Venice: I am not making this up

rowing for peace?

April 10, 2024 8 Comments

The 38 boats at the starting line stretched across most of the Giudecca Canal between the Maritime Zone and Sacca Fisola. (City of Venice, uncredited photo)

Last Sunday morning was special: Several very different events were rolled into one efficient package, and the sun came out and burned off the mist, and also there were leftovers.

The amalgamated elements were: A Venetian-rowing race, a deft promotion of the next Winter Olympics, and an appeal for world peace that was ingeniously linked to the preceding two. And there was food — oh, right. I already mentioned that.

The prize- and speechgiving stand being prepared Sunday morning in the area by the basilica of the Madonna della Salute. Several people are attaching the pennants for the first four boats to finish to their respective little metal sticks.

The race is called the “regata of the 50 caorlinas” to indicate the type and number of the boats involved. Allow me a bit of backstory to help you appreciate it more fully.

Some years ago (I’m estimating as many as 15), there was formed a type of consortium of the local rowing clubs called the Coordinamento Associazioni Remiere della Voga alla Veneta (Coordination of the Venetian Rowing Associations). The consortium still exists in a suspended-animation sort of way, but while it was young and glowing it organized an annual boat festival and race on Saint Andrew’s Day (Nov. 30, as you know) because Andrew is the patron saint of boatwrights, among many other things.

Almost all of the rowing clubs have at least one caorlina — a trusty boat created generations ago for lugging cargo around — and it’s very useful for fun because six people can row it even if they aren’t all at any particular level of skill. It’s a social sort of thing.

The rowing group of the railway’s after-work sports club was looking fine. As you see, height is no handicap — or, barring extremes, advantage — in rowing. And speaking of work, to their starboard is a four-oar sandolo rowed by members of the Generali Insurance company, out to cheer on or loudly denigrate their team.

So for a few years this race was a great occasion for everybody to just throw themselves into the scrum. Your correspondent participated in one edition and our little crew was quite the mixed bag. I can’t remember our position at the finish — we were pretty far back. Maybe we’re still rowing. Your correspondent also participated for several years in the clubhouse kitchen, preparing and slinging vast amounts of pasta at the ravenous rowers and their relatives and friends afterward. The fame of this little jamboree spread across the Venetian-rowing world, so crews came from Cremona and Florence and Milan and Pavia, and so on. That’s how the number of participating boats rose to a mighty 50. If there was a party for just us rowers, that was it.

The last edition was held in 2018. Then Covid and the lockdown and many other things happened, and no more festa until now. And why now, considering that St. Andrew is on vacation in the month of April? Because April 6 was designated by the United Nations as the International Day of Sport for Development and Peace. And so once again, Venice provides the perfect setting for initiatives or ceremonies that have little, if anything, to do with it.

I’m thinking back to the years when one of the more active and public members of the Coordinamento was vehement in his opposition to traditional rowing events being exploited for touristic or other purposes of promotion. He would shout “We’re not figuranti!” (the costumed performers who parade in period dress to enliven certain events or ceremonies).

But here, in the fullness of time, it appears that what was once something truly local, that had nothing to do with anything but its participants, was suddenly the perfect way to draw attention to other things that have nothing to do with the city or its people. This, without a squeak from the former paladin of Venetian-ness. They like to say that Venice is the world city of peace, but I think it’s more like the world city of irony. But let’s get back to the events.

This brings us to the second element: Sport. Not Venetian rowing, per se, but the 2026 Winter Olympics. The venues will be divided between two regions — Lombardy and Veneto — and naturally Cortina d’Ampezzo, the Pearl of the Dolomites, represents the Veneto. Cortina is arguably one of the most famous names in winter sports, having hosted the winter Olympics in 1956. So Sunday’s race was an extra-Venetian way of publicizing the Olympics, and also — did you notice? — the Veneto Region. It was a match made, if not in heaven, certainly in many offices, bars and restaurants.

It took me more time than it should have to decipher the ultra-designed emblem. The Veneto is identified as “host region,” and the two star cities, as you see, are Milano Cortina. The three-swirl symbol on the right is for the Paralympics.

