Blogpostcard: Orologio

The makers of this fantastic clock in the Piazza were blinded to prevent them from selling their mechanical secrets to other cities. I find it most interesting that the dominant image is the intricate, astrological theme clock face, which is much bigger than the beloved winged lion symbol of St. Mark or the Virgin on her little balcony. I believe it illustrates Venice’s integration of the mystical in her public image and political thought, and her independence from the Vatican.

If you are lucky enough to be here on January 6th, the feast of Epiphany, you can see the figures of the Magi, their gifts in hand, come out of the little doors and circle the Virgin and Christ Child.

Tango night

What you see here is the regular Tuesday night tango get-together in Campo San Giacomo dall’Orio. I don’t know how long this has been going on, but I've been around Venice long enough to say with a sigh, “It’s not like it used to be.”

Not so long ago tango night was a small local affair, strictly for Venetians. Their little orchestra would play, without amplification, all the Buenos Aires classics and a few improv pieces. Perhaps eight or ten couples would come to dance under the strings of colored lights. The ladies were all made up and nicely turned out, often wearing hats (and on chilly evenings, their coats as well). It was just like something out of a Fellini movie.

But tango became popular again, and the past few years have seen a proliferation of classes in Venice. Now folks of all ages and nationalities turn up to promenade or just practice their steps, mostly to recorded numbers, although there is live music after ten o’clock. Even the tourists have caught on to the tradition, some taking to the floor wearing their Crocs, with their backpacks still strapped on. Not my idea of tango attire, for sure!

One thing hasn’t changed though: me. I still just stand around and watch, green with envy because I haven’t yet found a willing partner who would permit me to join in the fun.

Shopping: the meats

In the U.S., the butcher sells meats. Period. Here in Venice it’s a matter of what kind of meat you want to buy. Sometimes the macelleria will offer a variety of meats, maybe even some special prepared items like polpettine (meatballs), spiedini (skewers, sometimes with mixed meats), and rolls of meats stuffed with herbs, cheeses, and other tasty things. But not always. It’s not unusual to see a Venetian butcher offering only five or six cuts, all of one kind of animal. Overall there’s much more choice in meats here than in the U.S., but one must travel around town to take advantage of it. Fortunately, that’s fun for me.

Shopping for beef? Back home we have two categories, depending on the age of the animal when slaughtered. Here there are at least seven. All the organ meats and the oddest parts you can imagine are also sold, as well as ossi puliti (“clean bones”) for stock. (I don’t know why, though – Venetians all use very good European bouillon cubes for their stock. So do I now.)

Pork? Heavens, yes! Every possible cut. The product is rich pink and very tender. At least four age categories in this case. Also a distinction is made between maiale (pig) and suino (hog). But it’s likely one must go somewhere else to get sausages. And cured meats of any kind come from yet another place, the salumeria, which might also sell cheeses, and even olives.

Lamb? Again, certainly available, but curiously, there are very few cuts sold. There are riblets, but rarely chops. I’ve even seen mutton occasionally. And during Festa della Salute, Venetians traditionally enjoy a dish called castradina, made with meat from a young castrated ram. I’m told it’s tender and very tasty. In November I’ll try it.

Poultry? There are some birds here I had never seen before. You can also get their feet and faces, or you can choose a bird with everything still attached and the head tucked under the wing. I have seen goose once or twice, but rarely is there any duck (although there are duck eggs – perhaps that explains the shortage!). Sadly, the poultry here is often stringy and dry. I can’t recommend it, other than the small, fat, juicy chicken that’s called a gallina – even better than our poussin. Oh, yes! And I love the rosy, perfectly plucked quails. Just over a euro apiece! When butterflied, they cook up quickly on the grill. I suggest throwing some oiled radicchio right alongside them.

