This is a 16th century fortress reflected in a puddle punctuated by the pouring rain. It's not supposed to be like this in southern Italy in April. As we've been doing a bit of shopping to stay out of the rain thought I'd blog on how Italians shop. Sounds boring already and it may turn out that way, but I need the practice (as you can see).
Us Brits shop in supermarkets/superstores. Convenient to get all your stuff including the petrol and vino collapso in one place (and a bit of cashback).You can even get them to deliver. I'm a LIDL man with Sainsburys being the back-up. Similar thing with DIY superstores. The Italians seem happy to trog around individual shops depending on where they get the best stuff even though it takes ages. So here are some of the independents I've visited recently.First the little hardware store, inevitably renamed "Four candles" in homage to the Two Ronnies. Most of the stuff is in little draws so you can't just point to what you want. Shopping here requires a bit of basic Italian and lots of mime. Just try miming "Jubillee Clip" with only the words "water" and "garden" in the vocab locker. Here the owner is cutting Jill some washing line off a reel.
A few doors down is the fuit and veg shop where much of the produce comes from the family's small holding. Not only is the veg freshly picked and very cheap but Luca the owner is Italian cool down to the end of his designer specs. His Dad was delivering new season broad beans when we were in there.
The lovely smiling lady is from the family bread shop just round the corner. There's always a smell of freshly baked bread and a slight haze of flour in the air.
Wine comes from the poshest place we shop at, the "Masseria L'Astore" which is run by a much respected local family. They are proud of having Hellen Mirren (who has been there in person) and Mick Jagger (whose agent does the buying) as customers. Despite all this their own red and white, admitedly in plastic but still very nice all the same, sells at 1 Euro per litre. The only offie I know with a loyalty card system.
Another smiling lady at the "Donno" pasticceria in Corigliano. She and her husband have been making "dolce", tiny sweets and pastries, here for forty years. Everything they sell is made in their own kitchens. People take them (the dolce, that is) as little gifts when they are invited out to dinner.
I've briefly read this blog again and I realise now why I'm not thin.
As you can see from the photos above everyone was very happy to be photographed and posed proudly with their produce. That is until we went to Peppinos in Cutrofino. The photo captures Peppino pretty well but this exterior hides the fact that he produces the finest pasticciotto; custard filled sweet pastry breakfast taste bombs. His hissing, spitting expresso machine produces every sort of coffee based drink known to man. I've never dared to ask for a cup of tea here.
The more I think about it the more Fernley Whittisname I get about the supermarkets. They screw their suppliers and present to us a beguiling and well marketed offering based on convenience and price promises. But it's a Faustian contract we have with them. They drive out the little man. Petrol stations, butchers and offies are going the same way as the now extinct fish-monger (nearly forgot the fish man in the market). But it's not their fault they sell stuff like over-packaged green beans flown in from Kenya in the depths of winter; it's our fault that we buy them. If you told an Italian you were buying strawberries in January they'd think you were off your trolley. Maybe I'm so anti because my Dad ran a corner store and post office which we lived above very happily. When Tesco moved into town in about 1966 he saw the writing on the wall and sold up quickly. As you get older it seems increasingly difficult not to sink into a Meldrewesque rant about any given subject so I'll stop now. The sun's come out.
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