Constant Craving

I would have betrayed my cappucino in a heartbeat this morning with a steaming hot slice of southern white cornbread.  Not an ideal breakfast choice, I know.  Food cravings always hit you at the wrong time.

I'm in a land of cappucino and croissants, espresso and biscotti.  Don't get me wrong, I love Italian breakfasts.  But every now and then the Southern part of me wants to come out and play.  I get incredulous stares from Italian friends when I start talking about grits and eggs, bacon or sausage links, steaming hot pancakes with butter and pure maple syrup (none of that fake stuff for me), or fluffy, buttery biscuits overflowing with grape jelly.  Usually the first thing they want to know is 'What is a grit?'  

When I first came over to Italy ten years ago, I went into shock.  (Apart from the fact that I didn't know a word of Italian).  Yes, Italy has prociutto, but where the heck was real bacon?  A 'grit' was nowhere to be found, high or low.  I had to make do with yellow polenta, which cooked up yellow cornbread.  I was making Cornbread with Yellow Polenta.  Utter despair.  Grape jelly?  Niente.  In a country with grape vines growing out of armpits, or so it seemed, there wasn't a decent grape jelly to be had.  (side note:  Italian women do not shave their armpits.  They could have all manner of fruit growing in them).   I nearly swooned when my mother-in-law said that milk was sold only in UHT boxes.  No fresh milk, you say?  Where had I followed my husband to, 1950s post-war Italy?? 

That was ten years ago.  Now, I can find bacon at a german supermarket.  During the winter months, I stock up on white polenta.   I searched long and hard, and found it in an African market.  (God bless us immigrants).  They're not grits, but hey, I can pretend.  I tried my hand at making my own grape jelly, but wasn't satisfied with the results.  So I use strawberry jam, and tell myself that it's close enough to grape.  I found yellow sweet potatoes just three years ago.  Yellow corn, too (corn is fed to the pigs here.  My mother-in-law thought we were nuts eating corn on the cob).  Lo and behold, a jar of all-natural peanut butter showed up at the supermarket five years ago.  See?  I just needed a few years of patience.  In the meantime I hit up relatives via USPS for Jell-o, fruit loops, fig newtons, chips ahoy.....

All this to say, that living in a country that you weren't born or raised in is a challenge, even on a good day.  And the cravings all show up on the bad days...

I could have sworn this morning that my cappucino tasted mildly of cornbread.