The oldest building on our street here in Cuenca province grew an air-conditioning unit last summer, a white box drilled into a stone facade that predates the United States, installed by a family that spent twenty years telling every visiting relative that air conditioning gives you a sore throat and a stiff neck. Here is …
For years, my afternoons were a slow, unbroken graze. A handful of almonds at my desk, a biscuit with a cup of coffee, a few crackers while I answered an email, a square of chocolate because it was there. I never sat down to any of it, never really tasted it, and never once thought …
An office worker in Bologna at 12:45pm closes his laptop, walks to a small trattoria three minutes from his building, and sits down at a table. He orders the menu of the day. He eats his lunch sitting in a chair at a table with cutlery, conversation with the waiter and other regulars, and approximately …
An American sits down in a small trattoria in Florence, scans the menu, and asks the waiter for chicken pasta. The waiter’s face does something complicated. There is no chicken pasta on the menu, and in most of Italy there never has been. The dish that half of America thinks of as Italian food, a …
The Italian kitchen functions on a set of small habits that most Americans never learn. None of them are technically difficult. None of them require special equipment. They are simply embedded in Italian cooking culture in ways they are not embedded in American cooking culture, and the cumulative effect across thousands of meals is the …
The plates have been cleared for half an hour. The coffee cups are empty, one glass of wine is going warm, and nobody at the table has made any move to leave. In an American restaurant a waiter would have dropped the check by now, twice. Here, in a small place in a Spanish town, …
On Tuesday mornings, Susan does the Mercado Central run: two kinds of tomatoes, a bag of clementines, whatever fish the woman at stall 87 says is good, and a coffee standing up on the way out, all of it for less than the parking would have cost at her old supermarket in Ohio. Susan is …
Watch the evening paseo in any Spanish town and you will see them. Women in their sixties in pressed linen, walking arm in arm at a pace they could hold for hours, faces lined but somehow light. Men the same age in proper shoes, straight-backed, arguing about football with their hands. We see it every …
By the middle of July our kitchen here becomes a room you pass through, not one you linger in. The afternoon sun hits the west wall around four and the place holds the heat like a clay oven long after the light has gone. Lighting a burner in there feels like a small act of …
In Impruneta, a terracotta town in the hills south of Florence, the beef arrives almost black. It has spent four hours in a pot with red wine and an amount of black pepper that looks like a typing error, and it went into that pot raw. No searing, no crust, no thermometer. Every American beef …
An American friend stayed with us for a week last summer and said the thing out loud that a lot of visitors only think. She had not snacked once since arriving, and she could not work out why. At home she grazed all day, a handful of something here, a bar in the car, a …
In the spring of 2025, the share of Europeans holding a positive opinion of the United States fell to 29 percent, down from 47 percent the previous autumn. That is one of the sharpest drops Eurobarometer has ever measured across a single winter, and by last November the European Council on Foreign Relations found that …