The Tarantella, in costume — no less

wanting to do the right thing, and no one wanting to offend the bride and her family, we’re gathering information, doing research … and getting no clear answers.

And that’s because when it comes to “traditions” there’s about as much consistency as there is across ragu recipes of Italian grandmothers.  So, none.  And – by the way – mine is best.

In the course of conversation about the upcoming nuptials, conversation turned to Italian traditions.  What were they?  Well, we know what’s NOT traditional, which is for the American husband-to-be to show up and advertise his American-ness by hanging out in a white T-shirt and drinking beer … But that’s another story.

I did a little digging and found out that my mom had really messed up on the traditional aspect of our wedding.  Here are some of the “traditional” things that we didn’t do (and does this nullify the vows?):

• The tarantella.  I can’t tell you how many seemingly reliable sites I found that stated the tarantella was an integral part of any Italian reception, and was meant to bring good luck to the happy couple.  How have we survive 26 years without?
• The breaking of glass.  Apparently, at the end of the ceremony, the bride and groom break a glass or vase (or some other object which then leads to shards all over the floor) – again for good luck.  I think the good luck there is escaping without injury.
• Avoiding the month of August.  I’m not sure how widespread this is, and can’t find any “why” behind it, but in Italy – and especially in Venice – August is a month (along with May) to avoid in picking a wedding date.  I think it’s just because all the Italians want to close up shop and go on vacation all month and it would be inconvenient ….
• Cutting a log in half on the way to the wedding.  This effort supposedly demonstrates partnership, but would seem to be a recipe for a sweaty groom and a dirty wedding dress.  I’m fairly certain that after spending months making my dress, my nonna would not have been receptive to my picking up an axe, saw, or any other tool.  And what about the groom not seeing the bride before the church?

So in the end traditions are what you want them to be – what’s important to you and yours, and not some “standard”.  We did have confetti.  No –

Mom wanted confetti!

not the paper kind.  The Jordan almonds.  My Mom was insistent about this, which was a bit of a trick back then because this delicious – and highly traditional – candy that was ubiquitous in Italy, found in the best confectionaries and bakeries, was not widely available here.  And when you were

Jordan almonds, or confetti

lucky enough to find it, it tasted a bit as though it had traveled here from Italy on a slow boat:  hard, overly chewy, and not at all appetizing.  But it was tradition!

For more fun reading:  http://www.worldweddingtraditions.com/locations/west_europe_traditions/italian_traditions.html, http://www.lifeinitaly.com/weddings/wedding-traditions.asp, and http://www.worldweddingtraditions.com/locations/west_europe_traditions/italian_traditions.html

And for the history perfectionists, I guess we need to admit that pizza did NOT truly originate in Italy, but leaves flour footprints trailing back to the Babylonians, Israelites, and other Middle Easter cultures.  Pizza then was more like today’s pita, and probably dressed with olive oil and native spices.  But pizza as we know it was born in Naples.  According to popular lore (and most likely accurate), the Italian Monarchs King Umberto and Queen Margherita were touring Naples.  A patriotic Italian baker, Raffaele Esposito, chose to showcase his talent and demonstrate his love for his country by creating a pizza in the colors of Italy:  red, green, and white (tomato, basil, and mozzarella).  He named it Pizza Margherita and the rest is history.

The Pizza Via — mobile pizza oven

So when the chance to bid on the Pizza Via, http://site.thepizzavia.com/About.html a local pizza-mobile, came up, we jumped on it.  Applying the theory that it couldn’t be bad (it was pizza in a wood-fired oven) and might actually be delicious, we booked it for our daughter’s graduation party this weekend.  The fact that I was hosting a party where I wasn’t cooking was plenty to bias me favorably right off the bat …

This charming young fellow (really, a last-year’s grad of culinary school) trails a custom-built brick wood-burning pizza oven, designed and built together with his father.  Owner Alex Ciciora offers a trim but perfect menu that includes several salads, seven pizzas, and gelato, which he sources from a local artisan, Gelati, in Naperville, http://gelatinaperville.com/ .  You pick your salad, two flavors of ice cream, and he does the rest.  It was a gamble, really. Would it be good?  We are a pizza-snobbish group.  Would it be filling? Let’s be real … would he show up?

