Year of No Sugar by Eve O. Schaub

Author:Eve O. Schaub
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2014-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

WHY AM I NOT ITALIAN?

One day I woke up and realized that we had made it to a significant milestone: we were officially past the six-month mark. Halfway!! Could it be that we had really made it so far? Could it really be that we had so much farther to go? June had been clammy and wet, so by the time July rolled around, most area residents were figuring summer had simply decided not to come this year. This is Vermont; it happens. But just as I was waking up to realize our No-Sugar Year was halfway to its finish line, I was also waking up to realize that summer really was going to arrive after all. All of a sudden the marble quarry–swimming hole was full of people showing off their farmer tans. Before I had fully realized it had started, strawberry season was practically over, so I hurried out and bought two quarts, never mind going picking.

Yes, summer had finally arrived, just in time for us to go away. We were preparing for a trip—a big trip. We would be leaving in a few days for two weeks in Italy.44

Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re not thinking, Gee, did Eve’s family visit the Leaning Tower of Pisa? The Vatican? The Coliseum? I know you’re not thinking that because that’s not what everyone at home was asking me. What everyone at home was asking me was: “Oo! What are you going to do about the Sugar Project?”

Yeeeaaaaah. Good question. It was one to which I had given much thought but had yet to receive any brilliant revelations about. At the time, my circular thought pattern ran something like this: the Italians are serious about their food—in particular fresh, homemade food; this will be extremely helpful.45 Also very helpful will be the fact that the Italians aren’t too big on desserts—gelato and tiramisu notwithstanding. The first time our family went to Italy two years before, I recall more than one instance in restaurants when we had to ask if, in fact, there was any dessert to be had. We were much more likely to be offered an after-dinner drink of limoncello or amaro than a dessert menu. It was often an afterthought, as in: “Oh! Yeah—sure we have dessert! Would you like dessert?”

On that trip, the desserts we did order struck my American palate as…not very good. Instead, they were creamy and cakey and lemony and almondy. They were not what I would call…sweet. I didn’t care for them very much—at that time, I was still looking for that taste explosion at the end of a good meal to signify its end, like fireworks at the end of the Fourth of July. I mean, you just can’t go home till the grand finale practically blows your eardrums out—or taste buds off as the case may be. We Americans are not big on subtlety.

Therefore, by comparison, my logic went, we should be in good shape, right? No one would be tempting us with deep-fried Oreos or Death-by-Chocolate Sundaes.

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