Travel with me to Parma! Part I.
Italian beauty secrets. An "Oriental specialty." Pumpkin jam. Problematic packaging.
In a stroke of good fortune I was sent this past week to Parma, Italy, to write a story for the New York Times Magazine. Bless those dear, trusting, tragically naive (just kidding) editors.
The story is a secret. Even if it weren’t, there are obstacles to surmount before I could share it. For example, writing the story. The writing of the story has not been achieved. In order to write the story I must first transcribe 17 hours of tape and type 45 pages of scrawled notes that look like Cy Twombly canvases. On top of that, there’s another Parmesan story to write for a different section of the newspaper. (“Parmesan” is the correct word for “of Parma,” which is: satisfying.)
I’ll climb those mountains tomorrow.
But today is Sunday, and what could be cheerier than typing some notes and baubles that are irrelevant to the pieces but too sparkly not to share?
A warning: initially I wrote too much and Substack’s template reproached me for lengthiness, so I will divide the Parma Post into two parts. Part I will concern beauty and food. Part II will gallop through style, shopping, and the dialectic of Italian femininity.
Facciamo festa!
THE BEAUTY SECTION
Welcome to the beauty section. We begin here because Italians are gluttons for beauty, which they worship in all forms. Cheap thrills are no less exhilarating than expensive ones— and fortunately for visitors, opportunities for both abound.
Before flouncing into observations and acquisitions, I’d like to make one plea. Ladies, we’ve got to stop fetishizing French pharmacies and turn our rapacious eyes to the Italian Medi-Mart. There’s gold in them aisles…
This perfume is called ARROGANCE: FOR HER. Unimpeachable name, A+. Unfortunately the juice disappoints—it is a generic muddle of florals and citrus, really a discredit to the whole concept of Arrogance.
True olfactory arrogance would go hard on indol and civet mixed with 1 iota of frangipani and 2 iotas of champagne. The frangipani/champagne would offer a spritz of glamour destined to melt swiftly into nastiness—the equivalent of a brand-new fur coat loosely belted over an unwashed nude body.
That is my amateur fragrance brief for ARROGANCE: FOR HER, version 2.0. Feel free to run with it if you’ve got the skills and materials!
Italian body care products cut straight to the chase.
“PUPA MAN”
“Barry Lyndon”-scented perfume. Whiffs of leather, vetiver, arnica.
Here we have croissant-flavored “shower milk.” Italians love gourmand fragrances. Give them an eau de parfum flavored like pistachio torte and they will cloak themselves in a mist of dessert while yelping “Mamma mia!” (Which they really do yelp, by the way—similar to how the French really do coo “Oh la la.” It’s an admirable fidelity to stereotype.)
The above kit was part of a “Breakfast Lovers” collection by the brand Pupa that also included products in toast-flavor (!) , orange juice, oat milk, and cappuccino. It seems that you can buy them online here but I imagine you’d be paying a dire premium what with shipping and exchange rates.
That said, the Euro IS rather weak these days…and some of the kits come wrapped in temptingly eccentric little backpacks…
“Pasta & Love” scented shaving cream. No notes.
I’m no patchouly [sic] queen, but this was tempting. I am unsure if the packaging is problematic or what. “I am unsure if it is problematic or what” is, incidentally, my #1 criterion for cool packaging.
Proof of Italian insanity.
THE FOOD SECTION
Let’s applaud this ratio of wine-to-food.
Memphis Milano-themed chocolate dessert disc.
Chocolate sardines. Low in protein, B12, calcium. A poor source of omega-3 fatty acids. Consume often.
Don’t you think cappuccino, brioche, and cornetti make a clever breakfast? They leave you sugared up, electrified with carbs, ready to devastate the day.
Don’t you want to snuggle up beneath these diaphanous pink blankets and rest your weary head upon a plump yellow pillow?
Don’t you want to gobble a rustic torte de mele?
Don’t you want to make gelato with an oar?
Gelato in a black square bowl: intolerably chic. The right angles of the frame contrast fruitfully with the blobular form of gelato. Let’s all buy square black bowls on the count of three.
At lunch we were given a choice of toppings: Grand Marnier, Chartreuse, Borsci, rum balls, chocolate balls, zabaglione. I requested Borsci because I’d never heard of it—and was not disappointed. Here’s what I know: the tag line is “a meditation liqueur for your moments of relax.”
Here’s what I don’t know: anything else. The bottle yielded few clues. Printed in elaborate type was the phrase Specialità Orientale (Oriental Specialty), along with the double-headed eagle that symbolizes Albania. Hmm! And yet it is an Italian product.
Flavorwise, I was getting orange, cinnamon, chocolate (a combination that uncannily adds up to “Coca-Cola”)—plus Bay Leaf? And bitter herbs? A more refined palate than mine could disaggregate the notes, but there’s no need—they harmonize beautifully.
I plan to buy some and serve it in a tiny chalice over ice. The website also suggests adding a glug to coffee, or—if you reside in “one of the cooler regions”—stirring a spoonful into warm milk. Perhaps you’ll try a sip with me.
Above right: Homemade pumpkin preserves. These appeared at the lunch table of an Italian physics professor who kindly provided 3 hours of euphoric degustation.
The pumpkin jam is simply a genius condiment. Honeyed, earthy. It makes you feel like a garden worm orally muscling your way through a fresh sweet gourd.
I had not seen or heard of pumpkin preserves before discovering it on the professor’s table, where it was sparingly dolloped on cheese. Now it must be recreated. This recipe seems promising, though I’d reduce the sugar and nix the cloves—according to the professor, you want to be tasting pure geosmin-laced Essence of Pumpkin. No spice. No distraction.
One other tweak is: I’d use kabocha squash instead of pumpkin, only because kabocha is far more reliable in the U.S. The Italian pumpkins (zucche) he used had a ghostly flesh—almost “glow-in-the-dark” color—and flaming interior.
Still at the professor’s table… waiting for my cheeses to join hands and dance in a circle.
The tempting rectangle at bottom is a semolina cake soaked in almond syrup and sandwiching a layer of quince jam. The brownian blob is a baba rhum.
Thank you for tumbling through this charming region with me. Part II will follow soon.
If you’re Parma-curious, note that flights and Airbnbs are not terribly expensive in January/February/March. And the tourist presence is minimal. Both the low-ish cost and absence-of-tourists may be due to cold weather, which is laughably temperate if you’re accustomed to East Coast winters. We’re talking 40 degrees and sunny. Bring a coat, a scarf, a pair of thermal tights. Hot coffee and fiery aperitifs will do the rest.