Venice: I am not making this up

Gondola overboard

June 10, 2023 10 Comments

Newspaper headlines have to do two things: Be short, and make you want to buy the paper. You’ve got to have emotions about whatever it is, and Lord knows there’s no lack of emotions around here.

Be careful, though, not to draw the wrong conclusions or make wild assumptions when you have more feelings than information.

Case in point: This simple but fraught headline on today’s announcement board at the newsstand.

It contains nothing but emotional words: “Moto ondoso gondola capsized two boys saved.” Anyone here has only to read the words “moto ondoso” to brace themselves for the worst. This term refers to the chaotic waves caused by the ever-increasing motorboat traffic, and obviously is never good. Moto ondoso has recently reappeared — yet again — in the forefront of Venetian minds as the clearest and most present danger to waterborne vehicles and their passengers. The city itself is being victimized, too, pounded all day by the impact of the thrashing water. So we see “moto ondoso” and instantly we intuit danger, and knowing nothing more we assume that the gondola had people in it (tourists, probably). Perhaps the passengers were the two boys? Boat overturns, people being “saved” = nearly avoided drowning, is my quick assumption. What other danger would they need to have been saved from? All this is what the telegraphic headline implies.

The very brief story in La Nuova Venezia basically said that two 18-year-old boys were towing a gondola between the Bacini and San Pietro di Castello on a wide canal known as the Canale delle Navi, known also as a stretch of water becoming increasingly wild with the wakes of every motorized vehicle known to Venice. They were bringing the boat to the squero for repairs.

Some water entered the gondola, courtesy of a wave, and more followed. The boat became yet more unstable, and before long the combination of internal and external liquid pushed the boat overboard, so to speak. The article says that the boys fell in the water, but didn’t explain how. Waves and some variety of panic could have done the trick.

A passing boat rendered immediate aid, the firemen were called, as were the local police. The story will undoubtedly develop with claims and counterclaims (there seems to be some talk of a big tourist launch that was speeding). Allow me to shake my two raised fists and bellow “Curse you, moto ondoso!”

But I thought I’d reflect for a moment on the fact that towing a boat here isn’t as simple as you might think. I have participated in numerous transfers of rowing boats under tow, and you quickly discover that, even without waves, you need to pay attention. It’s not unusual to see motorboats towing some Venetian boat from the area of the race eliminations at very high speed, and some of those boats flip over too.

This was Lino a few years ago towing an eight-oar gondola and two normal gondolas. We were returning from a big event in Nafpaktos, Greece in which Venetian boats were major participants. Each boat here has some people aboard, which may well not have been the case of the unfortunate boys.

We know nothing about how this operation was being carried out. Was the gondola tied by the bow or the stern? How fast were they going? How long was the rope linking the two boats? Was there wind? In the early afternoon they would have been going against the tide; was that a factor? Don’t think I’m trying to defend the waves, I am just saying that this is a tricky undertaking for anyone who may not yet know some of the fine points. If one of the boys had been sitting in the gondola, using the oar as a sort of rudder to keep the boat from slewing around, that would have been a huge help. Or you can usefully tie a length of chain, or some deadweight object, to the stern to act as a sort of sea anchor keeping the boat from skidding around. The boat wants to fishtail because it is already riding on the swervy crest of two waves that are the wake created by the motorboat itself.

Here the foreground gondola has been allowed to skew to the right; the people aboard weren’t paying attention. As you can see in the gondola behind it, each of the two men aboard are holding oars to use as a sort of rudder. The right pressure just before the boat begins to wander off course keeps it in line. If there were more waves here, it would be clearer how vulnerable the already-low left side of the gondola is to taking on water.

Here I am with a friend, each of us working with our oars to keep this caorlina on the straight and narrow. It’s not just the gondola; any Venetian boat wants to wander off course when it’s being towed.

Of course we don’t want waves, and we don’t want boys falling in the water all of a sudden. I’m certainly ready to blame moto ondoso for every bad thing on earth. But towing a boat is like driving in the snow. Things can happen.

