Jeanseria?

You can't be in Rome long without knowing that the suffix "ia" refers to a shop or business that does what the prefix says.  Well, it's a bit more complicated than that, but not much.  Hence the Caffeteria Porta Furba refers to a place where you can get coffee near Porta Furba, out Tuscolano way. (And, unlike English, which puts the accent in the related word, cafeteria, on the second e, the accent in caffeteria in ALL these words (including trattoria, please) is on the 'i', but it's pronounced 'ee'.)

The same place is a Cornetteria (referring to the most common Rome pastry, a cornetto) and a Gastronomia (you can get food there; the prefix "gastro," seldom used in English except for doctor's appointments, refers to the digestive tract and now the trendy name "gastropub").

Everyone knows that an Osteria is a low-end restaurant, but may not know that the word actually defines an inn, where there's a host (an old-fashioned "ostia").

A trattoria is usually a step above an osteria.  In this case, the establishment is also a pizzeria and a birreria (beer, "birra" in Italian, is available).

Food shoppers will likely be familiar with the local "salumeria" (which sells salumi (salami, which may or may not be a related word, and which also describes a delicatessen or a pork-butcher shop, as the logo suggests).  A "norcineria" is more specifically a place where butchered pork is sold - pork in the classic style of Norcia, the Umbrian town whose name is given to this method of traditional pork products.

A "sartoria" is a tailor's shop (and the sign "sartorie" suggests there's more than one person doing the sewing).

The local tabaccheria sells tobacco products and matches and may recharge your phone.

But here's the thing.  It's OK to make up new words with the "ia" suffix, even if the prefix is in English.  Here's an example, from the town of Rocca di Papa in the Alban Hills. At the Jeanseria, you can buy....JEANS!

Bill

Buona Giornata

First, a primer: buon giorno is "good day" or "good morning"; buona giornata is "have a good day," or "have a good one," or "have a nice day."  I can remember, or think I can, when clerks in the US started saying "have a nice day."  I thought then it was cloying and artificial and excessive, and though I've grown used to the phrase, it still grates on me.  I can't speak for Dianne, but I do know that she doesn't use "have a good day" in the States but has recently taken to using "buona giornata" in Rome, and merchants seem to respond well to it. 

The coffee cup combo in the photo, provided the bar by a major Rome milk distributor, takes "buona giornata" to a new level--indeed, takes possession of the phrase and offers it back:  "Sponsor Ufficiale della BUONA GIORNATA: Official sponsor of 'have a nice day.'" All, I hope, with a sense of irony--but even then I don't like it.
Bill

Language Encounters of the the 3rd Kind: Calzoni & una Moglie Ubriaca

Italians are believed to be more tolerant than the French (but then that isn't saying much) in dealing with tourists eager to put newfound language skills to work.  Intrepid traveler and guest blogger Allen Beroza, a retired attorney from Buffalo, New York, put the theory to the test in a pair of encounters, the first in Florence, the second at a Rome restaurant not far from the Spanish Steps. 

Piazza Sant Croce, from in front of the building housing
the Scuola Toscana language school

While attending language school in Florence I discovered a pizzeria located right on the Piazza del Duomo featuring calzone that looked absolutely delectable.  Unable to stop and partake on my first visit, I came back a couple of afternoons later.  Alas, the calzone were all sold out!  Something in me wouldn't let it go.

"Che peccato!" ("What a shame!) I moaned loudly.

Yup, said ye old proprietor, a touch gruffly I thought, they were all gone.

"Sono stato qui due giorni fa" I continued ("I was here two days ago")...

No response in particular...

w I really decided to gild ye old lily, so I said, only partly in jest, "E da due giorni penso dei suoi calzoni" ("And for two days I've been thinking about your calzones...")

Calzone goes
into basement oven

Still nothing.

"Sogno dei suoi calzoni!" ("I've been dreaming about your calzones!")

Oh well, it was just not to be  After all, what could he do?  I actually didn't think there was anything.  My daughter and I trudged away.

A triumphant Beroza, with calzone

When lightning struck, Italian style.  Customers came out of the shop, shouting for us to return.  Ye old prop had decided to make me up a custom calzone.  Though he was the only one tending the pizzeria he left the shop semi-full of customers and took me downstairs, where it turned out he had a full kitchen replete with stacked pizza ovens.  He asked me what I wanted in my calzone, kneaded the dough, loaded it up, popped it in an oven and told me it'd be a few minutes. 

Back upstairs none of his customers who'd been waiting seemed fazed by any of this.

As for me, gotta confess I got a thrill from the exchange, not so much from the calzone.

Via Sistina, looking up toward the top of the Spanish Steps

A little less than a week later I was part of a group of five people looking for a restaurant in Rome on a Saturday night.  We found a likely looking spot on via Sistina called "La Botte" and we went in.

Now this was my first night in Rome, and I was in just a fine frame of mind.  I must tell you that I had been told that Italians have a marvelously colorful way of saying "I want to have my cake and eat it, too."  They say "I want to have a full cask AND a drunken wife!"

And guess what?  "La botte" means "cask" in Italian.

