Most and foremost, don’t ever write about religion, because good lord almighty you might rattle the boat. It’s almost as bad as writing about politics! Which is -if you live in the United (divided) States of America, perhaps the biggest blogging offense you can commit. Continue reading
Going back in time, I recall our short vacations in Italy. Remember, I was born and raised >>>here<<<. Right after lunch, before the shops closed during the hot afternoons, one of us kids was sent to a magazine stand to pick up a German or Austrian newspaper, which by then was three days old. We lived! Nothing was so dramatic back then. Continue reading
It started snowing last night. I felt it when I woke up. The darkness outside was brighter, the silence quieter and my soul smiled. Continue reading
The most of us think about the classic Pesto Genovese, the traditional green pesto from Genoa, made with fresh basil and pine nuts; but there are actually various types of pesto -originating from different regions of Italy using local ingredients. The name pesto comes from the Italian word pestare, meaning crush or pound, as it was originally made with a mortar and pestle. Continue reading
Antipasto is like the overture to the opera, it announces that something special is about to begin. The colors, the smell, the artful compositions remind us that it is time for pleasure now; time for relaxation and indulgence, time for the Italian meal. Continue reading
I was raised right between Italy and Austria. “So, where did you go to school,” people often asked me and my answer confused them even more. I went to school in the South of Germany, three hours away from the small village that I called home. Like life wasn’t complicated enough the way it was. Continue reading
Photography Dale Rogerson
Often she brings home a pizza from the little Italian café at the corner.
She turns on the music, listens to Dean Martin and opens a bottle of wine. Continue reading
Years ago, when I was 18 years old, at a time when cell phones and GPS systems weren’t existing, I drove all by myself from Austria down to the South of Italy. It was just me, my little car and our old farm dog -a security measure my Grandmother had insisted on. Continue reading
Moving to a different country, or as in my case, to a different continent, is an adventure. Everything here in the U.S. was new and a little bit overwhelming and Christmas was no exception. Continue reading
