Belated Thanksgiving

Last Sunday, we met this guy.

We also dined with the author of this Oprah-publicized-but-un-clubbed book, as well as with a BBC reporter who was recently knighted by the Queen for some very valiant reporting.

In addition to these, and our Carl-connex co-hosts, there were thirteen other expatriates, locals, one Dutch “archeological artist,” a German shepherd and a “Roman” dog, which apparently means gray and non-descript…all at a Sunday-afternoon Thanksgiving dinner.

We learned about the Neapolitan mob from a man named Marco, and got sightseeing tips from Maria, a Boston native turned Rome-based TV producer/reporter/web designer. For the first time in my life, I ate chestnuts on an open fire.

This was all arranged by Tom and Lisa Finerty.

Lisa Finerty is Carleton ’76, and, even better, from Chicago. Tom and Lisa had lived in Bucktown before selling their home to Rick Bayless, the chef behind Frontera. In fact, Bayless films his cooking show from the old Finerty place. They then lived in Santa Barbara, until selling their place there to buy ten acres of Otricoli land and design and construct a house on it. Located high enough in the rolling hills outside of Rome that clouds pass through it, when the surroundings are not foggy from these clouds, this is the view from the kitchen. Tom still does production work, and Lisa conducts tours of Rome and heads Democrats Abroad, Rome.

Thanksgiving, for me, brings to mind images of long, crowded tables full of family, food and warmth. Although extremely long in table, this dinner was unique in being wholly overwhelmed by the food aspect. The fact that Italian cuisine is maybe better than that of all other countries combined does not go unvocalized by expats here. Never taking food for granted any time of year, Thanksgiving in Otricoli took on gastronomical propotions.

Upon our arrival, the night before the big dinner, Lisa immediately put Annalise, Maria and I to serious work in the kitchen. I took instructions on how to make cranberry sauce rich in orange and lemon zest, Annalise did the garlic bread, and everyone together dissected a pumpkin, carving and deploying all parts with the utmost efficiency, kind of analogous to what we’ve all learned about how Native Americans “used every part of the buffalo!” We used the pumpkin’s guts for soup content, the peel for bowl, and its seeds for…baked seeds.

But the next morning the pumpkin soup, though to me delicious, was deemed “unsatisfactory” by a few sophisticates and thus not even presented for dinner. Eating here is some serious shit. Luckily, ad hoc lasagna was concocted, with very fresh cheese furnished by the dairy dude pictured in the beginning of this post. Diane, a photographer hotshot and more, knocked out both this and a carrot-pumpkin dish. Others brought the aforementioned chestnuts, a spinach-heavy quiche, pies pumpkin and pecan, and carrot cake. Somewhere at some point some people (including Annalise and I) also assembled gingery stuffing, salad, broccoli and vegetables, garlic aioli potatoes, mashed potatoes, and other things to surround the spiced-up, thirty-four pound (!!!) turkey that had been slaughtered on Friday.

Well, it was great. And it was well-timed since we had done pasta and pizza the past eight days. It was also poorly timed because I had gotten run down and so my nose was stuffed, and taste is three-quarters smell you know (I actually learned that fact from a former co-worker a few years ago, who can’t smell. She explained that, because of this condition, she didn’t know what food tastes like. That seems like it sucks, but way better than being blind or deaf. Mute or not being able to turn your neck would probably be a toss up with not being able to smell or taste. What do you think?).

Lisa and Tom are awesome, by the way. We are very thankful and wonder if it’ll ever be possible to reciprocate their incredible hospitality. It was unbeatable. We not only had our own room, but our own wing of the house, replete with bathroom. We woke up to their neighbor’s sheep bleating, and some local hunters gunning down wild boar. Lisa drove us back to the train station Monday morning, and let us stay in an apartment they own in Rome, located a few blocks from the Pantheon and Colosseum and all that, and wired to the Internet. And then, when the Italian train system went on strike, for one “Black” Friday, they let us stay a fifth day for free, thus saving us a total seven days in hotel charges. Unbelievable.

When in Rome, we sightsaw, and other things Romans don’t do. It’s funny that there’s way more to write about Otricoli than Rome. Not that we didn’t see and learn in Rome, but we did about what you’d expect, whereas the generosity and food of Otricoli were most noteworthy. Rome’s a big city, but not all that different in feel from, say, Florence. Walking into moving traffic there, though not nearly as death-defying as Naples, is still uncomfortable.

To be honest, things are beginning to blur together a little more, and the cities we’re visiting now, I feel, might be getting a little less appreciation as result of the late treatment. It was kind of like the spinach quiche at Thanksgiving—it was great, another 10-out-of-10, but it was third course, after two helpings of turkey, potatoes and stuffing. I knew it was perfect, sure, but I wished it had come earlier, or that I could wait until tomorrow, when I’d have more room to take it all in. Rome is like the thirteenth course. Now, here we are, in the heart of history and of the most influential religion ever, and not feeling awed. It must have to do with seeing everything one on top of another, without break, which has advantages and disadvantages that I probably can’t sort out while so caught up. Plus, I had much more work than usual this week, and we also planned out the rest of the trip, which wasn’t easy.

Now we are taking a sort of vacation from the vacation, heading to Provence for five days to just rest, work and convalesce. After that, we should have enough break to be appropriately amazed through to January.

We’ll keep you blog-posted with things that happen in the next few days, perhaps with more thoughts so reading this journal doesn’t get self-centered, diary-like and list-heavy. We’re thankful you made it this far with us.

Pictures.