The other night, I heard a chef on Food
Network's “Chopped” make a reference to the Italian concept of
abbondanza. Steaming piles of pasta swimming in lakes of rich
sauces. Mounds of meatballs. Acres of pizza boasting tons of
toppings. This is true Italian dining. This is real Italian culture.
This is
abbondanza!
This
is also total fantasy. Oh, the word abbondanza is
Italian, all right, and it means “abundance.” But in reality it's
just a word, not a philosophy. Italians simply don't eat like that.
The image of a
rotund Italian mama smiling beneficently as she serves up a washtub
of spaghetti and meatballs to her hungry family is pure Madison
Avenue, based not on true Italian culinary traditions, but on those
established on New World shores by Italian immigrants.
If you
don't know that spaghetti and meatballs is not an Italian dish, you
should. It's an Italian-American
dish. Don't believe me? Hop a plane to Italy and try to order some in
an Italian eatery – a real one,
not one geared to serve American tourists. They'll serve you
spaghetti and they'll serve you meatballs, but they won't serve them
together.
And in
the same way that spaghetti and meatballs, chicken Parmesan, and
fettuccine Alfredo are all creations of Italian-American origin, so,
too, is the concept of abbondanza.
Historically,
much Italian cuisine is cucina povera – “cooking
of the poor.” This is especially true of southern Italian regions,
the regions from which the vast majority of Italian immigrants
departed, bound for the shores of America.
Once
they arrived, two things happened to transform cucina
povera into abbondanza.
First, these newly-minted Americans had to adapt their traditional
Old World recipes to their New World circumstances. They simply
couldn't find many of the ingredients they were accustomed to using.
So, using what was at hand, they created new Italian dishes in the
new Italian-American style.
Then they began to
prosper. Meat – a luxury in some households “back home” – was
now abundant. Many poor immigrants brought precious supplies of pasta
with them when they sailed from Italy. But it wasn't long before
large and efficient American factories were ramping up to serve this
burgeoning market. Artisan cheeses, so prized as to sometimes be used
as currency in the old country, were readily available in American
markets, as were a bewildering variety of fruits and vegetables.
And so
to prove to their American friends and neighbors – and to
themselves – that they were no longer poor, Italian-Americans began
to really pile it on at the table, displaying their new-found
prosperity with wonderful new recipes that used all the wonderful new
ingredients available in such great abundance. Abbondanza!
So, here comes Joe
American. He walks into a restaurant on New York's Arthur Avenue, or
Boston's North End, or Philadelphia's south side and is served from
heaping platters and bowls overflowing with delicious, rich food, and
he thinks, “Wow, so this is how these Italians eat!” Pretty soon,
it becomes a standard. And then it becomes a stereotype. And then
generations of fat Joe Americans start waddling around and blaming
“all that pasta and that rich Italian food” for their growing
obesity epidemic.
Joe
American's idea of what Giuseppe Italiano eats is horribly misguided.
And that misguided idea is responsible for the notion that all
Italian food is fattening and bad for you. Don't look at the Madison
Avenue Italian mamas. Don't focus on the images portrayed in movies
and on TV shows. Abbondanza?
Fuhgeddaboudit!
As of
this writing, 35.7% of Americans are obese. You may want to sit down
for this; the obesity rate in Italy is 8.5%. How is this possible!?
All that pasta! All that cheese! All that abbondanza! And
that's the problem.
Americans
overdo too much of a good thing. When I go to a typical American
Italian restaurant, I invariably order pasta from the child's menu.
And it's usually still too much. There is not a non-tourist
ristorante on the
Italian peninsula that would dream of serving as much pasta to one
person as their Italian-American counterparts. Most American
restaurants, especially the chain places, serve you two or three
times as much as what a real Italian establishment would serve or
what you would find on a real Italian table at home.
Yes,
Italians eat pasta seven days a week. In fact, they are the world's
largest consumers of the stuff. But they eat a realistic, healthy
portion; about a one-cup serving equal to about 200 calories.
Americans typically eat pasta twice a week, but they consume as much
in those two days as the average Italian eats in six! Olive Garden's
“Tour of Italy” on its “Classic Pastas” menu packs a whopping
1450 calories. Even their simple Capellini Pomodoro
contains 840 calories. Spaghetti
and Meatballs at Romano's Macaroni Grill spins up 1430 calories.
Carrabba's fares a little better; their Spaghetti Pomodoro
weighs in at just 540 calories.
Eating pasta doesn't make you fat; eating too much pasta
makes you fat.
True
Italian pasta dishes are not always enrobed in heavy sauces. An
Italian favorite is aglio olio, in
which a portion of pasta is lightly coated in olive oil and garlic
with maybe a few red pepper flakes thrown in for a little spice. Such
a dish is practically unheard of in America. “Where's the meat?”
says Joe American. “Where's the cheese? Where's the red sauce? Who
wants to eat spaghetti with nothing but olive oil on it?” Italians
do.
Italians
appreciate their food. They respect their food. Food is more than
just something you shove in your mouth to satisfy a need. There is a
structured order to eating in Italian culture. They eat small meals
slowly, never wolfing down great quantities of food in some imagined
competitive eating contest. “All you can eat” and “endless
pasta bars” and “bottomless soup bowls”.....these are all
American concepts. And
although many Italian trattorie
offer
generous quantities of food served in an open, family style, most
Italians don't feel compelled to make pigs of themselves. They eat
until they are full and then they stop eating. You'll never see an
Italian lining up for seconds or thirds at an “endless buffet.”
Far
removed from abbondanza, Italians
are among the original proponents of the so-called “Mediterranean
diet.” Lots of vegetables, lots of fruit, olive oil on practically
everything. Fish and seafood are staple proteins, as are chicken and
moderate quanties of lean pork. Beef has grown in popularity and
acceptance since WWII, but it's still not the
“gotta-have-it-every-day” neccesity that it is in America.
Starches and carbohydrates are consumed regularly, but in moderate
quantities.
Italians
eat a light meal in the morning – usually nothing more than a small
pastry and coffee. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day. Supper is
generally late and light. Children might indulge in an afternoon
snack and adults might occasionally grab a mid-day gelato,
but
between-meal snacking on candy bars and potato chips and such is not
done. Nor are Italians very dessert driven. Most of the time, a meal
is finished with a little fruit or cheese. Sweet desserts are
reserved for special occasions. And nobody sits in front of the TV
with a bowl of something sweet or salty.
Which
brings up another point; nobody sits. Italians walk or bicycle
everywhere. Oh, they have cars. Traffic on the Piazza
Venezia and
around the Colosseum is a testament to that fact. But they don't use
them to such an extent that they forget what their feet are for. The
idea that you would get in your car and drive to the corner market
for a gallon of milk is laughable in Italy. Kind of like it was here
once upon a time not so long ago.
Abbondanza
is
the Italian-American myth that makes Americans look like Macy's
balloons while native Italians resemble the ropes that hold them
down. The Italian/Meditteranean diet is not a “diet” at all. It's
a simple and practical way of eating that, when combined with regular
activity, results in a healthy weight conducive to a prolonged and
healthy life.
I saw a news story the other day in which it was revealed that
ferries and tour boats are having to lower their capacity in order to
accomodate today's heavier passengers. They've upped their weight
averages from 140 pounds per person to 180. Have you gone to an old
theater or ballpark lately? One that hasn't been renovated in the
last twenty or thirty years? Seats are a little snug, aren't they?
And the most recent prediction says that America will be 42% obese by
2030. Maybe those Italians are on to something.
Abbondanza?
Fuhgeddaboudit!