The Cappello Del Prete (Hat of the Priest) is a showy pie. A rolled crust forms the rim of the priest's hat, and is stuffed with a pipeline of ricotta surrounding a center of tomatoes, basil and schiacciata calabra -- thin slices of a Calabrian pork sausage. When the middle of the pie has cooled, a cut into the rolled rim still vents steam.
Eating the mountain way would mean we eat meat, but only top-quality, from small-scale local producers with animal welfare at heart. Yes, it costs more so we eat a lot less. We return to minimal meat consumption, just as history and mountains demonstrate humans have done in their most natural state for many thousands of years.
When drugs and prostitution are counted in calculating GDP, one could ask why the items in the basket are not increased. Forced labor, human trafficking and illegal organ trade are also elements of the black market. If drugs and prostitution are counted in calculating GDP, should a country also count forced labor and human trafficking in calculating GDP?
To be a Senator, one must be 40 or more and Renzi himself would not qualify for another year. Prime Minister perhaps, even President of the United States if he were born there, but not yet the hallowed nether-world of the Italian Senate. "We do not have the age" must also be said by 4.3 million adult Italians. No other country requires its citizens to wait until 25 to achieve full political rights.
In the case of measles, the introduction and widespread use of the vaccine should have allowed us to put our fears away and look forward to a measles-free world. But now that future is at risk. The reasons are varied and will be explored over the coming years but in the meantime, the best way to be prepared is to be informed.
Toronto is facing a political problem that it hasn't asked for. That problem has threatened both the trust Torontonians place in their government and how the world sees this city. We can strengthen our city. We can empower our immigrant communities, create jobs, and create a safe environment. But in order to do so, next year we have to stay focused on policy, not politics.
I don't know about you, but this weather change is really getting me down. I'm stiff. I'm achy. All this misery is only leading to memories of spa experiences past. From the massage at Miraval and the "mudslide" at Solage, to a traditional Thai treatment in Phuket and therapeutic thermal waters in Italy... I've got a few I would jump on a plane for.
I am studying in Italy right now, and I love it. I get to sit outside and drink little cups of coffee and walk under 2000-year-old arches and on 2000-year-old aqueducts and buy wine wherever and whenever I please (yes, that was for you, LCBO) and look down on ingenuous, fashion-challenged North Americans. Europeans are so sophisticated, aren't they?
I've been living in Italy a long time and the deeper issue here is that there is a concept of family that has just not yet evolved to a point that the rest of the western world may feel is acceptable. But I have to say, if Canada is an apple, Italy is an olive. You just can't compare them. I'm not making excuses, but trying to explain that this is a society that moves as slow as a sloth, in spite of all the genius and innovation it has historically gifted the world.
Just north of the city, I sat in a room full of frustrated immigrants who had gathered to listen to promises made by Cécile Kyenge, who just last week made history when she was appointed Italy's first black cabinet minister. In Italy, if you are a child of immigrant parents, you are considered extracomunitari, a "foreigner" before the law. But maybe not for long.
According to the latest Statistics Canada report on household demographics, the nuclear family is no longer the norm. But are Italians, one of the country's largest ethnic groups, rethinking family composition in step with other Canadians? If so, how do these changes interplay with cultural identity?
There's something really sexy about Italy's once mighty capital. It's a warmth that moves through you, like a generous glass of Sangiovese. An energy difficult to describe, unless you've wandered it's winding paths. The feeling that, at any moment, something irrationally romantic will occur. This is Roma.
On a rough and rocky boat ride from gritty Napoli, amidst a rain storm and strong winds, our island destination appeared on the horizon. Home to haute couture, the Italian elite and considered the crown jewel of Campania, Capri looked shabby chic at first glance. It was October, a time when weather is unpredictable, but after one stormy night the skies opened up and this Italian isle sparkled just as I imagined.
It all just went down so quickly. We met, hit it off and I was honest. So we started seeing each other for a while and when I had to return back to Italy, we continued things online, knowing I'd be back in Canada after a couple of months. One day, everything was fine and we were chatting online, as you do when you're far away from your guy. It was pretty late my time -- six hours ahead of Toronto -- and he wrote this: "brb." Now, that was almost six months ago and I've never heard back.