All the signs were good.  He talked glowingly about his starter.  He was coy about some of the secret ingredients in his sauce.  He made a pizza with a pesto base.  And after a meeting where he came out to check out the site, I was able to confirm that he had a real entrepreneurial spirit.

In the end, Alex exceeded all expectations.  The pizzas were fantastic, from the perfectly crisp-chewy crust to delicate sauce and a perfect

Alex at work

balance of toppings, each was better than the next, with my personal favorite as the pesto-prosciutto-kalamata blend.  The congenial group that included his girlfriend Gina as server and another high school buddy (who aspires to add the music entertainment component to the package) as assembler was a huge hit with guests.  And we wondered, “How can this young kid get this so right in a brick oven on a trailer when some of the most resource and facility-rich outfits can’t?”

He’s on Facebook.  He’s on the web.  And his tagline, EVERYONE LOVES PIZZA is on the money, especially if it’s pizza done the way he does it.

It was a gamble, but we won big.  Who knows, maybe one day he’ll have a mobile pizza gondola plying the Venice waterways … don’t bet against it.

Glorious Gritti

A stunning setting.  Fabulous architecture.  A symphony of colors and sounds.  A who’s who of industry glitterati.  Food and drink to complement it all.  Must be the Cannes Film Festival, non?  Well, actually, non.  Just a jump away, across northern Italy and into Venice, is the Venice Biennial, an avant-garde modern art, film, and architecture expo.  Just a quick five-hour drive, or 40-minutes by private plane accessible to most in attendance at Cannes, the 55^th annual event offers culture and surprise.

With roots deep in Italian art, the Biennial has morphed into an eclectic celebration of culture and the arts, from dance to theater to contemporary music to architecture, in all over 100 artists in 70 exhibitions.  Based in historic Venice, the displays offer the ultimate juxtaposition of cutting edge modern displays in gilded settings.  For much more, check out one of the official websites, http://www.labiennale.org/en/biennale/index.html.

Countries and organizations are eligible to feature their work at “houses” throughout Venice.  Since I’m stuck in Chicago and not actually covering

Everybody loves Barbie?

the Biennial, check out Roberta Smith’s piece in the New York Times, http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/06/01/venice-biennale-an-installation-art-contest/.  From Barbies on display at the Swiss Pavilion (somehow I expected something different from the Swiss) to an American venue featuring a tank and runner, it sounds like the event calls for an open and creative mind.

Ravasi — Modern representation

The most celebrated newcomer is the Vatican.  Spearheaded by Giancarlo Ravasi, the Vatican’s Culture Minister, the Vatican’s entry represents a renewed effort to engage young and emerging artists,      http://www.detroitnews.com/article/20130525/LIFESTYLE04/305250309. Known for his easy embrace of modern culture, Ravasi, who tweets and quotes pop artists, selected artists to represent the Vatican based on their body of work, rather than their ethnicity or religious beliefs.  And in case you’re worried that your weekly contribution went to sponsor the show, rest assured that the nearly one million dollar cost to enter (and pay artists) was covered by donations and private sponsorship.

Completed just months prior to the opening of the Biennial on June 1, the Gritti Palace, one of Venice’s most beloved hotels, is back in full glory, completely restored to Murano-chandelier splendor and ready to host and be seen.  And while Venice may not see all of the A-listers walking the tiny streets of Cannes, a host of celebs, politicians, and important figures are scheduled to attend.  These include Hillary Clinton, Elton John, Robert DeNiro, Richard Gere, the Duke and Duchess of Kent, and a slew of designers and prominent figures.  I’m guessing none of them will have a wardrobe malfunction.  More on that, if you haven’t seen, http://www.360nobs.com/2013/05/wardrobe-malfunction-eva-longoria-reveals-no-underwear-at-cannes-2013-photos-18/.

