Time is Pasta

To Italians, time isn't important when it comes to being punctual and cooking. Our bus to leave last night that would be "on the road by 5" probably didn't roll until 5:20. It did not matter how hungry we all were when we arrived at our destination. If we wanted to eat, we had to prepare first. Slowly. Easy Mac doesn't exist here. Even from the skilled, strong and old hands of these women, it doesn't come without lots of time. Paola told me the Italian word for these women. They are very, very skilled and each one does it a little bit different from the other. My program group (with Princeton tagalongs) clammored around a massive wood table, heavy with 4' rolling pins, brown eggs, flour, aprons, ricotta and others. One woman at the end demonstrated the flour and egg "volcano" that she started with to mix her ingredients. She stirred it, then kneeded it, then rolled it for ages until it was a thin sheet as soft and durable as linen. It was a long process...even longer for me. I was happy to volunteer but my hands hurt on the rolling pin and my volcano might have had a few mishap eruptions in the beginning. Francesca was my guru, giving me tips and support that mostly I didn't understand. She showed me how, and I did my best to do it just like her. The other old women around the table were helping the rest of the group, always repeating "forza, forza! Brava, brava!" It became a sort of epic, rolling pin battle as we all combated for space to spread out circles of dought that inevitable hung of the wood table in all directions. I was amazed to see it stay intact to the point where Francesca showed me how to cut it into tagliatelle. I know I need lots of practice, but I was happy to finish my pasta and pile it up onto the pan where they ran off with all our creations to the kitchen.

If we actually ate what we made, I would be surprised. For dinner we were served different types of pasta that appeared much more skillfully made than mine. It all tasted so much more substantial than what we eat out of a box, a totally different item. We sat for hours eating plates of prosciutto, formaggio di mucca and formagion di pecore, pane, dolce and drinking sparkling water and wine. Nothing seemed rushed and we all just sat around several big tables and talked about whatever we could.

It is easy to see that sort of mentality everywhere here. From my first glass of fresh squeezed OJ to the precise fences of brick or trees. It is a comforting mentality that emphasizes that life is worth appreciating. I wouldn't mind if people were more punctual, but I guess it is an all or nothing thing.

Last night we returned to Bologna from the villa after midnight. It was the first snowfall I had seen in Bologna and it was beautiful how it coated everything...except the road. I could have walked faster than our bus, but then again, should I really care how long it takes?