Another view of the boats moving around. You really need to anticipate the boat’s tendency to slither out of line, otherwise you’ll wear yourself out hauling on your oar way too hard. Lino has towed as many as nine boats by himself. Naturally that’s the Expert Level, because the person driving the motorboat has to be extremely sensitive to the motion of the boats behind him or her. When the towed boat pulls in one direction, it exerts pressure on the motorboat to veer off in the opposite direction. There are just any number of factors to keep track of, and everything is moving all the time. At least here there weren’t any waves.

Events

Biennale’s back in town

May 15, 2023 8 Comments

The Biennale: A thing, and people looking at it, photographing it, pondering it, or discussing it without pondering.

For a thing that essentially doesn’t interest me, I seem to be unable to resist mentioning it. Each year the prologue (fancy word for “the few days preceding the opening”) to the Biennale changes the neighborhood rhythms, not to mention the scenery, as participants, journalists, and assistants of all sorts and levels permeate our corner of Castello. Saturday the sun was finally shining, and there was an atmosphere of a pleasant kind of updraft out and about.

The Biennale — this year it’s dedicated to Architecture — will run from May 20 to November 26. Whether I personally like it or not is absolutely immaterial to everybody, including me. It Is. And if you think art (or this year, architecture) is the point, you may be mistaken. When the city government hits “total” on the municipal calculators six months later — yes, half of the entire year — it’s clear that the Biennale has become one of Venice’s main sources of income.

Venice has survived for centuries by selling things, and this international event is the latest in the very long sequence of commercial activities and products. Basically, Venice now sells itself, or what I call Being in Venice. The subcategories are “looking at things,” “eating food,” “sleeping somewhere.” Sub-subcategory: “getting around in vaporettos and taxis and big lumbering tourist launches or on foot clogging streets and bridges.” Any visitor to Venice is part of this dynamic — the Biennale just concentrates it in a spectacular way. My comments are not opinions. Having an opinion on the Biennale would be like having an opinion on gravity.

Setting the scene: the fondamenta di Ca’ di Dio in front of the Arsenale vaporetto stop. It’s an excellent position and if I had time I’d try to find out how much it cost the artist to use this space, because it must be one of the most desirable locations in the city. Sharp-eyed readers will remember last year’s gold cube…

Opening day is May 20 and it will run to November 26. It seems like it just closed and yet somehow here it is again. Last Saturday the neighborhood had a sort of swirly atmosphere. Not entirely unpleasant – at least you see some new people and discover whatever is trending in the world of fashion. One hopes that some of these outfits do not represent actual trends.

I actually like this; just thought I should let you know.

There seems to be no angle at which this piece looks bad. Excellent work, Mr. Roggi.

As usual, though, the title of the work is beyond gnomic. Here is the tag, you can work it out however you like. The subtitle, which I think belongs to the group of three pieces, translates as “The seed of rebirth.” The primary word is an arty rendition of “genesis.” At least I think it is.

Here the airborne couple is part of a quite fabulous olive tree.

“The Roots of Rebirth.” If you pass by, I hope you will admire not only the roots, but the gleaming little bronze olives scattered among the leaves.

This is the third work of the trio of Genesys. You have to look hard to find it.

That little golden golf ball (fine, it’s bronze and it’s not for golf, I know that) is called “The energy of life.” And speaking of things that aren’t, this isn’t architecture, either. So the “Biennale of Architecture” is open to all sorts of definitions, or definitions don’t matter, which also works, I guess.

We certainly needed the downpours of the past few days, but nobody calculated the drainage situation on the fondamenta. We now discover that it is not reliably flat. Could we imagine this puddle as part of the work of art? Why not?

Speaking of definitions, one of the primary points of all these works is to entitle your work or show, as far as possible, in the most cryptic possible way. Yes, the word means something; no, it’s incomprehensible here. That’s what makes it art, you peasant.

The vaporetto-dock posters are a festival of code words. “Renewal: A Symbiotic Narrative”. I will be wondering about it till November. You can see it at the pavilion of the People’s Republic of China.