My fascinator is nicer than yours …

Why?  Because some Italians know better than everyone else.  I suppose this isn’t any different from competing English folks, trying to out-fascinate each other with their ridiculous hats, or even Austrians trying to out-spaetzle each other.  But I can’t participate in those efforts because I don’t have the creds.  So I’ll stick to my experience with the Italians.

We were at a year-end banquet for the kids the other night, sitting with a group of parents we’ve come to know casually over the years our children have spent together in band.  It’s a thin connection that guarantees no commonality other than a support of music education, but it’s better than nothing.  We started talking about local restaurants, most Italian ones because one of the other couples is Italian as well.  The topic turned to sauces we make.  And then to ragu.  I was asked if I make ragu, and I replied sure – many kinds:  Ragu Bolognese, pork ragu, lamb ragu, etc.  This gal just couldn’t wrap her arms around the idea that these were all ragus.  I tried to say that by definition, a ragu was any sauce made with MEAT.  Bolognese

What do you mean Bolognese is ragu?

(hailing from Bologna) uses ground beef, and sometimes pork and veal.  She replied that Bolognese was just a different sauce and that ragu needs to start with real meat (not sure what ground beef, pork, and veal are).  And that it needed to be cooked for several days.  I gave it up.  She knew better.  And no forks were thrown.

Last night, while making osso bucco for the first time, I thought about the Italians who know better once again.  My mom used to make osso bucco – as something of a treat – regularly while she was alive.  She served it in traditional fashion (according to her) with rice and spinach, forming the

Marcella — my trusted source

colors of the Italian flag.  It’s one of the few things she made that I never did.  But I ran across gorgeous veal shanks at Costco and thought it was time.  I had watched her make them many times, but to double check myself I turned to Marcella Hazan, whose recipes and advice over the years I’ve found to be most in synch with my own mother’s version of “real” Italian.  Years ago, when osso bucco gained some popularity and was featured in Bon Apetit or something, the article talked about the essential topping-off element:  gremolata.  For those who don’t know, it’s a concoction of herbs, garlic, and lemon that’s meant to be sprinkled atop the completed osso bucco.  I remember asking my mom about it and her saying that while she might include some parsley or bay leaves in the sauce, and some lemon zest, she had never heard of this “gremolata.”  Sure enough, Marcella Hazan included a recipe for it as an epilogue to the main part of the recipe.  And then she said she would NEVER put this on top of osso bucco herself, but knows that it’s become a popular trend, so she was including instructions.  See?  Vindicated.  I am the best Italianista out there.  Mom and Marcella agree.

But let’s imagine that you could spend Mother’s Day in Venice.  One daughter chronicles her day with mom here, http://www.lets-be-adventurers.com/2011/12/me-n-mom-in-venice-italy.html, and makes me a bit jealous – both because she did it and because her Mom is around to do it with!  But let’s say you could.  Here’s a potential itinerary …

A lovely view to start the morning

We had a fabulous one through www.InItaly.com when we went eight years or so ago.  Throw open the shutters, let the sunlight flood the place, watch tiny gondolas overburdened with fruits float silently past on their way to the grocery stores.  Enjoy.  Whether you choose krapfen (a custard-filled donut like creation) or croissant or almond horn – it’s a great way to start the day.

Next perhaps a walk – either to church, or passing by so many churches that it must count for something.    A winding meander through the alleyways with no particular purpose seems ideal for this day.  Maybe a little window (or actual) shopping.  The papers of Venice are a treat.  Maybe those special Murano glass earrings you’ve been eyeing.  Possibly handcrafted leathers in jewel tones.  And the walk should end in Piazza San Marco.

