Addiction

We've discovered that traipsing around Italy is not without repercussions: one natural side effect is an insatiable addiction to "il cappucino*". In the morning it compels us to leave our beds. Its siren call beckons us through the fog that shrouds our morning brains. It is our goal, our first order of business as we leave our mountain stronghold and descend to town.

For my dad this comes as less than a surprise. A longtime caffeine enthusiast, he was the first to succumb. His first cappucino sip elicited a wide-eyed, enthusiastic "YUMMMM". At that moment, it was all over for him.

My mom has taken the slippery slope approach, with equally convincing results. She began by waiting patiently or ordering tea during that chunk of our morning that had became "cappucino time". But one can only endure the pressure of so many delizioso's and buonissimo's before giving in. I give her credit though: she held out the longest. The next step was "decaffeinato": a more innocent decaf version. But not even her steel will could resist the siren's call forever: as we approach the end of our time here, "cappucino" has become "cappucini" and she joins enthusiastically in the morning chorus of "Signora, ancora una per favore!". With her unique addition of "no I don't want decaf...".

But for me is reserved the deepest depths of caffeine-drinker purgatory: I am a hypocrite in it's purest sense. For years in high school I would badger my father against the vice of coffee. My college friends remember well my extreme anti-caffeine stance; the woman I dated still makes fun of me for my fundamentalism. Yet here I sit, unapologetically knocking back cappucino like a pro. Forget moral legitimacy, they're just TOO good!


I am terrified for our return to the Northwest. Despite having the best coffee anywhere, our cappucino is a designer drink: expensive and lacking of that special touch that comes from simple, frequent and repeated preparation. Our only hope is Bepe; his restaurant has a capppucino maker and an early-morning ritual of using it. Watch out Beppe, you'll be seeing more of the Noble family in the coming months.


Ciao da italia!


-Erin



Check out Beppe's and Gianni's restaurant @ . A warm and authentic trattoria, they serve the best Italian food in Eugene.


A morning pickup
Cappucino starts my day
Addiction welcome


*If you ask for coffee in Italy, they will give you an extremely strong shot in a miniature cup. The more satisfying cappucino contains this shot of "café" together with frothed cream and, if the signora really likes you, a delectable sprinkling of chocolate on top.

Tower Catastrophe Averted

American woman and nephew correct slant

Sept. 30^th, 2009. In a strange twist today, two American tourists saved the Italian town of Pisa from disaster.

Ongoing construction efforts to correct a foundation problem resulted in a destabilization of the entire structure early this morning, according to Italian officials. The misguided efforts sent the tower into a fall along its Southern axis, causing widespread panic among tourists and locals alike.

But an unlikely hero appeared before complete collapse: An American grandmother from Sarasota, FL. Dianne Barker, with the help of her nephew from Eugene, OR, stopped the tower’s fall and lifted it back to its original foundation.

The reactions of baffled locals ranged widely. Some expressed dismay at the large inventory of leaning towers rendered useless by the Americans’ characteristically brash actions. Others expressed relief that the touristic hordes would finally leave them in peace.

As this article went to press, no official statement had been issued by the Italian government. However, in a proactive statement US officials reassured Italian and US publics alike that “the instability of the foundation is such that the tower will lean again… given sufficient time.”

The unlikely heroes were also unavailable for comment as their whereabouts are unknown. However, inside sources place them somewhere in Tuscany stuffing their faces with cappucini and gelato.

Erin Noble, AP.

Italian 101

I was very fortunate to have access to Eugene's wonderful Italian community before leaving for this trip.

Six months ago, I had no idea said community existed. Yet, as soon as I began visualizing the trip, Italians appeared all around me! First it was Emily Shankman, an old high school friend, who unbeknowst to me majored in Italian at the UO. Reconnecting with her and briefly hearing her speak "la dolce lingua" kindled my thirst for more.

Through Emily I met "la bella Antonella", an Italian PHD candidate at the UO. I managed to fanangle a language exchange by dazzling her with my recently polished Spanish, one of my better deals to date. Unfortunately we're both procrastinators (you know it's true Antonella!) and we managed all of two sessions... spent mostly dreaming of wine: white on the beach and red under the moon.

Next came "la serata Italiana". Antonella introduced me to this undergrad conversation, complete with delicious fixings from McMenamin's excellent happy hour. I fit into the mix a bit sideways, neither being UO affiliated nor slightly able to speak Italian, but overwhelming enthusiasm for learning AND beer won through in the end.

