Delizia! by John Dickie

Author:John Dickie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2008-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

IV

FOOD FOR THE NEW NATION

11

Naples, 1884

Pinocchio Hates Pizza

Gusto and Disgusto

To the Italian palate, the American way of eating is a cornucopia of horrors. The gastronomic culture clash begins over breakfast. In the morning, the Italians gently coax their metabolism into activity with coffee and a delicate pastry. The very notion of frying anything so early in the day is enough to make stomachs turn. So the classic American breakfast is an outrage; among its most nauseating features are sausage patties and those mattresslike omelets into which the entire contents of a refrigerator have been emptied. Grits defy belief. And anyone in Italy who tried serving a steak before the early afternoon would be disowned by their family.

Such crimes are compounded by another national pathology: the compulsive need to have everything on the same plate. Bacon with hash browns. And pancakes with maple syrup and cherry topping. And applesauce. And eggs. And a salad garnish. And a heap of fruit. Why not—it might occur to an Italian to ask—serve it all in a bucket and pour some of your edifying cereals in milk over the top, too?

A people like the Italians, brought up to savor the way antipasto, primo, secondo, contorno, and dolce make for an evolving pattern of distinct tastes and textures, experiences shock and pity when confronted with brunch. The Americans can only have invented it to allow their lust for mutually contaminating tastes to descend into savagery.

Italians also find it distressing that Americans eat on the move. In Italy, ice cream is the only thing that can be enjoyed absolutely legitimately while walking, but even then the cone should be wrapped in a napkin, with another napkin ready to dab at the mouth, and the maximum permitted speed is a gentle amble. Italy has many street food traditions, ranging from Rome’s simple and omnipresent pizza squares and supplì (a deep-fried rice ball with a melting heart of mozzarella cheese), to the more demanding Florentine lampredotto (a bread roll filled with succulent strips of boiled gut topped with oily parsley and chili dressings). But consuming even these ready-to-go delights is an experience to be savored, an experience worth framing with rules. Hence the napkin etiquette: skin and food should not come into contact. Hence also the fact that Italians eat things like panini and tramezzini (rolls and little crustless sandwiches) either standing at a counter, or perched on a stool by a shelf. To do anything as purposeful as walking at the same time would be disrespectful to the understated artistry of the cook, and it would cross the line that distinguishes eating from mere feeding.

The Americans—at least in Italian eyes—are innocent of such refinement. They munch burritos in cars. They stride to work sloshing brothy “coffee” into spongy mawfuls of industry-standard muffin. In fact the Yanks eat anything, anywhere, at any time: they slurp Chinese takeout while tapping at a keyboard between meetings, and masticate their loveless, overladen “pizzas” in front of the TV.

Then there is the salad question.

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