Since it’s Mother’s Day, it’s time to indulge with a light bite at Florian’s.  Pay extra to get a table outside (because of the musicians) and either eat like an Italian – with a larger meal in early afternoon and a bite later for dinner, or like an American with a light bite for lunch, saving room for something sumptuous later on.  Realistically, the native Italians are NOT coming here for lunch.  So be American.  Have a panini and a Prosecco and enjoy the ambiance.

Outside at Caffe Florian

Next up how about a change of venue?  If it’s lovely – and I’m sure it would be – hop a vaporetto for a ride out to the Lido, Venice’s beach.  A giant sandbar, the Lido beaches are fronted by hotels, old and new, but you can access the beach, take a stroll, spend an hour in the sun, and leave the frenetic pace of the main island behind.  Enjoy a gelato – gianduia please, or a granatina – a shaved ice concoction that puts the American snow cone to shame – and the Palm Beach-y vibe.  Then hop the vaporetto back.

The day is young, so perhaps a round of Venice’s famous cocktails and cicchetti are in order.  Mini-morsels equally suited to dining on the go, or standing and sipping (and eating), these are somewhat unique to Venice and might include fried bits, cured meats, or seafood.  Something to tide you over until dinner.

Venice’s playground

And finally, finish the day with dinner – somewhere wonderful and undiscovered, the antithesis of Florian’s. We found one such place (only because a kindly Venetian businessman directed us) when we were there.  It was way off the beaten path, there wasn’t an American in sight, and instead the place was filled with Venetian families enjoying wonderful pastas, risottos, pizzas, and companionship.  If the menu is posted in seventeen languages – move on.  Take a chance and you’ll discover something wonderful.

In the meantime, I hope you all enjoyed Mother’s Day – whether in Italy or the central plains!

Gorgeous trofie — with pesto, of course

Trofie.  They’re the unique pasta local to the Italian Riviera spanning from Genoa to Sestri Levante, or so.  These little squiggles of flour and water are best-served with pesto, which also originates here.  I don’t even bother to say basil pesto, because it’s the original,  But I guess to be clear – since now we have cilantro pesto, sun-dried tomato pesto, and pesto of just about anything that can be smashed up – I do mean basil pesto.  Made from true Genovese basil that we can’t possibly do justice to when growing it here because “it’s the air” and “it’s the water” and “it’s the dirt.” Anyway, these little marvels of pasta can be found there at every fresh pasta shop, are a real project to make at home (I tried – several hours and one gloppy mess of a counter later, I had a couple of pounds), and are just amazing.

But this week I learned about “corzetti,” another supposedly traditional pasta shape of the region.  It was a credible source, the Chicago Tribune food section, and a knowledgeable author, Mario Batali.  But I couldn’t believe I’d never heard of it.  I did a little digging.  Sure enough, corzetti have a Wikipedia page – and isn’t that the stamp of authenticity?  Truly though, I got a lot of hits, including a YouTube video of someone who blew it while

Pretty little pasta disks

making them at home.  Pasta dough – tricky sometimes!

They’re basically little round pasta shapes stamped with a design.  Typically a shaft of wheat, the design can be anything you choose (monogrammed pasta anyone), and the purpose of the design is to provide little divots for the sauce to cling in.  Sort of like the ridges on gnocchi.

So apparently there’s another pasta shape unique to the Ligurian coast.  Batali was serving them up with pesto, garnished with the traditional green beans and potatoes.  And I guess if I think about it I probably saw these on menus when we visited the area, but skimmed right over them in my ignorance.  Gotta go back!