Antonella originally pulled me into the serata, but she soon abondoned us for for the sunny beaches and deliciousness of Italy. Nicolino Applauso inherited responsibility, which was how I met him. Very academic and VERY Italian, Nicolino became my source for all knowledge Italian after I convinced him to give me private lessons. We learned pronunciation, verb conjugation and vocabulary, all very basic but enough to get me on my feet. Just as important, we talked a lot about Italian culture and business; invaluable knowledge of dos and donts plus a great introduction to the lumber market.

Nicolino invited me to his house for a lesson and dinner shortly before I left, where I had the pleasure of meeting his wife and two sons. An honor. We chatted over caprese, made with Janette's special olive oil (yummm... she sells "Applauso" olive oil at farmers markets) and drank vinotheY've latter inspired the normally-reserved Nicolino to deliver a verbal dissertation on Italian politics; Communism, immigration and Burlosconi's numerous scandals... wonderful!

I realized that evening that I had gotten more than I bargained for out of those 10 hours of Italian: a friendship. Here's to you Nicolino, miss you bud!


A side note:

For those Eugenians burning to learn some Italian before that big Tuscan adventure, consider doing private lessons. CDs are appealing for their convenience (morning commute) and price (free at the library), and group classes are cheap. But TRUST me, there's no substitute for one-on-one instructions.

Email me at hikingnoble@gmail.com if interested; I would be happy to put you in touch with Nicolino.

Also, check out Jeanette's olive oil online at http://applauso-evoo.weebly.com. It's also available through Capella Market on Wilamette.


Ciao da italia!


-Erin

A Burger Odyssey

And people say layovers are boring… well, other, smarter people keep telling me that boredom is a choice. So this time I chose to do something constructive with my time. And proved, once again, that I am a true fat kid at heart (this one’s for you Bogan).

Knowing of my penchant for eating contests and having been thoroughly impressed by my completion of the “5lb Pancake Challenge” while hiking through CA, my uncle has been goading me for quite some time. For months he’s bombarded me with emails touting sensational stories of a magical burger that resides near Fenway park. Quote the Boston Globe:

“The McGreevy's Beckett Burger is approximately the size of home plate, weighing a total 1 pound 9 ounces and features lettuce, tomatoes, pickles & cheddar cheese atop 25 ounces of 100% beef.”

I added bacon because I was feeling cocky.

It was actually a pleasurable experience, proving once again that I am not a normal human being. The chef hit the medium-rare bullseye and the ciabatta loaf encompassing the thing was a step above your normal sesame seed bun. Sure it got a bit unsavory towards the end but nothing like the struggle for breath or stifled gag reflex my uncle, aunt and dad were expecting. We even took a nice leisurely Boston stroll before the customary hour coma that follows any competitive eating outing.

Perhaps I’ve discovered my X-men ability (I like to believe that everyone has one….)? I’ll come clean though; I did use a knife and fork for lack of mouth space… Oh, Buster Zalkind where are you when one needs the bar set high?

Eating absurd amounts of food really seems to bring the family together; post-Beckett my uncle and I are closer than ever. As my gastronomical promoter and manager, we are already making plans to travel the US competitive eating circuit.

Look for me in the headlines.

~Erin

Once more unto the brink...

It all started with a squash game* and a simple suggestion: "Hey Erin, when are you going to use my house in Tuscany for a couple of weeks?". Funny how such momentous events tend to derive from seemingly inconsequential remarks... especially when Peter Noble is your dad.

Upon recounting Nathan Tublitz's remark (and extraordinary offer) to Pete one night, I came to the sudden realization that his eyes were shining more than normal. In that shine I saw three tiny figures gallivanting around the Tuscan countryside, tasting wine and stuffing their faces with pizza. Surprisingly Noble-like figures...uh oh, Pete was visualizing. But far be it from me to argue... I've always wanted to learn Italian.

And so the die was cast. Preparations began and September 17th - October 5th was decided upon. Never ones to resist an adventure, my two aunts and my uncle signed on to the intinerary as well. So there you have it: from a passing remark to a two-week family adventure in the Tuscan countryside. You see the power of words?

Check back for more updates and PLEASE if you've had any personal experience with Italy, let us know your favorite parts. I am a longtime supporter of spontanaity.


Ciao for now

~Erin


*For those of you who don't know, squash is the greatest sport ever. It consists of an enclosed court, a small black ball that barely bounces and two racket-wielding goofily-dressed white (or Indian/Pakistani) guys incessantly chasing said small black ball. Being a racketball enthusiast as well, I always try to convince racketball players to play squash by comparing the two sports: "racketball is to squash as checkers is to chess". The racketballers tend to just give me a funny look and then wail me in the calf next time we play. Luckily for the squash community, I learn slowly.