In Coppede - whimsy let loose

I stumbled across Coppede quite by accident. I was hurrying to work. I got off the number 3 tram on Piazza Buenos Aires and thought I'd take a short cut rather than double back along Viale Regina Margherita. I'd turn down Via Tagliamento and cut across the back streets to Via Serchio where I gave lessons in a rather imposing villa with a large garden. It looked more like a private residence than a private school.

I turned the corner from Viale Regina Margherita into Via Tagliamento, strode past a church and walked into another world. Two enormous turreted dark grey stone buildings stood before me. At their foot was a make-shift parking lot with cars parked messily next to each other interspersed with motorbikes and scooters leaning precariously - a nudge, a strong gust of wind and they would teeter to the ground.

An arch spanned over the road and linked the buildings. A dark iron chandelier dangled down from the centre of the arch. I felt as if I'd walked onto the set of a horror movie, a kind of Gothic noir with a mad woman screaming in the rafters or maybe David Bowie in vampire drag sleeping in a coffin high up in the turret. So I wasn't surprised (after a bit of research) to learn that the horror meister himself, Dario Argento, had used the area in two of his films as had other directors such as Richard Donner, Carlo Vanzina and Francesca Barilli. 

I discovered that these two imposing buildings were the Palazzi degli Ambasciatori (Ambassadors Palaces). In a trance I inched closer to the arch, away from Via Tagliamento unwittingly towards the heart of the area. I passed on my right a statue Madonna con Bambino (Madonna with child). Under the arch I paused to gaze up at the black chandelier.

Two large windows at the back of the arch opened onto an apartment. I could see a large portrait of a woman. e watching the passers-by.

The heart of the area is Piazza Mincio with its central Fontana delle Rane (Fountain of the Frogs - 12 in total - constructed in 1924). The fountain has had its fifteen minutes of fame. The Beatles upon leaving  the nearby Piper Club decided to have some fun and jumped into it.
The Piper Club (owned by sixties diva, Patty Pravo) has been a bone of contention over the years with residents of Coppede claiming that music and associated vibrations have caused damage to the edifices.

Radiating out in all directions from that central fountain are the amazing, slightly demented buildings that make up the area.

But what had Gino Coppede, its architect, been thinking? The area is a mixture of Gothic, Baroque, Art Deco and Liberty with some added Medieval notes and Greek references.  Gino Coppede has been called the Italian Gaudi. A Florentine, he worked most notably in Genoa and Messina. In fact his style is known as style Coppede - it reached its apex here in Rome in a few blocks, comprising around forty structures (villas, buildings and a fountain), built between 1915 and his death ,of lung cancer,in 1927. His son-in-law, the architect Paolo Emilio André completed the project.

The Coppede style has been described as a fusion. Or as the 'Corriere di Genoa' of 1908 said: " he (Coppede) takes the best of what he finds, plays with the different architectural styles and melds them together in his own unique way."

Fontana delle Rane

Although it is referred to as a Quartiere  (an administrative district) it isn't one. It belongs to a larger, affluent area called Parioli.

Most Romans refer to the area as Quartiere Coppede after the architect who created it.

Today I stand beside the central fountain on Piazza Mincio and I walk around it. Its at the centre of a roundabout and cars and scooters rush by, its drivers oblivious or innured to what surrounds them.

On one side there's the 'Palazzo del Ragno' so-called because of the large creepy black spider painted above its entrance. Above the spider, a large stone face gazes out impassively, eyes dead.

Facing this is another key Coppede attraction the Villini delle Fate (Villas of the fairies). Seahorses adorn the wrought iron gates. The facade is decorated with painted scenes - references to Dante and Petrarch - and a nod to the architect's Tuscan origins. On the other side are the Palazzi degli Ambasciatori dark and oppressive, huge stone masses that dwarf the whimsical folly that is the small moss covered fountain by which i stand. 

 The area scares and delights in equal measure. Stone faces and monsters glare out from the facades. I am reminded of the horror classic starring Clare Bloom, "Hill House", I can but imagine inside the 'Palazzo degli Ambasciatori' endless corridors that go nowhere, obtuse corners and dull thudding noises that no one wants to hear in the middle of the night, and people being swallowed up by the vast stone edifices.

Yet, in direct juxtaposition, stand the Villas of the Fairies - cute seahorses and colourful painted Tuscan facades, as if to conjure away the darkness of the buildings which face them.





Seahorses

Gino Coppede was inspired by so many genres. He fused them into his unique style. It lives on today, utterly extraordinary in Rome. A little detour away from the beauties of ancient Rome, a trip into Parioli is all it takes to see and admire and shiver at his truly unique vision.

Fontana delle Rane



Rice Tales

There's no good rice in Italy, I would moan. It was all pizza and pasta. I would stock up my backpack with Camargue wild rice and packs of Uncle Ben's long grain. As far as I was concerned Italian rice was sticky and gloopy and best left alone.I had of course completely forgotten childhood dishes of ossobuco with its delicious saffron coloured creamy rice.