Third and final element: Peace. We all need it and want it, and the Olympics were a fine reason to ask Antonio Silvio Calo’, president of the Fondazione Venezia per la Ricerca sulla Pace (Venice Foundation for Research on Peace) for his thoughts on the subject.

Bonus points: The regional councilor for sport, Cristiano Corazzari, drew our attention to the “Ancient memory of the ‘Olympic truce,’ that it should continue to be the central theme to evoke the profound value of the Olympics.” If the long jump and the luge can promote peace, I say let’s extend the Olympic truce for the next 250 years.

Fun fact: The sacred truce did not put a stop to all warfare, only to conflicts which hindered the games. (Always check the fine print before signing anything, especially a truce.) The truce protected travelers on their way to the sanctuary and only forbade military operations against and by the organizing city. But even this truce was breakable. In 420 BC, the Spartans were excluded from the Olympic games because they had attacked a part of the Elean territory. In 364 BC, Arcadian soldiers even attacked the holy domain of Olympia during the games. So seek it as you will, peace appears to remain an elusive and fickle ideal.

Back to Venice. Boats, Olympics, and peace got wrapped up together, and then we ate bigoli in salsa and went home. The caorlinas and their rowers went home, the Olympics went back to the offices and the construction sites, and peace is yet to be found. If only we could remember where we put it the last time we used it.

Some members of the Bucintoro club came out on their six-oar gondola to watch the proceedings. Anything on the water looks better when seen from something on the water.

The gondolas that are usually tied up here are either at work or have been sent elsewhere for the morning. Thirty-eight caorlinas have to find somewhere to dock.

Several clubs sent more than one boat. The orange-and-blue rowers from the Voga Veneta Mestre were out in force.

Ditto the hardy members of Voga Veneta Lido, who rowed not only their own two caorlinas but borrowed one of the city’s set used for official races.

The Canottieri Mestre, green and white, sent their best.

The Olympics mascots were bouncing around. Tina (Cortina) on the left represents the full-bore Olympics. Milo (Milano) on the right stands for the Paralympics. As you can somewhat see, his tail and right foot are not like hers. The story is that he was born with only three legs, and has learned to use his tail instead to help him walk. His motto: “Obstacles are trampolines.”

A slightly better look at Milo’s right foot. The normal right foot of the costume has been covered by the end of the tail, which is looped around the foot. The animals are stoats, otherwise known as ermines. I haven’t discovered why they were chosen, but I’m sure there’s some significance somewhere.

Finally the refreshments. In a departure from the usual vats and cauldrons and countless plastic plates, the Art & Food Group catering organized portions of bigoli in salsa — one of the most basic and primordial Venetian dishes — neatly boxed in recyclable and/or compostable materials. Incredibly efficient. The leftovers were sent, it was said, to the Emporio della Solidarieta’, a type of local food bank and assistance organization.

If you’re in the mood to live the race, here goes. The race itself begins at about 6:00.

Tourism

natural functions

February 21, 2024 17 Comments

We know these little horrors all too well, from sports events to any other mass gathering. Temporary “porta-potties” are absolutely great when you’re desperate and there is nothing else. That’s about the only great thing about them. Here large numbers of the typical “chemical toilets” are being unloaded a few steps beyond the finish line of the annual Venice Marathon. They are there for the obvious needs of thousands of runners just minutes after they arrive. And yet, there are none conveniently placed for the spectators. That seems wrong to me, now that I think about it.

But then again, useful as they are, it would deface the landscape to have them around all the time.

What if there were a public toilet permanently available? One that wasn’t a pungent plastic box? I wasn’t asking myself that question when I was crossing the canal in front of the Arsenal a few weeks ago, but then I saw this kiosk beside the Naval Museum. What ho, I thought. Do I see the letters WC?

I do indeed, and the red hints that it is being used. The experimental loo arrived on February 10, in the throes of Carnival, and installed most conveniently on the fondamenta along which many spectators heading to the show at the Arsenal were bound to be walking. That extra spritz or beer? Normally you would have had to plan ahead to deal with the result, because there are very few bars along the way (maybe you don’t know this yet, dear visitor, but you might soon). This seems very civilized. The kiosk will be here for two weeks, or till Feb. 24. Or perhaps Feb. 29. In any case, a very short time. Disclaimer: Hygien Venezia does not know me and I have no interest in being known by them. Just providing information here.

