Lessons from Tuscany: A Memoir
by Mike White
Editor's Note: The Center for Teaching and Learning has sponsored the "Making Meaning of a Life in Teaching" program in which cohorts of faculty gather to refl ect upon their teaching careers. The following excerpt is from Professor Michael White's "Lessons from Tuscany: A Memoir."
I am standing high on a bluff gazing across the silver ribbon of the Arno River. The Ponte Vecchio and Duomo appear as miniatures below me. The entire scene is bathed in the dying rays of the setting sun. I watch as Florence, Italy transforms from the touristy bustle of the day into the relative calm and mystery of twilight. I think about the streets traveled today and how my footprints now cover those of Michelangelo, Galileo, Brunelleschi, Dante and countless others. I am here with 25 undergraduate students from the University of Minnesota to teach an intensive learning abroad course, introducing students to the concepts of sustainability through the study of Italian food culture. I feel exhilarated and overwhelmed. I am lost in my thoughts, marveling at the powers and fates that conspired to bring me here to this amazing place. I smile. Gazing over Florence at sunset, I think back on the paths I have traveled that ultimately brought me to this place. I whisper under my breath, "It feels like I belong here."
Like many families, the kitchen was the center of our home, and it was in this room that we spent much of our time together. It was during one of these times that I remember my mother telling me a profoundly moving story. Her dark brown eyes seemed to be looking at something far away as she stirred the simmering, aromatic sauce. She told me about the time, shortly after moving to Minnesota, when she and Dad had been exploring St. Paul and came across an authentic Italian deli. Upon entering the Buon Giorno Italian market, she was immediately overcome and found herself crying. She explained that the delicious aromas reminded her of her own mother's kitchen. Her gaze then became focused on the present and she looked at me as she smiled and said "...and you know honey, right now our kitchen smells just like Nana's did when I was a girl helping her."
I later discovered that when Mom had walked into Buon Giorno that fi rst time, it was just after our family had moved to Minnesota. I was about 3 or 4 years old, and it had only been a few short months before when we had seen my Nana for the last time. That previous Christmas, Nana had come to visit us in our new home in Minnesota for the holidays. My two brothers and I had been temporarily moved out of our bedroom so that Nana had a room to herself. I was too young to remember that Christmas Eve when my Nana died unexpectedly in our bedroom. I now know that Mom's reaction to the wonderful aromas emanating from Buon Giorno was partly due to the sharpness of my Nana's recent passing and how those intoxicating aromas caused the rush of sweet memories to overcome her that day. I have come to understand that the sense of smell is one of the most powerful for invoking memories, and that experiences that involve the sense of smell are not easily forgotten.
Although I did not get the opportunity to know my Nana well when she was alive, I got to know her through my mother's stories and recipes. She has come to be a strong touchstone for me and to my Italian heritage. My Nana's name was Sara, but they called her "Tess" because her maiden name was "Tesorero." My youngest brother Bob later discovered that the name "Tesorero" was really an Americanization of the true family name, "Tesoriero." He felt such a strong connection to that name that as a young aspiring actor needing a stage-name, he legally changed his last name to "Tesoro," based on our Nana's family name. I am clearly not the only one in my family that feels this powerful pull of Nana's heritage and name. Names, like food and stories, are powerful things. My wife and I even named our daughter Sarah after my Nana.
As I grew up and left home, I could not be without those delicious and emotionally grounding foods I had grown up with. So I had to learn how to cook my Nana's and mother's recipes. As I mastered Mom's and Nana's recipes, I also became a student of Italian cuisine and food culture. I studied the cuisine and began to understand the importance of authentic ingredients in traditional Italian cooking. With my father's help and my own studies, I learned to make my own wine. I began to grow fresh herbs and vegetables and to incorporate them into my culinary experimentation. I learned to make my own bread and dreamed of baking fresh breads in a backyard wood-fi red oven. I wondered and dreamed about what it would be like to own a vineyard.
