I happen to have two main loves in this world - music and food. I happen to be studying abroad in a country that is not only famous for both, but presents some of the world’s finest creations in both fields. In the last week, I was able to experience these two art forms in new and remarkable ways, culminating in a week that stands out as one of the best here thus far.
First, I was given the opportunity through the university to attend an opera at the old opera house, the Teatro dell’Opera. I knew little about what was to come, except that my ticket seemed unusually expensive (although it also included bus transportation to and from the theatre) and that the opera to be performed was Verdi’s Attila.
Now, this was surprising for several reasons. First, I was going to get to see an opera by one of Italy’s most famous operatic composers, Giuseppe Verdi. Verdi (to give you non-musicians a bit of background) was an Italian Romantic composer of the 19th century who not only wrote memorable and long-lived operas but also was an influential figure in the long struggle and eventual success of Italian unification. For these reasons, Verdi is highly celebrated in this country, and so it is not unusual to see his operas performed with great frequency here.
However, the choice of this opera was surprising for the opera house, because it is not one of Verdi’s most famous (such as Aida or La Traviata). It is one of his less-performed works, so I went into the adventure knowing little except that it would clearly feature its titular character, Attila the Hun.
Luckily, when on a previous venture around Rome my friends and I came across an English book-store, I had purchased a book about Verdi’s operas, in order to feed my intrigue about this man and his works and to discover, exactly, the plot of this particular opera. But I did not get a chance, what with being busy with writing and other such things in Rome already, to look at this book ahead of time. So as I primped for the opera, adorned in elegant jewelry and my new dress from Sorrento purchased just for this occasion, I tucked the rather thick volume into my purse, hoping I would get a chance to read the synopsis before the performance.
Somehow, we got to the opera house an hour early, giving me plenty of time to take pictures and read my Verdi tome. I discovered that the plot of the opera was centered on four main characters, three of whom using trickery, betrayal, and disguises to murder the fourth, Attila, in order to avenge familial deaths and keep Attila from sacking Rome.
Easy enough, I thought. There were to be three acts plus an initial prologue, and the whole thing was only going to be two and a half hours. The plot was fairly easy to follow (the book laid it out scene by scene and clarified a major plot point confusedly presented by the opera itself) and so I felt fully prepared as I entered the opera house.
Ticket in hand, I braced myself to climb countless stairs on the way to what I presumed would be seats at least near, if not in, the nose-bleed section. To my complete surprise, I was ushered to the left side of the first floor and led to Box VII, which was not only a private box (I sat there with only one other person, who was also from my university) but offered an excellent view of the stage! To put it bluntly, I was freaking out with excitement.
I had to lean on the metal bar that I suppose was there to keep me from falling out of the box (although such a fall would hardly have been damaging) in order to get the best view of the entire stage, but after the first minute or so, I forgot that the bar was even there, so enraptured was I by the performance.
I was hooked immediately by the first notes of the orchestral overture, which was conducted with grace by the famous Riccardo Muti (the Italian conductor of the incredible Chicago Symphony). Once Attila appeared on stage, I was caught in a trance only Verdi could spin, unable to look away for the entire performance (except for one distinct moment, when Attila caught the unfortunate Odabella, with whom he has fallen in love without realizing that she is planning to kill him, in the world’s most uncomfortable, unwanted kiss, and I had to shoot a glance at my friend beside me, thinking that is so creepy).
However, I was incredibly glad that I had brought my book, however bulky, to the opera, because for the first time, I found myself watching an opera without an instant translation of the words! If I had not brought my summary with me to the theatre and read it before I entered, I would have been hopelessly lost, at least in the subtleties of the plot turns and twists, if not the general ideas. But because I knew the basic outline of the story, I was able to enjoy the entire performance without having to keep up with a constantly-moving printed libretto above the stage. I saw, in fact, Verdi’s opera the way that the first audience would have seen Verdi’s opera - completely in Italian. As it was, I was completely immersed in the experience, and I loved every bit of it. I have never felt so moved by a live operatic performance; it was simply incredible. It convinced me thoroughly that there is no opera quite as majestic as an Italian opera.
