Over the past few months, I've become a fan of the New York Times. Network news is unavailable and the cable news channels have all become parodies of themselves. Newspapers seem like they're held to a higher standard, and the NYT is the pinnacle of that standard.
Recently, they started charging a monthly fee, and though I resisted at first, I decided I couldn't survive on NPR, Fox News, CNN, and MSNBC alone. So, since I'm paying $15 a month for the NYT, by golly, I'm gonna read the NYT. (You can read up to 20 articles a month for free, but that's just a tease.)
This week, I read two articles concerning Italy/Italians, and they both hit me pretty hard. The first was this essay by Frank Bruni about noticing the beautiful details of things we see every day, which is exactly what I'm trying to do in the year or so I have left here in Italy.
The second was this story by Jeff Gordinier about an Italian restaurateur in Manhattan who flies his mother over from Bologna several times a year just to make pasta. It's a charming, quirky little story, but what I took away from it is how passionate the Italians are. For family. For food. For life. I hope I don't ever lose that.