Spassiaturu

'The air chilled in the early evening. As shopkeepers pulled their heavy wooden doors shut, the streets grew crowded with villagers on their way home for supper. This was the time of the spassiaturu, dialect for passeggiata.

Every city, town, and village in Italy has an unstated but universally understood time during which the entire population emerges from their houses in their evening best. No one discusses it; no one makes appointments to meet anyone; they all just converge to find one another out on the street.'

from Stolen Figs by Mark Rotella

Roasted Chestnuts

'Whenever I visited Calabria, I brought the obvious gifts, things that I thought everyone could use: fancy soaps, fluffy towels, toys, hats, and T-shirts with 'New York' or 'Florida' written somewhere on them. They were all items that I'd picked up on my way out of the States. Giuseppe, for his part, would present me - even before the double-cheek kiss - with, say, a jar of roasted chestnuts soaking in sugar water. It was something I'd never eaten before. I still remember the distinct taste of the soft, wet, sugary nut. I brought my relatives what I thought they needed; they gave gifts that they couldn't live without. While I had shopped for the towels and Yankees hats, Giuseppe had picked and jarred the chestnuts himself. His gift was always the air, the views, or the food on which Calabresi exist.'

from Stolen Figs by Mark Rotella