It says “Still,” but I read “rhinoplasty.” Titles that lead you nowhere leave you to make up your own wild stories. The leaning tower of sinus? Someone pushed a ziggurat up my nose?

We’ll all be looking up “diachronic” now, to find out what such an apparatus might be. Or look like.

Radials? I’m briefly intrigued by a group or enterprise going by the name “Sbagliato.” It means “mistaken,” or simply “wrong.” Probably not intrigued enough to go see what Radials might be, though.

More architectural items are being set up in the two little parks along the fondamenta dei Sette Martiri.

It’s too soon to know what the creator of this item has titled it. No, I am not imagining a pig in a python.

I will be interested to discover if there is a work of art beneath the tarpaulin, or if this is the work. Either one is fine with me. I’d have titled it “Diachronic,” but it’s already taken.

It wouldn’t be the Biennale without some extraordinary performance piece out in the road on the way home. Better yet, a piece that is being filmed. If the performance doesn’t make you curious, you’ll almost certainly pause to see what the crew is up to. Please admire the important microphone. You should know that the only sound to be heard was the random blackbird call, and people walking by, talking. A dog barking, maybe. Was that part of the performance? So many questions.

We see a man, evidently Muslim, in the position of prayer, next to a rolling suitcase. His hands wear fingerless gloves. Something about immigrants, I guess? The silence reveals nothing. Two solid minutes of it. Art? I guess so. We can’t call it diachronic, anyway.

Venetian-ness

little glimpses

April 13, 2023 11 Comments

I am working on a longer post — several, in fact — but meanwhile nibble these few morsels.

This is the apotheosis of Easter eggs in Venice, everything displayed in the glorious window of Drogheria Mascari at the Rialto Market. Most smaller pastry and chocolate shops offer some variety of eggs, as do all the supermarkets. Size, variety, glamor (cost, too, of course) all come into play when you’re deciding on the essence of Easter delectation. The price also reflects, to a certain extent, the value of the little doodad hidden inside. Did I mention they’re hollow? They are. Busting them open, shards of chocolate flying across the table, livens up the post-lunch torpor.

This year our intrepid neighborhood pastry wizard underwent some important experience. A challenge? A request from somebody’s grandchild? A way of telling the public he just isn’t going to be forced to spend his remaining years turning out mere eggs or bells or any other chocolate cliche’? Behold the chocolate rat! I suppose he could have done an ascending dove, or a gamboling lamb, or a hundred little marzipan chicks, if he’d wanted to stretch his skills. But I clearly have underestimated this man, whom I have seen smile exactly once over the past 20 years. Stand by for news from the Melita pastry shop, where something epochal is underway. (Notice the horizontal line dividing the egg into equal halves. That’s the seam by which the egg is closed around the “surprises,” or tiny gifts, inside the oval.)

The sheet of chocolate supporting the creature deserves admiration, though I can’t conjure a reason for the little silver nubbins. I honestly thought it was a beaver, at first glance. The Easter Beaver would be an animal that deserves more consideration, in my view. But a rat is also good. For Venice, maybe even better.

This is the menu outside the Ristorante Giorgione on via Garibaldi. The prices are toward the high end — not excessive, but not bargains, either. It would appear, though, that no money was allocated in the budget for the display menu. I have never seen a menu in this condition. Unless it was created for the Biennale, thereby qualifying itself as a work of art, I have no idea how something like this could ever have been (A) made and (B) displayed and (C) displayed every single day. If there were any way one could bring to the owner’s attention how exceptionally bizarre this creation is, I might try it. But the owner obviously thinks this is fine.

Nothing to do with food, but this glimpse touches the same nerve as the Giorgione menu, along with everything else that just somehow doesn’t work for me. My brain says, “They needed a window, they made a window, everybody’s happy.” My eye says “Noooooo…”. The new resident above the former Negozio di Legnami (lumber store) didn’t bother removing its lovely frescoed sign. That would have cost money. Just slice out what you don’t need and on we go. Sharp-eyed readers will realize that this isn’t in Venice; we came upon it in Bassano del Grappa, a lovely town a mere hour away that I highly recommend.