I don’t know that the taste is going to be any different from the odd-sized flat remnants of any flat pasta, for example lasagna sheets.  But the fun – as always – is largely in the process and presentation.  Check out this blog on the topic, http://ibunbury.blogspot.com/2012/02/corzetti-stampati.html,

Rectangular, but equally delicious

where I also learned that Liguria by no means has the corner on the market of embossed pastas.  In southern Italy they also make them, although there they’re called stracenate, and are rectangular, http://adribarrcrocetti.com/main/2011/07/18/stracenate-stracnar-and-a-cavarola-board/.  And of course they don’t serve them with pesto, but, as Italians always do, feature the produce of the region – which happens to be stunning tomatoes, dressed simply with fragrant olive oil, basil, pepper.  Yum.

I even found a source on Etsy.com (my favorite place for the offbeat, customizable, and different) who makes them, https://www.etsy.com/listing/89780616/olive-oil-and-black-pepper-stracenate.  Maybe I’ll suggest she branch out into corzetti, customizable with the purchaser’s initial, or maybe the family crest.  They’d sell.

An article on this breathtaking locale claimed the front page of last week’s travel section in the Chicago Tribune http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2013-04-17/travel/sc-trav-0416-italy-hike-20130418_1_south-tyrol-alto-adige-dolomites.  Written by Barbara Brotman, whose writing I love because of its utter accessibility, and probably because I relate to her as a mom of two girls, it informs, intrigues, and interests.  All the hallmarks of a good piece.  Frankly, I want to go.

The castle at Merano

Merano is a spa town, I learned, in the South Tyrol (Alto Adige) section of Italy, a stunningly beautiful area that belonged to Austria until WWI.  Years ago we launched a super-low-budget, high-itinerary Eurail trip from the sleepy town of Tirano by jumping on the Bernina Express

The little engine that could — Bernina

which traveled over (rather than through) the mountain showcasing towering peaks and never-melting glaciers. Check out this fellow’s video   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-FJvzA7cZcM. The charming village wore a three-sided hat: Italian, Swiss, and Austrian – to great effect.  And although it was just a layover town for us, a couple of hours long enough to grab delicious fixing for on-board sandwiches and see a few sites, it was lovely.  Brotman’s piece on Merano brought it all back.

It’s a whole different Italy, where the biggest challenges for the day include navigating a cross-mountain trail system and deciding which hike to take and what rustic menu to enjoy rather than how to fit all three museums into eight hours and tackle the Rome metro.  Perhaps unfairly, it’s not often the main destination on an Italian itinerary.  There’s the standard “culture” trip,

Florence Duomo — clearly a must-see

hitting the big three: Rome, Florence, and Venice.  Of course those sites aren’t to be missed (and if you traveled with my father, you didn’t miss one thing on a tour of Florence that included every well and little-known church).  Then there’s what I call the “Riviera” tours.  These might include the Cinque Terre, with their absurdly charming water-colored town centers, incredible vistas, local wines and seafood, and swimming holes.  Or, perhaps further south, the route might be the Amalfi Coast, maybe including Ravello – picture-perfect in its perch above it all, Positano – stunning in its wash of color, and Capri – the place to see and be seen.  And sometimes folks even head to the “Lakes” region as a destination – Garda, Maggiore, and Como.  Nothing to complain about there.

Magnificent Positano — land of custom sandals, stunning pottery, magical food

But Brotman’s piece makes the case for taking the pace down a notch, and spending dedicated time in this lesser-known area. From spectacular hiking accessible to all levels, to friendly villagers, to warm comfort foods that seem to capitalize on the best of three cultures, how can you go wrong?  Merano, a well-known ski resort, and paradoxically also known as the “City of Flowers” (credit a unique temperate zone) is also covered beautifully by InItaly.com, http://www.initaly.com/regions/taa/merano.htm, a site I’ve turned to over the years for solid first-hand information about travel in Italy.  Run by expats and transplants, they seem to get it right every time.

Merano – a gem in its own right.

And although, honestly, the products I’m talking about here are not necessarily what a nice Italian girl like me (and like so many of you, I suspect) would think of as shining examples of “love” encapsulated in food format, the idea is the same.

