spot nearby. “These ones are.” He referred to the paler-colored large ones with slightly mottled skin ones. These are le zucche that one might buy at a more fancy shop in America—and they are the same ones on offer in abundance right now at Mercato Trionfale. The larger ones are cool for sure— but supper was not what I was after. Of course I was in search of the American fall.
It’s kind of hard to explain to a person of a different culture what is specifically on your mind in a spot like this. As I dug into my purse for a handful of euros, my mind swirled with images of a cartoon Lucy carving a pumpkin with a comically large knife. I think of the last that almost my entire family made a trip to the Bourne Farm in mid-October. My weekend in Umbria had effectively kicked off the autumnal, and now I was back in Rome and keen for more of it.
My visitors this weekend are of the Italian-American variety (truly, they are visitors bearing both passports). This juxtaposition of familiarity and new culture (for me at least) feels just about perfect as I feel confident enough to reopen my doors and let the world back in. And indeed, they came bearing wine from the region where they live, and it felt like a perfect addition to my modest dining room table of Not For Eating pumpkins and not much else. I miss home, but I am also really happy to open my house back up to the world in a way that hasn’t been a viable option for so long.
I’m not even sure if all of this strings together, but it suffices to say that this month felt different—while also feeling familiar in ways that collectively make me feel happy. Again I don’t want to guess or even put any money down on what the future is going to hold, but for the moment, things feel really great. The sights, food and company of October is wonderful. I’ll feel grateful for all of it, and will enjoy it until long after my pumpkins are carved and eventually replaced by December’s goodness.