Column: La vita Italiana

A few nights ago, I gave in because as everyone knows, Italians do it best.
As of last week, I am no longer a vegetarian.

Before coming to Italy, I was perplexed by the horrible methods American industries use to produce food in faster, greater and more marketable quantities to a
materialistic public.

In addition to these malpractices, America has also done wonders with pushing the concept of dieting. We have become obsessed with counting calories, buying non-fat, sugar-free products and watching waistlines like a broker watches the stock market.

In effect, America is steering citizens away from eating real food and is drowning them with chemically produced, “food-like” creations, which either clog arteries or magically
evaporate fat.

With all of these worries related to food, I became a vegetarian, sticking as closely as possible to locally grown, organic foods in order to avoid added growth hormones and other strange chemicals.

Food became something to worry about rather than something to enjoy.

I came to Italy with hopes that this mind-set could change, knowing that I was entering an utopia of culinary excellence.

Nights spent dreaming about chunks of mozzarella and silky tiramisu gave me enough reason to justify studying abroad and discovering what authentic cuisine is all about.

However, I came to Italy with some extra baggage. I wondered if I would be able to enjoy all of these wonderful foods without going to the gym every day. Would eating a steaming bowl of risotto fill me with guilt rather than pleasure? What would I do if they offered me meat?

So when the night came that my host-mom set a beautifully roasted chicken on the table, I knew I had to make a choice. The answer, however, was clear — eat the meat.

In Italy, the idea of genetically modified foods does not exist. Produce is grown with care and Italians pride themselves on fresh and quality ingredients.

When I explained to my host-mom why I practice vegetarianism in the United States, she told me my hesitations would be unnecessary here. The fruits and vegetables are bought from the man down the street. The meat is from the butcher who has raised livestock for years. The pasticceria a few blocks away supplies our daily dose of panettone, a light and fluffy bread filled with dried fruit.

Suddenly, I was immersed in the magic of eating food that brought joy to my life instead of butterflies to my stomach.

The Italians eat amazing meals, yet their focus on quality ingredients erases the need to over-indulge or feel any guilt.

Lunch and dinner are spent savoring each bite, mindful of the robust flavor that fills a piece of tomato-covered bruscetta or a spoonful of creamy hazelnut gelato.

Instead of being haunted by the thought of using whole versus skim milk, I now delight in the savory cream that slightly coats my plate of tagliatelle. As my focaccia soaks up a small pile of glassy green olive oil, I smile knowing how healthy and authentic the cuisine is that I am eating.

Foods in Italy don’t merely provide nourishment for the body; they provide sustenance for the soul. A meal is not a matter of convenience; it is a means of showing a love for one’s health, a connection between friends and a pride of one’s homeland.

My new Italian mantra: Forget calories. They are a man-made concept to induce worry and to see food as a number rather than the value it brings to your health and wellbeing.

Eat real foods and enjoy them with your friends and family. Life is too short to spend it cramming in five hours a day at the gym or eating a microwave dinner at a “table for one.”

Find the balance and raise your glass. Buon appetito!