This is a simple tale composed of two parts. (A) What we need and (B) how hard it can be to obtain it because of (C) (my error, the tale has three parts) other people. To demonstrate I take the situation of the new experimental temporary chemical toilet (A) near the Arsenal and (C) the city of Venice, some city councillors of.

People need places to relieve themselves, we’ll start there. On the whole, visitors manage the situation by stopping at bars/cafe’s, buying something, and using the facilities. But sometimes bars/cafe’s are closed. Sometimes they are crowded. Sometimes the WC is mysteriously out of service. And sometimes the owners have to crack down on tourists who show up in groups of which one person buys a coffee and all the rest use the bathroom, as we call it in the US. Not made up. So one person is relieved, so to speak, and his or her nine friends have to start looking for a toilet somewhere else, or buy a coffee, which is clearly something they were hoping to avoid.

Impatient and drunk males at big gatherings at night have no problem at all: Find the nearest wall. Vertical structures exert an atavistic allure to men. Ladies, you’re on your own, as usual. But there are small side streets — I’m thinking of offshoots of Campo Santa Margherita — whose residents have been driven to install a gate to prevent revelers from using the street to resolve the situation.

Yes, this conveniently dark passageway was a public toilet, according to the public. Perfect, until the repulsed residents fought back with the gate.

At night these side streets seemed perfect for personal usage; I mean, nobody was using them to go anywhere. Except home, as it turned out. Dog poop is bad enough, but good grief, people. Note that there is a canal only a few steps farther along. Just, you know, saying.

Before there were gates there were these, possibly the first attempt at a public deterrent. A closer look at the lower area where the walls meet gives an idea of why this construction was installed. Useful, but only up to a point. My theory is that anyone who was sufficiently far gone wouldn’t mind (or notice) his shoes getting wet. There are many of these around (I don’t know who thought them up, or paid for them).

You might have thought that the little shrine (“capitello”) to Saint Anthony of Padua might have given the person in need the idea to find another corner. Evidently not.

But why are we talking about deterrents? Let’s get back to options for aiding those in need. There used to be plenty of *pissoirs* in Venice, or *vespasiani*, in Italian. The etymology of the name is simple: The Roman emperor Vespasian placed a tax on urine collection because the liquid’s ammonia was necessary for several activities, such as leather tanning. The Venetian vespasians were usually near an osteria, places where wine consumption carried consequences. This wall near the church of San Sebastiano bears its scars proudly.

Needs no explanation, it all seems pretty simple to me.

The vestigial water pipe. Typically the wall here was covered by a marble slab (more resistant than brick, by far) down which a stream of water constantly ran, and out the drain.

This is the little street leading to Lino’s family home (visible at the far end). The curve accommodated a *vespasiano* that was concealed by a slim wall open at both ends, hence no door, hence always available. Nobody thought anything of walking past its perfume a thousand times a day. Most osterias didn’t have their own toilets, so the public went in public. Unhappily for Lino’s oldest brother, his apartment was just above an osteria that did have a primitive toilet. Great for the customers, not great for the brother. He and his wife got used to it? Only up to a point. They kept the overlooking window closed. Especially in summer.

A small street flanking the Lutheran church at the Campo Santi Apostoli. On the wall supporting the abandoned mattress there are signs of the vespasiano that was. Lino remembers it, so we’re not talking about ancient history.

Maybe when you get bored with looking at palaces you could start looking for the remnants of these once-useful things. I mean the vespasiano, not the mattress. By the way, if people were cool with pissoirs all over town, what’s so bad about kiosks?

I’m referring to kiosks that look like the one by Hygien Venezia down by the Arsenal. You notice it has been designed to be accessible to people in wheelchairs. (There’s also a ramp at the door.) Electricity is supplied by a battery maintained by solar panels.