Oh look — it’s peaceful coexistence. So it’s not a myth?

Me here, you there — sure, we can do this.

I like some fashion with my flounder. The passera di mare (Platichthys flesus), or European flounder, used to throng the lagoon. At some point the gilthead bream got the upper hand, and you hardly see this fish anymore. I’m glad the survivors still have style.

Food

eating winter and spring

April 6, 2023 19 Comments

A perfect example of this brief moment between seasons: Bruscandoli (wild hops) in the basket (spring!) and the cardi on the right (a winter relative of the artichoke that soon will be on its way out). Speaking of artichokes, do not be lured by the little sign saying “castraure.” The implication, I think, is that they are the first flower off the extraordinary local plant, the “violet artichoke of Sant’ Erasmo.” If these are castraure (cas-trah-OO-reh) they are most certainly not from Sant’ Erasmo. Supposing these morsels came from Sant’ Erasmo (which they haven’t), they would be botoi (BOH-toh-ee), which are good, but are the second-growing edible flower on the artichoke plant. True castraure of the violet artichoke are tiny, much smaller than these robust characters. Also: It’s far too early for artichokes here anyway — what is on sale comes from hothouses elsewhere. Some vendors label them correctly as botoi, but people have somehow become obsessed by castraure. Eat whatever they’re called these days, by all means, but imagining a true castraura in Venice at the end of March is to imagine the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

This is a castraura. When it is cut, the plant will produce a number of botoi, the somewhat larger artichokes on sale in the market in the photo above. Here you can just barely make out the baby botolo beneath the castraura.

Simple design to show what the artichoke plant brings forth (taken from a little book written by a farmer on Sant’ Erasmo). “Botoi” is the plural of “botolo.” To look at the abundance of “castraure” on sale during the season, there would have to be fields here the size of Nebraska. Or one Nebraska and two Leichtensteins.

If all goes well, the “violet artichoke of Sant’ Erasmo” begins to appear in May. Grab them while you can. Watch out for the stabby pointy bit at the tip of each leaf.

Another grinding of culinary gears: Asparagus and melons. The local asparagus has just begun to arrive, but the melons are coming from somewhere probably not in Italy. Their moment in northern Italy, and Venice, is July/August. Note that many labels say “Italia,” but don’t name any more particular location. My main question is not where it comes from, but why you would want to eat a melon in April? Not being sarcastic. Your winter mouth wants pears and oranges. Don’t confuse it.

People sometimes ask us where you can eat well and not pay a fortune. To which Lino always replies: “Your house.”

It’s not as much of a pleasantry as it might seem. Unhappily, I am always struck by how routine, predictable, unimaginative, so many of the restaurant offerings are here. Also expensive, especially when you’re looking at the price/value index. Hence Lino’s risposte.

I am sorry that this situation persists, because anyone who has access to a kitchen and the Rialto market can eat like freaking kings. There are so many delectable, unsung, seasonal products on sale that although I realize you do not intend to spend your priceless Venetian vacation toiling in the kitchen, you really ought to be able to try some of these things somehow. And your kitchen seems to be the only option.

Just now is a wonderfully delicate moment in the vegetable realm. We are balanced perfectly between the old winter-long standbys (looking at you, cauliflower), and the glittering spring offerings. This moment of culinary equipoise is even lovelier because, like spring flowers, you know you don’t have much time to enjoy them. I’m forced to say that seasonal food is being elbowed to one side by an ever-increasing number of out-of-season comestibles, which I ignore. Cherries in January? Nope. Melons in March? WHY?

Before we leave winter behind, here are a few delights that are not cauliflower:

If you like slightly bitter radicchio, reach for these little blossoms. They’re generally called “field radicchio,” but these are cultivated, not wild. In any case they are wonderful.

The little green tufts are definitely cultivated, and are also sold independently of their red cousins. They are a special item that are famously grown in the fields near Roncade (a few miles from Treviso). They are known as the ‘verdon di Roncade” (the big green from Roncade). They have a sort of generic lettuce-y flavor, and the leaves are slightly thick. Not so much crunchy as chewy. Really good if you’ve had enough cabbage by now.