Rabbit? Could show up anywhere that other meats are sold. Usually locally bred, it’s certain to be tender and delicious with the most minimal preparation and cooking time. It’s just a little bit disconcerting when the full body of the animal is offered, skinned and missing ears and feet. I prefer to buy the unrecognizable lombattina (the saddle), nicely sliced with the chunks still attached to the spine.

Maybe horse? I don’t like to think about this too much, but there are a surprising number of shops that sell only burgundy-colored horsemeat. They seem to do a brisk business. I myself have only had the lightly-smoked, air-dried, shredded horsemeat called sfilacci. It’s real yummy mixed with robiola (a creamy, tangy cheese) in a little sandwich.

Then there’s a whole other kind of shop for meats called a rosticceria. Gotta love this! They offer spit-roasted birds of all types (including pheasant!), plus already-cooked sausages, ribs, chops, and roasts of all kinds, whole or by the chunk (including the incredible, peppery, herb-stuffed, slow-cooked whole pig called porchetta), plus ready-to-reheat pasta dishes like lasagne and cannelloni, plus single portions of deep-fried potatoes, fish chunks, chicken parts, and shrimp, plus grilled and/or marinated vegetable salads, plus little one-bite goodies like cherry peppers stuffed with tuna and cipolline (tiny, flat, sweet onions) stuffed with anchovies, plus...

Oh dear me! How long until lunch?

Natale in luglio

That is to say, “Christmas in July.”

This is July 25th, and my neighbor (who works as a hairdresser in her apartment across the calle) has been playing loud Christmas music all week. Not just some classical stuff that would pass as quasi-highbrow easy listenin’ at anytime of the year. No. I mean real Christmasy stuff: “All I Want For Christmas” and “Santa Baby” and Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” and pa-rum-pah-pum-pum and fa-la-la-la-la! And, by the way, it’s all in English and she’s obviously Italian! (Most of the time she plays Michael Buble over and over and over again – go figure!)

Lately all I can think about is how to finagle another winter here in Venice. So what can this strange choice of musical entertainment possibly mean? Is my neighbor just another ordinary Christmas nut, counting the days until the yuletide season during these hot, sweaty Venetian summer hours? Or is my lady La Serenissima (currently in one of her b*tchy, withholding moods) mocking me? Nyah, nyah – All of this and all of us will still be here come December… but you won’t – nyah, nyah! She can be like that sometimes.

Believe me, this is not making things any easier for me.

Christmas in July indeed! Bah, humbug!!

BBQ!

Last evening I had a small, dull mission, to deliver my CV to a gentleman I know who might have a job for me, come September. I knew he’d be at his restaurant in Campo San Giacomo dall’Orio. I was tired and not much in the mood for a vaporetto trip, but…

I got off at San Stae, and as I neared the campo, something familiar and dear came to me – a whiff of barbecue smoke! I turned the corner into the fondamenta… Eccola! The air was a blue haze, full of promising scents. Lucky old me! I had stumbled into Chiesa San Giacomo’s summer festival, traditionally celebrated with good, old-fashioned barbecue cooked over the half-drums. Ribs ribs ribs!! plus chickens, sausages, chops, and “all the fixin’s.” I landed in Paradise, and right at the dinner hour!

Granted, the ribs weren’t my beloved baby backs – more like the Fred Flintstone variety. And there was no spicy-sweet BBQ sauce to lick off the fingertips. But the fire was being tended by obvious veterans and someone back in the kitchen knew the value of a good dry rub, so the juicy bones had the requisite crispy, blackened bits I adore. What an unexpected treat to find so far from home!

Under the strings of colored carnival lights, my fellow picnickers and I made short work of our portions, paying no attention whatsoever to the quick summer shower that dampened us, nor the really loud disco music that made conversation impossible but dancing irresistible. We didn’t care. We had barbecue!

Festa del Redentore

This weekend all of Venice celebrated Festa del Redentore, the high point of the Venetian summer. It’s a festive occasion, but also one of great gratitude. Redentore means “redeemer.” In the context of the holiday, it refers to the Chiesa del Santissimo Redentore, designed by Palladio in 1577 and completed on Giudecca Island in 1592 as a pledge in exchange for deliverance from a plague that had killed 50,000 Venetians.