Cooking with nonna … credit: www.grandparents.com

I think about my childhood.  The lasagna al forno with a perfect bechemel.  The gnocchi dressed in sausage sage sauce.  The salt’-in-bocca, oozing with cheese.  The osso bucco.  The zucchini flowers, lightly fried and dusted with confectioners’ sugar.  My mom wasn’t preparing these things because she had nothing better to do.  She didn’t really find that picking the zucchini flowers from the garden at just the right time and splattering the kitchen with oil were satisfying in and of themselves.  They were satisfying because we enjoyed the result.  And she showed her love through it. (For an authentic recipe, check out this site http://myitaliangrandmother.blogspot.com/2008/07/fried-zucchini-blossoms.html.)

When I traveled to Italy in my early twenties with my husband, on our Eurail adventure, which ended with a week in

No matter the language, the message remains the same

Recco with my aged nonna (maybe 90 years old), and her sister-in-law (who was even older), I don’t fool myself into thinking that they loved cooking meals each night for a week purely for the sake of cooking.  Instead, it was “You are here.  We love you.  And we’re going to show you how much by presenting a five-star menu of your choosing each evening.”  We demurred, and said make what you’d like, knowing whatever was presented would be delicious.  But they wanted to make what we desired to eat.  It’s a week we remember to this day, filled with focaccia, lasagna, pansotti, nutella creations … and love.

Today I have a father-in-law who is semi-retired.  And since retirement, he’s taken over most of the cooking, partly because he loves it, and partly because he wants to show his love through it.  From interesting, authentic Mexican interpretations to smoked salmon, he happily feeds my

Papa’s breads — all flavored with love!

mother-in-law each day, and any number of extended family on Sunday night.  The college kids in the group get to place orders for their favorite varieties of homemade breads, to go.  He enjoys it.  And he appreciates – more than many — when he, in turn, is hosted.  He values this ancient method of showing love.

The saga continues in my own home.  My girls have said on any number of occasions how much they enjoy coming home after a long day of school and practice to the smell of something wonderful simmering on the stove.  It might be a Bolognese.  It might be a risotto. Or maybe even an all-American chili.  And while I do enjoy cooking, and love reading cooking mags to understand the origins of foods and techniques to prepare them, ultimately I cook because it shows them love.  I cook so that when they move on, they’ll relish their experiences, and offer them to their own kids.  And the cycle of love will continue. Not just Italian, universal.

I’ve been to Venice several times – and would go back in the time it takes to say “Bridge of Sighs” – but I’ve never heard of this island, Isola San Michele.  But as I did a little foraging to uncover some new and interesting content, I dug up a gem:  apparently this is the cemetery to the Venice elite.

The approach to Isola San Michele

Have you ever stopped to consider where Venice buries their dead?  On the surface, it seems a silly question.  But dig deeper.  There’s no land.  The entire city is an island.  Think New Orleans, but exponentially.

Apparently, until about 1800, prior to Napoleon’s possession of the city, the dead were buried in the churches and underneath the bricks of the city streets.  Aside from the space issues, the constantly changing water levels made this an impractical solution.  Once Napoleon arrived, the dead were shipped over to San Michele, an island named for the church there dedicated to the archangel Michael and designed in 1469 by Mauro Codussi, a prevalent Venetian architect possibly most known for his work on the clock tower in St. Mark’s.

Organized in a fashion that truly is Venetian, the Catholics got the most space, followed by the Greek Orthodox, the foreigners, and the Protestants.  The several sources I found can’t seem to adequately explain the concept of “foreigner,” as a category, as obviously it’s not a religion, and therefore unlike the other groupings.  There is a section for children, and of course a separate section for the beloved and esteemed gondoliers.  I don’t know what happens if you’re a Catholic who’s also a gondolier … The Jews were shipped off to be buried at the Lido.

