I got myself laughed at...

Yesterday I went to the market and asked for "una mazza di broccoli."

The guy serving me grinned--out loud.

"Or do I mean un mazzo?" I asked.

When I got back I looked up my mistake (I had been trying to ask for a "bunch"). At least now I know the word for club, mallet, baseball bat.

But I had my revenge when I looked at the train website in English. Instead of riding in a coach, you can come here and get a seat in a couch.

The current words giving my students the most trouble are attached and attacked--especially since in Italian, the same word is used for both, and the "ch" is always a "k" sound. Successful caused them some chagrin--and me some unintended laughter--today, too.

Fasting gave a bit of trouble. When fast= veloce--what does "ing" have to do with it? But they had their revenge when I said digiuniare instead of digiunare (I think) and once again (my besetting confusion) said something happened next week instead of last.

Italians, in case you have not heard this, give a very important place to food in their culture. This is reflected in the language-- "greedy," or "gluttonous" is the the best equivalent I've found for their common adjective "goloso"; but we still don't use it like they do. Today I explained that we would say "have a sweet tooth," instead of being "goloso di dolci." "I have a salty tooth," one student declared.

Someone told me the other day that a friend who had been living in America made them pancakes. "But we didn't have syrup, so we ate them with Nutella," she said.

They also have a little bit of a hard time believing that there are foods that exist in the world that don't in Italy--try explaining Thanksgiving dinner, and you'll end up having to reassure them that you are quite certain cranberries are not the same as rasberries, nor are pecans walnuts, sweet potatoes gray, or pie, cake. Maybe I'm stubborn--alright, maybe no maybe--but I corrected one student thrice today when she referred to apple cake as "apple pie." "But the dictionary says 'apple pie!'" she replied, equally stubborn. "I don't care what the dictionary says," quoth I. "It is wrong. I have eaten torte di mele, and, although delicious, I can assure you it is not apple pie. I know apple pie. It is American. In fact, it's as American as..."

She also told me her mother cut her hair short when she was young, because she wasn't growing and her mom thought all the nutrition was going to her hair. They laughed, and called it something. "Oh, we say things like that are 'wives' tales,'" I said. "Like the idea that you get cramps if you go swimming after eating, or..." "No, that's true!" they said. I decided not to mention the getting-wet-feet-gives-you-a-cold or air-conditioning-gives-you-neck-cramps-or-diarrhea ideas.

Someone thought I was Italian yesterday, even after talking for a few minutes! Of course, she herself wasn't--but she's been in Italy a while and is married to one. She also told me when I checked her out that I needed to give her a discount of 10%. "Why is that?" I said. "Because I'm your customer!" she replied. Interesting logic.

On the other hand, when I wandered into a different-looking pasticceria the other day (it turned out to be Tunisian. I like Tunisian desserts. They are light almondy exotic-fruit fried-and-covered-in-honey good, that remind one of distant places that probably don't exist, but did once, when one read Lewis or Tolkien) the proprietor spotted me immediately as Unitalian. He guessed French.

At a pizza place the other night I saw a sign for "American pizza." "What is that?" I asked. "It's a really really big pizza," they told me. I grinned. It wasn't that long ago that I bought a slice at a pizzeria because it was actually thick and cut in pie-pieces like American pizza. "Just a minute," the guy said before handing it to me, and quickly ruined the perfect pizza-slice-shape by cutting it into 3 much more manageable triangles. I thanked him anyway.