On this holiday tradition calls for building a bridge atop a string of boats for the pilgrimage to Redentore. Originally planks were laid across a row of 80 seagoing galleys. Nowadays the sectioned bridge is supported by pontoons, like the one built for the Festa della Salute (see November post), but much longer because it stretches across the vast Giudecca Canal from the Zattere to the church. For several summers I have wished to be a part of this celebration, to cross the bridge, and to see the lavish fireworks display over the waters on the eve of the holiday. Finally the time came…

Saturday evening, under a big, orange moon, the Bacino sparkled like a Christmas tree, spangled with the colored lights of hundreds of boats great and small. Both banks of the Giudecca Canal were festooned with strings of yellow lanterns. The crowd onshore began gathering well before sunset, but we all had to wait until almost midnight for the fireworks display. It certainly did not disappoint! Venice spared no expense for a spectacle that rivaled any I’ve ever seen in the U.S. Amid the booms and whistles, the Marangona tolled from the campanile in the Piazza. Dazzling!


Yesterday afternoon I made my pilgrimage to Redentore. At first I was refused access to the bridge – everybody was – because its engineers had detected some structural damage. But later we got the “thumbs up” and I set out for Giudecca. Spirits were high. Boats of every description crowded the waters on both sides, many chasing the regatta contenders and then looping back to pick up friends and picnic needs.

What great fun it was to cross the slightly-rocking bridge with the others, to stand where it’s impossible to be on any other day of the year. On the other side the serene, elegant Redentore stood in contrast to the festive atmosphere on the fondamenta. There were candy and balloon vendors doing brisk business. And there was a “pesca” – a drawing to benefit the church, but one in which every ticket purchased wins one of the prizes, which are mostly “white elephants” donated for the cause. (One grandmother took home a sand pail & shovel set; her grandson won a nice lampshade. I suspect they made a swap later.)

I had to go back after dark, to walk the bridge once more when it was near-deserted and its lamps were casting sharp little shards of light on the choppy waters. Halfway back, a burst of rain and a few glaring forks of lightning made a dramatic ending to my first Redentore celebration.

[Note to self: Next year find a date who has a boat, or at least access to a party on one. I hear all the boats head over to Lido after the fireworks, to wait for sunrise…]

Roman holiday

Just got back from a little field trip to Rome. Yes, I know I said I wouldn’t leave Venice for a whole year, but there was a double temptation I just couldn’t resist.

My lovely friend Federica (who’s Venetian at heart, but lives in Rome with her nice family and four gorgeous dogs) had invited me many times to come stay in her studio apartment at Piazza Navona. How often does one get an offer like that?! All I needed was the right occasion.

That came in the form of a concert. Last evening – a beautiful, warm Roman evening – my friend Craig played selections from his Secret Spaces CD in an incredible 30 BC ruin, La Tomba (“tomb”) de Cecilia Metella on the Appia Antica, near the catacombs. (What you see here is the back wall of the “stage” through a wide arch that served as the proscenium.)

There under the stars, in the cobalt blue twilight, amid the sound of cicadas and the occasional flutter of doves’ wings, just a hint of woodsmoke in the air, I heard my gifted friend play "Venetian Snowfall." It is a delicate and elegant composition inspired by one of my sweetest memories, a dream-like snowfall I had all to myself late one January night a few years ago – in fact, an event Craig had predicted would occur for me. When I returned from Venice, he had written this piece. Somehow he knew…

Afterwards Craig and I were treated to a splendid late supper with two other charming gentlemen at a fascinating taverna on that ancient way, one that few non-Romans would ever have the chance to visit. I was even able to keep up with most of the Italian spoken at the table.

Again I ask: if this is really my life, how did I ever get so lucky?