From all accounts, it’s a peaceful, if a bit jam-packed, island which still is a functioning cemetery.  And the grounds feature an ossuary, where

The look from inside

bones that have been buried for 10-12 years are exhumed and retired.  I can only guess this is a space-creating mechanism.  And while unusual, it’s not as strange as the Capuchin Crypt in Rome which features alcove after alcove of “art” created from the bones of ancient monks.

Art from bones … a bit macabre

On All Soul’s Day (Nov 2), a religious day widely ignored here but well-observed in Italy, the ferry ride to the island is free and – like so many other seemingly simple events – is made a big deal by large groups who go en masse to honor the dead.  Famous folks buried there include Ezra Pound and Igor Stravinsky – whose relatives, I’m guessing, are not on that ferry.  For more info, check this out, http://www.italyheaven.co.uk/veneto/venice/sanmichele.html.

Fab Fratelli. Italian-style pizza with a shorter travel time

We took a quick trip to Italy just before Easter.  We enjoyed fabulous pizza and antipasti at Fratelli la Bufala, complete with homemade cheese and salami.  And we gobbled delicious gelato and Gelato-go, nutella and straciatella.  The restaurant maître de spoke Italian; the wait staff were all Italian; and many of the patrons were Italian.  I got to practice.  What’s weird, though, is that we didn’t actually jump across the pond.  We went to Miami.

I expected a Latin influence, specifically Cuban and South American.  And, in fact, that was hard to miss.  It’s Latin on steroids with micro-minis, shorts that begged the wearer to stand still lest she accidentally bare all, tiny wisps of strings crocheted together to form a short “blouse” covering

Why wear any more than this … the temps are hot; the girls too …

the most ample – and amended –bosoms.  And because all that wasn’t accident-inducing enough, the entire package teetered on absurdly high Lucite heels.  Not kidding.  We saw more Lucite here than you’d find at the National Plastics Convention.   They were all young (probably too young), attractive, and looking for fun.  But we expected that in South Beach.

We didn’t expect the Italians.  It started with the restaurant, which we passed driving in and thought looked appealing with its outdoor seating and rustic appearance.  When we googled its name, we discovered that it is one of the American outposts of this beloved Italian chain, whose other locations include all the places you’d expect in Italy, other European locations, New York, etc.  And I don’t know what their policy is – perhaps they imported their staff from Italy — but there clearly was some type of requirements list that included:  native Italian, young, strikingly attractive, and charming.  There was no Lucite to be seen.

The menu did not disappoint.  The mozzarella (namesake) is the star, and is featured throughout – from appetizers to salads to pizzas, naturally.  And of course it actually tasted like something, unlike the white plastic stuff that’s sold in grocery stores throughout the country.  We ordered a pizza “Bianca” and they warned us – you know it has no sauce.  Of course we knew, and got the concept.  But they’ve undoubtedly had American patrons order and be disappointed when their pizza was crisp, clean and white rather than overburdened with the gloppy red stuff.  After dinner, we went looking for some ice cream, and ran across Gelato-go.  This was a bit more disappointing, as the Nutella flavor really seemed as though they’d simply added something to a jar of Nutella to make it creamy at cold temps.  But the proprietors were indeed Italian, talking to each other and various patrons in their native tongue.  Crazy!

One of the quirky lifeguard stands on South Beach

The next day at the beach we were surrounded by them.  Well, really we were surrounded by everything but plain old American, which was pretty cool.  But again, the Italian seemed to dominate (after the Latino).  I was curious so I tried to dig up some stats.  Like all great research, much of it was contradictory.  One site showed as much as 6% of the population in a given zip code of Miami as Italian.  Another said that .16% (yes, I have represented that number correctly) speaks Italian.  Which isn’t much.  Then again, maybe the entirety of that group lives in the South Beach area.

Anyway, when dinner time rolled around again, we abandoned our reservation at a super-trendy fish place on the strip with inflated prices and enhanced clientele, and instead went back to Fratelli.  We drank wine, ate pizza, people-watched.  It was just like being in Italy.  Kind-of.