But the choice is not kiosks or nothing. There are permanent public loos in Venice. But there aren’t very many, their hours vary WIDELY — 8:00 AM to 8:30 PM is rational, so is 9:00 AM to 9:00 PM, but 11:00 AM to 4:30 PM or 10 AM – 7:30 PM is not. And they aren’t always open. The WC by the Piazza San Marco is scheduled to open at 9:30 AM, and when I passed by at a very reasonable 10:45 AM it was shut up tight. These hours undoubtedly reflect the convenience of the staff, and not the public. Or whether the Comune has paid the water bill?

In an attractive gesture of collaboration, the city has an app to guide you to the nearest public toilet. Perhaps it will be open, perhaps not, but at least you can say you found it.

A map of the not exactly numerous public toilets. I count ten here — none on the Giudecca, for unknown reasons, but the one at the cemetery is helpful. The ones strewn about the Maritime Zone are for the non-existent cruise passengers, so ignore them. But again — pardon my diatribe — there is no reason to publish such a cheerful and encouraging map if the public can’t be sure the loo will be open when it’s needed. The other day a friend of mine was in severe need on Sant’ Elena and both of the only two bars were closed. The doors of the so-cheerfully indicated city toilet were locked. This is not a happy memory. But as I say, it does look nice on the map.

The public WC at the foot of the Accademia Bridge. This is what a self-respecting public toilet should look like. Its most impressive feature? It’s open.

They’re doing work these days, heavy work with tools. I just hope you weren’t counting on using this facility. Zwingle’s Fifth Law: Do not count on things.

A curious sub-class of public toilets are Those That Were (and I don’t mean vespasiani). This building on the northwest corner of Campo San Polo was a public loo until some not-distant time in the past. Lino remembers it well, and it had the advantage of being in an extremely busy point of the city. So it could have been highly useful. But as you see, the need for the sketchy Euronet cash machines was greater. Sorry, I shouldn’t say “sketchy.” But I can say this: Independent cash providers such as Travelex, Euronet, Moneybox, Your Cash, Cardpoint, and Cashzone have high fees, higher than a bank ATM. Example: 15 euros on a 200-euro withdrawal. There are probably ten times more Euronet ATM’s than public toilets in Venice now. Priorities!

Back to the toilets. Once you know what this place used to be, you can easily make it out. Those high windows somehow give it away.

I decided to experiment and went looking for one of the city’s toilets last Saturday afternoon around 5:00 PM. I was near the Arsenal, and wondered where the large sign indicating a nearby loo might lead me. I didn’t need it, and what a good thing that turned out to be.

This very narrow and slightly ominous street is marked as the route to salvation. The Calle del Cagnoleto is right by the area on the Riva degli Schiavoni where the day-tripping tourist launches load and unload their passengers, so it would seem to be an ideal place for a rest stop, as we say in the US.

Yes, that happy arrow up there points toward relief. Take heart and forge ahead!

The street passes in front of the green doors (I was walking from right to left). You are looking for what transit engineers call “confirming signs.” But instead of repeating the sign you are familiar with, there is only a rectangle of stone saying “Alle Docce” (you frantically check for translation and find “To the showers.” Showers? Who wants showers?). There used to be an arrow, but any help that might have provided is long gone.

A few more steps onward and there is a small sign that gives you hope.

And the street opens up and you discover you have reached the “Comune di Venezia Docce Pubbliche.” City of Venice Public Showers. We’re looking for WC and we get docce (DAW-cheh).

Let us imagine that at this point I am now beginning to feel that this experience is less a trial run and more of a real run. Now what?

The Public Showers also include, as one has been supposing, public toilets. The green arrow on the front door, on the left, has pointed toward the right, so the entrance is one of those two doors. But I’ll never know, because as you see, the place was closed up tighter than a can of tuna. Five o’clock on Saturday afternoon. It’s the end of the road, and your choice now, as there are no bars in sight, is to turn around and hope to find a Plan B before crisis strikes, or figure out how to use the canal a few steps away. As to the showers, they are maintained by the Diocese of Venice to accommodate anyone who is without that option, either temporarily or permanently, and clean clothes are also available. This is praiseworthy and I have nothing but respect for this service. But about the WC……