OK, then, as two young waiters and a busboy escorted us to our table I had to try it.  I shouted out "Voglio avere una botte piena..." ("I want to have a full cask...") then paused for a beat before continuing--loudly and in unison with our dining room crew!---"e una moglie ubriaca!"  We instantly became favored customers, swarmed with attention and recommendations throughout our meal, which concluded with grappa on the house all around. 

Allen Beroza

Let's "Chattare" Redux

In my "Let's 'chattare'" post, of March 29, I wanted to put in more about "show girls" and Berlusconi. There are so many English language words used whenever the media writes about the Italian Prime Minister and his escapades with scantily-clad young (often too young) women.

But I only made a brief mention of "show girl" because I found myself tripping up over "veline" (and sometimes I have seen "velini" - which seems like it should be masculine plural) and "showgirls". I couldn't figure out the difference - though obviously one word is Italian and one is American (I won't even deign to say "English"). So, I asked our Roman friend and linguist, Massimo. I love his answer and repeat it with his permission:

"I will do the best I can to clarify this subtle and unfortunate neologism: the singular of "veline" is "velina" and usually it is a girl (not many "velini" around - TV biz is a sexist world). It's a girl usually very attractive but not always (or necessarily) talented. A "showgirl" is a sort of umbrella term to mean a young woman that either hosts a show, or can dance and/or sing (rarely decently enough). There is NO way, in my opinion, that these persons can reach their "artistic" goals w/o hitting TV producers' (or politicians') beds or sofas first.

"Today, we tend to define "veline" as all the girls who "want to be on TV" and attend various shows w/o being particularly talented. But after all, hasn't one of them become a minister of the Italian government?

"The word "velina" re-entered our everyday vocabulary a few years ago, with a TV program called "Striscia la notizia" (a semi-serious TV news, which is still going strong). Scantily clad skating girls would bring the news to the anchors written on a thin sheet of paper: a "velina". "Carta velina" is the kind of paper that we used for carbon copies in the pre-PC era.

"During the Fascist ventennio (decades), "veline" were the copies of the official version of the news that circulated in the Department of Propaganda - and that's the origin of the word: according to the screenwriters of the program that was supposed to be ironic and funny."

I told you he was a linguist! And just today Bill and I were listening to a somewhat dated Italian news report on Berlusconi's problems last year with the scantily clad and maybe underage, and likely paid... prost... well, make that again young women. And in the newscast were English words imported into the Italian, such as "mission", "scup" (as in "scoop"), "gossip", "topmanager", "first lady"... to mention a few!

Dianne

Let's "chattare": Is the Italian language losing it?

It's a bit scary for me to take on the Italians' adoption of other languages into their own.

All languages do this (witness "disco" from "discotheque" - even tho' our daughter-in-law [really, probably both of them] childes us that "disco" is passé (there you go, another one from the French!), and the word is now "club" - in many languages). And, we in the U.S. are particularly good at turning verbs into nouns and vice-versa. My favorite, from a local sports announcer (you have to be an American football fan to understand this one): "the team first-downed." You can catch an older post from the Constructive Curmudgeon on this last turn (ho ho) of events.

The Italians seem to be especially good at absorbing other languages. Some of this seems healthy for the language. We like, for example, the Italian use of the word "vernissage," which is a bit like "lagniappe" for New Orleanians [which means a little something extra - like the 13th donut in a baker's dozen]. "Vernissage" is (usually) an opening, such as an art opening, with something extra - wine and cheese, beer if it's at the British School, a full spread in some cases. And, because we love these "extras," we like the word "vernissage." I don't think it has a plural in Italian.

Or the word, "kermesse." While it supposedly means "festival," I think the closest meaning is a "happening" [I know that's old and cold too] or "event." From the Dutch, it appears. I'm told we English-speakers use it too; I've only encountered it in Italy.

But... (and here she goes), "CHATTA" for "CHAT"?? I searched the site of one of Italy's major newspapers, La Repubblica and found the use of "chatta" for "chatting" on the Internet, etc., goes back there 10 years. The ad above, for the Italian telecom company that is promoting its wireless service, says "Luca chats with his friends and drinks a coffee."

I can take "club" (pron. "cloob" - like, hmm, boob). But "Show girl" for, well, "show girl" (witness the recent stories about Berlusconi's candidates for political office)? "lo stress" for "stress"? "il weekend" for "the weekend"?

And, it really bugs me that yahoo.it caved in to "mappa" for "map," when the Italian word is - or should I say was - "carta" (as in "paper" or "chart" - the way we use "cartographer").

There's also the consumer industry appropriating terms - such as the Fonz, from Happy Days, illustrated at right.

I recall our friend Patrizio N. was keeping a list. And I really should have checked in with his list first. But I'll just throw this post out there and see if some of you want to add particularly odd usages to the list.

And, to close the post, I'll throw in "aperitivo panty", which you may recall from a post almost a year ago - a photo from our local (coffee) bar - at right. (And, yes, I know, "aperitif" is often used in the U.S.)

Ciao all, and let's drink to that - preferably a cappuccino.

Dianne