This shows up briefly in February. The “cavolo” is not literally a cabbage; its more correct name is “broccolo fiolaro” because you eat the tender parts of the plant they call “fioi” (children) in Venetian. Creazzo is in the province of Vicenza. Nothing against spinach, but this is better. Toothier.

This mass of greenery appears briefly now. They didn’t even bother to write its name — “rosolina” — perhaps because its stay is so brief. I was told that this is the poppy plant before it flowers. My source said that when the blooms begin to appear May-ish), the leaves become too bitter to eat. Meanwhile, they have a charming little nutty undertone. Note to purists: There is a plant known as rosolina, defined as an “evergreen shrub with white flowers.” That’s somebody else’s rosolina. I could have devoted quite a lot of time to researching this, but have stopped for now.

I suppose anyone who has been to Venice in the winter knows the “late” (tardivo) radicchio from Treviso. Delicately bitter, it makes a divine risotto (among other things). In January we went to the Festival of Radicchio in Mirano, near Venice, where the students at the agricultural school “8 Marzo Konrad Lorenz” showed us each step of the production process. I thought it just came out of the ground like this. So very wrong….

The plant grows in the field till harvest time, then is brought to the school to be prepared for sale. The water has to be changed several times while the boxes are waiting for the next step. Yes, it looks like this, a mass of botanical clumps run amok. But hidden inside is the radicchio we want.

You see the delicate white and red leaves inside the other leaves.

The crates are brought indoors where the students demonstrated essentially how you butcher them.

At this point they still look pretty grotty.

Just slice all that rootage away and trim the stem.

A good rinse and they’re just about ready to be boxed and sent to your trusty vegetable vendor. Whatever the price may be, I’d say it’s justifiable.

There are always a few pushy items that want to be considered spring treats, but have anticipated their cue by several acts. They aren’t local, obviously.

I have no idea where these radishes came from, but while they are trying to impress me with their multicolored marvelousness, they’re still here too early.

Even the normal red radishes are upstarts, as are the peas in the crate next to them. We’ll be seeing local peas in May, when we will gorge on that trusty Venetian standby, “risi e bisi” (rice and peas).

This is the first time I have ever seen morel mushrooms here in Venice. They are known as a spring mushroom, I discover, unlike the others that come out in the fall. They can be cultivated, but I can’t say that’s the case here. A minor mystery which I will not pursue much.

And the dependable heralds of spring:

Not a plant, but I couldn’t resist adding this. An April Fool’s Day prank here is called “pesce d’aprile”,” or April fish. I will get to the bottom of this expression some other time, but meanwhile, the wags at the pasticceria Rosa Salva in Calle Fiubera (San Marco) have created just the sort of fish everybody can enjoy. No bones. Too bad they’re not made all year. A tiny note that makes me smile: They bothered putting on eyes. And white eyes. Which technically ought to mean that they’re cooked, because when you boil or grill a fish, you know it’s done when the eyes turn white. Well, I thought it was funny, anyway.

Bruscandoli (wild hops) on the left, and carletti on the right.

Carletti (Silene rigonfia or Silene vulgaris) are the leaves of a pinkish-whiteish flower that doesn’t take long to appear. These have an almost imperceptible flavor (I’m going to delete “almost”). Lino used to go out and collect them along the Lido shoreline, then throw them into a risotto. I’m all for eating wild but unless they contain some fabulous antioxidant properties I can’t see the point of bothering. Still, man does not live by radicchio alone.

Chives, or “barba del frate” (friar’s beard) are usually the first to show up. It used also to be called “sultan’s beard,” but that reference evidently has been retired.

This work of culinary art was in the window of the pastificio Serenissima on the Salizzada dei Greci. Fresh pasta is always a delight, and there are fewer and fewer shops making it. They recently were making truffle tagliatelle. We had to imprison the pasta in a covered glass container on the windowsill, otherwise the entire refrigerator would have reeked of truffle. Truffle milk? Why has nobody thought of this?

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