Look into any neighborhood bar in Spain on a weekday morning and you will find them. Men in their seventies and eighties, settled at the counter or a small table, nursing a coffee or a small beer, arguing over the newspaper, slapping down dominoes, greeting everyone who walks in by name. They will be there …
Italian dinner happens at 8:30 or 9:00pm. American nutrition advice has spent decades insisting that eating late causes weight gain, that the body stores evening calories as fat, that the kitchen should close by 7:00pm. The Italians eat late and maintain lower obesity rates than Americans who eat early. This apparent paradox confuses Americans who …
For most of the twentieth century, sleeping in the afternoon was something a certain kind of American filed under the very old, the very young, and the frankly lazy. Then, in 2007, a large study out of Greece handed the afternoon nap a cardiology defense, and the people who had been quietly napping all along …
Walk into a modest restaurant in a Spanish town at half past one on a weekday, and you can eat three courses, with bread and a drink included, for around €14, roughly $15. A starter, a main, and a dessert, cooked that morning, brought to your table by someone who has done it ten thousand …
A Spanish family meal does not end when the food does. The plates are cleared, or half cleared, and everyone stays. The talk keeps going, coffee appears, maybe a small glass of something, and an hour later the same people are still at the same table, in no hurry to be anywhere else. A lunch …
A woman in her early sixties stands at her apartment door in Lucca. She has been here for 26 months. She is going home to Pittsburgh. She is not unusual. Most American women over 58 who move to Italy do this. The return is rarely about Italy. It is about specific structural factors that the …
Picture a French school canteen at lunchtime. A child carries a tray toward a table with a plate of veal stew or a piece of roast fish on it, and reaches, out of habit, for the ketchup. There is no pump, no squeeze bottle, no little sachet waiting on the counter. The ketchup is not …
The Spanish town empties into the street at dusk. Not to go anywhere in particular. The families come down from the flats, the older couples take each other’s arms, the children run ahead and circle back, and the whole population drifts up and down the same few streets in the cooling air. This is el …
The barista has read you before you reach the end of the sentence. Not from your accent, though that helps, and not from your clothes. From the order itself, which in Italy carries more about who you are than most people crossing the counter realize they are handing over. Stand at the banco of a …
There is an ingredient in a great many white-coated candies, chewing gums, frostings, coffee creamers, and salad dressings whose only job is to make the food look whiter. It has no flavour, no nutritional value, and no purpose beyond appearance. In the European Union it has been banned from food since 2022. In the United …
Look up in any Spanish city and the whole street is doing its washing in public. Shirts and sheets, socks and underwear, hang from lines strung across balconies and between buildings, flapping over the traffic in full view of anyone who cares to look. Nobody cares to look. The laundry is simply there, the way …
On a Sunday afternoon in America, a familiar ritual plays out in kitchens across the country. Someone cooks a large batch of chicken, rice, and vegetables, then divides it into a row of identical plastic containers, one for each day of the week ahead. It is efficient, organised, and, to much of Europe, faintly baffling. …