Uncle Ben's was a favourite because it really did cook as indicated by the instructions on the packet. However, with the passage of time it dawned on me that in a country which thrived on a selection of two types of first course namely pasta-based or rice-based, there had to be some pretty good quality rice about the place. There was.

The flat foggy plains of Padania, fiefdom of the Lega Nord (Northern League - a nationalist political party) were full of the stuff, as were the foothills of the Alps and the lowlands of the Veneto. Rice was everywhere.

And of every kind. There were the Arborio and Carnaroli types, both good for risottos though it seemed the Arborio type was the best for optimal mantecatura. There was the Roma type (for salads), Baldi and Ribe, as well as Nero Venere and others. The more I looked the more there were. Riso Gallo (the cockerel) is the brand which seems to dominate the market.

The most obvious uses of rice are for the risottos which can go from the plain bianco (cooked in broth with butter and parmesan to finish) to far more complex dishes containing meat and vegetables or maybe with shaved truffles on top, from family cooking to higher end gourmet dishes.
Just as long as the rice isn't scotto, over-cooked (ie a mushy mess) all is well.

Key to a successful risotto is the final mantecatura. That final addition of butter which melts into the just done rice to give it that perfect creamy texture. I watched, fascinated, as a TV chef demonstrated the procedure. The rice had been absorbing broth in time honoured fashion for the required 15 to 20 minutes with the requisite amount of stirring, now was the time for the final touch.

He slashed a corner of butter (btw Italian butter is no way as good as French butter) and dropped it into the pipping hot rice. It melted in seconds, he deftly seized the skillet and jerked it back and forth creating a wave (un onda). It was a thing of beauty. The white rice rose upwards along the edge of the skillet and fell back in a perfect wave as the the butter was mixed into the wet rice. He shook the skillet again and the rice obeyed in picture perfect mode.


Attempts to repeat the move in my own kitchen have been less than perfect. Firstly, the skillet is too heavy so I have to seize it with two hands which limits mobility. And while the wave will rise it rarely falls where it's supposed to. I'm happy with a wavelet, a ripple on the pond of my rice. The taste is aways great.

Rice isn't only for risottos (surely the plural should be risotti?), it is also the star in Roman suppli's (balls of rice with a mozzarella centre), in Sicilian arancine (orange-sized deep-fried balls of rice stuffed with fresh peas, or ragu and cheese) and various types of timballi (moulded rice cakes stuffed with vegetables, cheese and meat) such as the Neapolitan Sartu, usually served on special occasions. In the summer, cold rice salads (made with the appropriate salad rice) served with pickled vegetables (giardiniera) are curiously popular.

Timballo di riso e melanzane

Risotto con romanesca

Unreasonable

I've been in Italy a long time. I should be used to it. And yet...
Daily life can sometimes be an exercise in frustration, a daily banging my head against the wall at the sheer lack of logic, lack of practicality which is endemic. But is it only in Italy? I've been here close on 20 years so maybe I've lost perspective.

This past month has seen the widespread condemnation of the actress Asia Argento for bravely opening up about her personal contact with an American monster/ogre/whatever-you-want, a man who used his position to use and abuse. It was a classic case of shaming the victim whipped into a frenzy by the Italian media and making pundits out of the general public. The victim was responsible for what had happened to her seemed to be a widespread opinion. And it was hard to tell whether it was the men or the women who were more condemnatory.

Likewise, in a less horrifying way, when I decided not to go into the dog park because there was a large male dog who had taken such a dislike to mine that he set on her for no reason, I was told that, in fact, it was my dog's fault. Really? How so? I queried. If she weren't so shy, she wouldn't be attacked was the answer. I was astounded. I pictured the last violent encounter, when my dog had rolled onto her back in the classic surrender pose and the other dog had continued regardless, nipping at her exposed belly. So, it was in fact yet again the victim's fault.

Italians don't shy away from speaking up or making a fuss. They protest regularly: en masse. Demonstrations are a feature of living in Italy. Not a week goes by without one. But actually sticking up for a principal, sticking to ones guns in the face of adversity, effectively fighting continual unjustified price hikes, making teachers in state institutions accountable for their actions, getting rid of a plague like system of 'raccomandazione' which sees people get jobs through connections rather than on merit regardless of their ability to do the job.. well, no, that just isn't the done thing.

Asking too many questions makes one liable, it would seem, it makes one into a target for the bullies. And, they're everywhere. Curiously,, when I first came to Italy,  I was told that bullying didn't exist in Italian schools. I was incredulous. It just turned out that while it definitely existed it wasn't mentioned. Part of the, 'if you don't talk  about it, it doesn't exist' mentality that permeates all strata of life.

Don't query your child's grades for fear that his teacher will take it out on  him. Don't ask why the condominium fee has gone up by 30% because it may go up even more as a 'punishment', don't ask why you have to pay for a TV licence when the digital signal doesn't work so you can't get state TV, don't ask why the workers doing 'obligatory' work in your flat are not liable should they botch the job, but you are.... Don't ask. Don't become visible. Stay a victim of an unreasonable system. That's what you signed up for.
So unreasonable. But isn't it so everywhere?