During this time, I was also beginning a career as a professor and balancing that with being an attentive husband and father. I was outwardly content to enact my suburban version of an Italian lifestyle, creating little bits of Italy where I could. But deep down there was this vague hollowness where something was still missing in this seemingly full life of mine. Then, one day, my mother called with an announcement that would propel me down another path.
When I answered the phone, Mom was talking very excitedly on the other end of the line, and I did not understand what she was saying at first. When I asked her to slow down she said, "I was talking with your father . . . you know he is 70 years old and still not talking about retiring. I think he should retire so we can do more things as a family. But since he won't retire, I have decided that we should spend some of our retirement savings and take the whole family to Italy! I want us all to see Sicily where Nana's side of the family is from and to maybe see some other places like Rome, Florence, and Venice." After picking my jaw off the floor, I asked Mom about whether this was prudent, but she and my Dad had their minds made up.
My father and I were fortunate to be professors at the same university. He and I would frequently meet to walk together at lunchtime so we could keep each other healthy and to stay connected. Much of what I am, personally and professionally, is modeled after him. On one of our walks a few days after this phone call, I decided to ask him to be honest with me and tell me what he really thought about Mom's "big idea." After posing the question, we walked on in silence for a few moments and Dad fi nally answered. "You know Mike, I think it is a great idea . . . and it will give you a chance to collect some information first-hand about the food systems in another country for some of the courses you teach." Then he added, after a few moments, "And even if I didn't feel that way, there is no point in arguing with your mother about this because her mind is made up!"
The goal of this trip was to get my mother and father to the Aeolian Islands of Mom's ancestry and for me to further my studies of Italian food culture. A side benefit was that it also helped to temporarily sooth the symptoms of the "dis-ease" which frequently induced my ache to return to Italy. There were 14 of us on this trip, and we spent nearly a week in Sicily and on the Aeolian Islands of Lipari and Panarea, the very islands of my mother's ancestry.
One magical day, we boarded an aliscafo (hydrofoil) that whisked us from the island of Lipari where we were staying to the small volcanic island of Panarea. We spent a surreal and almost mystical afternoon on that island. Part of the time we spent in the small island's cemetery. Everywhere we looked, we seemed to be surrounded by family. Every other gravestone had the name "Tesoriero." It was remarkable to be surrounded by the spirits and memories of so many distant relatives. The graves had photos of their occupants on the headstones. This seems to be very common in Italy. Many of the faces were inexplicably familiar. It was like looking through an old family album of relatives you've never met. This was a profoundly moving experience for me and being around so many distant relatives on this beautiful, but isolated island conjured up images and feelings that I could sense were changing me in ways I am still trying to understand.
After we spent the week in Sicily, we had the great fortune to spend a full week in a beautiful villa in rural Tuscany. I was able to soak in Tuscany and experience the culture, food systems and essence of the land and people. It was during one of my excursions to the Tuscan countryside that I not only felt, but actually heard the audible thunk of my psyche being nailed to the ground . . . to the soil of my ancestors . . . to Italy.
After this experience, it became crystal clear to me that Italy was to become a significant part of my life. I had already begun to incorporate my knowledge and passion for this place into my life's work, including my teaching. My deep connection to all things Italian has over the years caused me to become a student of the Italian food culture. I have learned that food permeates almost every aspect of the Italian culture, that the location where food is produced as well as how it is produced is crucially important to Italians. There is a culturally-inborn or intrinsic value to food in Italy. Buying high quality foods of known origin, regardless of the price, is a daily event. It is unthinkable to buy food that is cheaper or of questionable origin, and it is considered foolish.
I have begun to see that there are powerful lessons to be learned from the philosophies and attitudes of Italians toward their food and food systems. As a professor in a college with the words food, environment, and agriculture in the title, it seemed natural to amass as much of this information as possible and to use it in the courses I teach. And this is where it brought me, gazing at the Tuscan twilight over Florence with 25 students where we are all learning to feed our minds and bodies on the lessons and pleasures of the Italian food culture.
Mike White is a professor in the Department of Animal Science.
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