But you can leave with the knowledge that, according to this very edifying sign, the areas that you cannot use at your moment of off-schedule need are paragons of ecologically sound cleanliness. I notice that hours are not even scribbled on a Post-It note. You know, it’s easy to inveigh against tourists, but I would recommend that one remember that tourists are also people. And this little five-minute exploration has not only disappointed and discouraged me but also seems ever so slightly insulting. “Fine, we’ll let you use our toilets, but only when it suits us.” Solution? There ought to be many, but the simplest would be the mere addition of the opening hours to the sign at the entrance to the street — the sign that lured me hopefully onward. That way, at least nobody with an important problem will waste precious time heading toward locked doors. I suggest this minimum concession if you’re not going to keep the facility open while the sun is still shining and there are plenty of tourists still around.

So to review: The options for needy travelers are: Resort to one of the numberless bars/cafes, when available either geographically or according to time of day; or public toilet, when available either geographically or according to time of day. Or wall. Or canal.

Let’s return to the kiosk. The Comune opened the public-toilet project for bids in 2019, with a budget of 5 million euros, and only one company submitted a proposal. Hygien Venezia was prepared to proceed, then the pandemic intervened. So now, three years later, the company has finally installed its creation for a two-week trial. Then all the reports and analyses and opinions and pros and cons will be thrown into a box and shaken (I’m making that up), and some decision will be made on installing the 20 more that the company is ready to place strategically around town.

Don’t assume that decision will inevitably be in the positive. This being Venice, some people have complained. From shops and hotels and other enterprises, some people have objected. The Nuova Venezia only referred to the protesters as “the categories.” What category? The Worshipful Company of Environmental Cleaners? (It exists, but not in Italy.)

Whatever the “categories” might be, eight city councilors have spoken up, expressing a desire to inquire of the mayor “on the basis of what information is it considered that Venice possessed the characteristics to manage the cleaning (removal of waste) of 28 chemical toilets.” It occurs to me that Hygien Venezia probably has foreseen the problem and the solution, and described the plan on the bid itself. I’ll bet that they will be able to provide answers as needed, without bothering the mayor.

Perhaps the NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) phenomenon has arrived in Venice. There may well be those who do not wish to see one of these kiosks near their homes or places of business. I will grant you that the general lack of space here means that there is a risk that a new structure, however modest, could make the immediate area even more crowded. However, there are also campos and fondamentas that can boast of space. But let’s not quibble. Essentially, there seems to be an innate propensity to assume something new won’t work rather than consider ways in which in might perhaps be configured to work.

There is bound to be space for one of these kiosks at Campo Santa Margherita without jostling anybody too far to the side.

I’m going to ask the people who live here how they’d feel about having the kiosk in the campo.

In my view, this is another of the many situations in which Venice’s perplexity as to how to manage the city comes to the fore. Lots of real cities have public toilets in the streets. Paris comes to mind, obviously — if there’s a city with bars/cafe’s at every turn, that would be Paris, and yet there are 420 cubicles on the streets of the City of Light, used 3 million times a year. I grant that Parisian streets tend to be more spacious than your average calle. But the port of Piraeus has concise public toilets, as do Madrid, and Oslo, and Berlin, and so on. Or at the very least, reorganize the public toilets in Venice with rational hours and doors that can be opened.

“The categories” want tourists, and then people grumble at how demanding those tourists can be. It seems to me that Venice might occasionally consider dismounting from its high horse on certain issues. Give the horse a rest.

Venetian-ness

fog much?

February 17, 2024 18 Comments

Yesterday morning around 10:00 AM. This is the bacino of San Marco, looking toward the Grand Canal.

During the past two weeks there has been fog: Some days on, then sunshine, then back the fog rolls again. It’s very poetic and romantic, looked at one way. But it’s highly inconvenient if you need to take the vaporetto to do something unpoetic, because some lines are suspended, and the rest are all sent up and down the Grand Canal. This means that you may well be walking farther to your destination than you had budgeted time and energy for. Maybe you yourself can manage that, but if you’re a very sick and frail old lady — looking at you, Maria from upstairs — who has to get to the hospital for her chemotherapy, the fact that your vaporetto doesn’t exist today means you’re forced to take a taxi to the hospital. That’ll be 50 euros please. Going, and then coming home. Not at all poetic if you’re living on 750 euros a month.