Also, I loved that the villain was the main character. Give me an attractive bass (or baritone, if you must) over a tenor any day of the week, especially one who can convey such power both physically and vocally like the Attila of that performance.
I was still in a daze over the amazing performance two nights later, when I embarked on my journey into my other favorite art form - Italian food.
I found myself in a small building of which the main features were a long table with chairs for nearly thirty, and a large kitchen. I was here, along with the other university students, to take an Italian cooking class from a married couple (the male Italian, the female American). I knew we would be making a four-course meal - appetizer, pasta, meat/side, and dessert - but I had no idea what we would be making specifically in each category.
Although I was disappointed to find out that we would not all be getting to make each type of food, as there were so many of us, I settled for knowing that we would be e-mailed all of the recipes used in that night’s class. I stayed outside the kitchen at first, because in the area outside the stove tops was where the dessert and pasta (first course) would be made.
Interestingly, the dessert was made first - a delicious-looking tiramisu that we chilled as we made the rest of the meal. Then we set to making the pasta, using only a special flour, some water, and of course a dash of olive oil. (What Italian recipe, really, would be complete without olio?) We kneaded the pasta dough on the tables, rolled it into long snakes, and then cut the snakes into small rectangular pieces. We took these pieces and rolled them along these special ridged wooden blocks, although we learned that we could do the exact same thing using the tines of a fork, and rolled the small pieces of dough across them to give the pasta ridges.
This took a ridiculously long time. But it was incredibly satisfying, if repetitive, to know that I was hand-crafting the very pasta that I would soon get to eat.
Once all the pasta was finally formed, the pasta group moved into the kitchen area. I wound up with the task of stirring the meatballs on the stove, making sure the mixtures of beef, pork, and cheese cooked evenly in their sauce of fresh-cut tomatoes and thick onions. Beside me, thinly-sliced potatoes slowly baked in the oven, marinating in olive oil and rosemary. Around the room, people were stirring pots of the spicy tomato pasta-sauce or arranging the bruschetta with either the tomato mixture or the arugala and soft cream-cheese-like-but-even-better cheese. The heat in the un-air-conditioned, fully packed kitchen was intense, but the smells were phenomenal. Everything was finishing around the same time; the stove area was crowded with people passing the sifted pasta to the boiling water, me alternating between the meatballs and stirring the pasta and its sauce while adding parmesan cheese with my other (third?) hand, and people grabbing the toasting bread for the appetizer.
Around 8:35, five minutes behind schedule, the male chef ushered us out of the kitchen, laden with platters of the bruschetta, and our feast began.
I now understand why Italians take so much time between their courses when they eat at restaurants - they have to let their large portions of each course digest properly before they even have room to eat more. I don’t think I have ever felt so stuffed after a meal. Our courses were brought out instantaneously - after at least three bruschetta pieces on my part, I devoured the delicious pasta, and then stuffed myself with the best potatoes of my life (from now on, I will be using only olive oil, not butter, to cook my potatoes). Following these, I ate as many meatballs as I could (six, and they were slightly smaller than apricots) because they were divine, but I had to stop, bursting with fullness. But there was still the final course - the perfect tiramisu. Not everyone was a fan (because they didn’t like either coffee or liquor in their desserts, the fools) and I was offered a piece of someone else’s, but unlike normal, when I would have devoured such a gift with immense satisfaction, I had to decline because I could eat no more after consuming my own. Walking afterward was unpleasant.
I was worried that after these two extraordinary nights, no other evenings in Rome would even begin to compare, but I have still enjoyed all of my adventures since. Even our weekly pot-luck dinners as a “family” where my friends and I all bring a meal-item for dinner are as enjoyable (if not more-so, because of company and frugality) as eating out, and our card games accompanied by sipping wine and water are also great fun.
But I am glad indeed that I got to enjoy beautiful music and the creation of fine food in this amazing country that is so skilled in both.
Baci,
Giulia
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