But let’s say you’re on one of the vaporettos, living a routine day. Don’t relax completely. Because even though the battelli (the big fat waterbuses) have radar, and so does the ferryboat trundling up and down the Giudecca Canal between Tronchetto and the Lido, that doesn’t guarantee that the drivers are looking at it, or if they are, are understanding what they are seeing. Radar, much like bras or penicillin, is intended to help you, but only if you actually use it.

Visibility was like this this morning, and also yesterday morning.

I mention this because yesterday the fog was pretty thick. And around 1:00 PM, the #2 that crosses the Giudecca Canal between the Zattere and the Giudecca itself collided with the ferry. At that point the two routes are operating at right angles to each other. Everybody knows this. I mean, one shouldn’t be even minimally surprised to find these two boats out there.

But find each other they did. In the collision nobody was hurt, but one passenger temporarily lost his mind and punched the marinaio, the person who ties up the boat at each stop, in the face. Why the marinaio? Because he was there, I suppose. He certainly wasn’t navigating. Nor was the captain, evidently.

This is roughly the area in which the accident occurred. There would have been very little traffic (this photo was not taken yesterday). Plenty of space to maneuver, if one wanted to.

To translate the phrase in the brief article in La Nuova Venezia, “Probably the incident was caused by the thick fog.” I don’t mean to be pedantic, but “The fog made me do it” doesn’t sound quite right. The fog had been out for hours; it hardly sneaked up on the boats from behind. The pedant further wonders why the fog gets all the blame. It didn’t grab the two boats and push them together, like two hapless hamsters. One might more reasonably say that the incident was caused by two individuals, one per boat, who were not paying attention either to the water ahead or to their radar. Footnote: These vehicles operate on schedules. I’m going to risk saying that one could easily predict when they would be, as they put it here, “in proximity to each other.” If one wanted to.

The ferryboat gives Wagnerian blasts of its warning horn when small boats are in its path. There aren’t foghorns anymore, but the ferry’s klaxon can be heard for miles. If it’s blown. (Il Gazzettino, uncredited)

This is one of the ferryboats, though maybe not the one involved yesterday. Clearly David met Goliath, but in this case it was David that took the hit. (photo uncredited ACTV)

But let’s return to the poetry.

Via Garibaldi. Life goes on, and so does the trash.

Rio de la Ca’ di Dio. The forecast is for more fog tomorrow. If I put on my gray coat, I’ll disappear.

Venetian-ness

comestible curiosities, and more

February 9, 2024 12 Comments

My day got off to a superb start with the discovery of the Boron family. *Pace* Tom Lehrer, I am now hopefully (note rare correct usage) awaiting the appearance of more relatives from the chemical elements clan. You remember them: fermium, mendelevium, einsteinium, nobelium…. But joking to one side, I think the Boron family should be respected. I have received no compensation for this mention, they don’t even know I exist. Also that I do not drink alcohol. But boron isn’t a name you expect to see around, especially if it’s attached to wine. I mean, to people.

While we’re on the subject of food — and when are we not? — here are a few worthy character actors on the great Venetian culinary stage who may have been hidden in the swarm of the stereotypical food cluttering every Venetian menu.

Apples: There seemed to be no surprises left in the winter starting lineup. Here almost all of those seen in Venice come from the great northern valleys of Non and Venosta — Delicious (or Melinda), Royal, Gala, Pink Lady, Fuji. But the other day a newcomer found a place at the end of the bench, so to speak: The annurca/anurka apple, officially known as the *Melannurca Campana* I.G.P. (Indicazione Geografica Protetta). Luca on the fruit and vegetable barge told us that it is an autochthonous breed, native to the Campania region. Its admirers refer to it as “the queen of the Caudine valley.” I’m sorry to bring up a sensitive subject, but it’s nice to know that that particular area is famous for something other than one of Rome’s most humiliating defeats. Read up on the Battle of the Caudine Forks (321 B.C.) if you want to re-evaluate some of your life choices.

The annurca (*Malus pumila*) is one of the symbols of the Campania region, where it has been cultivated for at least two millennia; it is depicted in frescoes in Herculaneum and mentioned by Pliny the Elder. Why haven’t we seen it here before? (Or more to the point, why are we seeing it now?) This delectable sweet, firm, slightly acidic little fruit represents a mere five percent of the national apple production, and two-thirds of the crop is absorbed by Campania and Lazio, while another 20 percent reaches Lombardy, Piemonte and Tuscany. That leaves precious little for the rest of us, but somehow the Veneto is now on their delivery route, and this trusty little veteran is a wonderful discovery. Or, if it could talk, it might well say “I’ve been around for thousands of years; where have YOU been?”

It really is the most agreeable little apple. I’m glad it’s managed to hang on.

These gnarly little knobs are not ginger. They are a wintry visitor that usually appears so briefly that you could easily overlook them. This year, for some reason, they have lingered longer. Meet *topinambur* (toe-pin-am-BOOR), or *Helianthus tuberosus*. Jerusalem artichoke, Canadian sunflower, sunchoke, sunroot, and/or German turnip. It is a South American plant; its curious name here probably derives from the Tupinamba’, an indigenous people of Brazil. One method of preparing it is to scrape away the surface dirt, saute’ some garlic in extravirgin olive oil, cut the tubers into very thin slices, toss them into the oil and garlic, adding salt and pepper and a little vegetable broth, if needed, to keep them from drying out. They’re very pleasant, something like a potato, or maybe a water chestnut, with a slight flavor of artichoke.

This is just sad. How could this celestial espresso machine end up in this condition? Sex? Drugs? Rock and roll? And why is it sitting outside the front door of this restaurant? Isn’t it supposed to be in rehab somewhere?

“All hat, no cattle” is a common, if cutting, judgment given as necessary in the American West. It comes to mind in the case of this marvelous –judging by appearances — mollusk. Are you tired of clams? You should be, they’re the prime, and sometimes only, bivalve on Venetian restaurant menus. (Stop right there: Of course there are often mussels on offer, but they don’t fall in the “clam” category of this cadenza.) If you should happen to see “*spaghetti con telline*,” which has happened to me exactly once, know that you will have a plate that cries out to be photographed. But as for the telline (tell-EE-neh) themselves, you may not even realize you’ve eaten something. They are so tiny and so insipid that you will be happier admiring their shells than consuming their contents. I have never seen them in the fish markets, although they come from the shallow Adriatic shoreline, Lino tells me. So they are local, in one sense. They’re out there somewhere. Bonus points: Skip the first course and just buy a batch of “purple tellin shells” from Etsy. Not made up. Look for the ones called “purple coquina shells.”

Somebody loves pasta. Somebody is selling pasta. This sculpture was in the window of the Pastificio Serenissima some while back. The can is not leaning on the shelf; it is being held aloft by the column of stuck-together bowties (or what they call butterflies here) and some nubbin I can’t identify. This photo is here for fun, not for erudition.

Nothing to do with food, but I just can’t keep it to myself. Wandering around, I came across these clarion phrases. An anonymous door on the street is talking to YOU. The first sign in heavy black letters in equally heavy Venetian dialect translates as “And until I come back nobody can come in!” That clearly wasn’t enough, because a second notice is taped above it, saying “I repeat until I come back nobody is allowed to come in. And he that can has my number.” So nobody except somebody is permitted to enter. From behind the door came loud noises of a chainsaw and the tiny gleam of a lightbulb. Conclusion: The proprietor is not far away on a cruise to the North Cape, but slaving away at something. Building a replica of the Kon-Tiki? Whatever it is, nobody is permitted to see it until he comes back, and only if you know the guy who has his number. Update: I went by today, and the two signs have been removed, leaving the bit you can barely see is already taped beneath. That bit carries one word: “Chiuso.” Closed. You can’t quibble with that, it’s final.

This is not a comestible. It is merely a cat so remarkable he/she/it looks as if it were designed. Even the nose is part of the scheme. The eyes, though, give me the strange sensation of being weighed in the balance and found wanting. If a person looks at you like that you can try to do something. But cats don’t care.

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