Time is so present in Italian life. It’s slower, it's more visceral, it's more powerful.
This is not an uncommon observation about Italy from an outsider's perspective, but that's because it seems to be true. It's easy to romanticize it, along with the beautiful buildings and beautiful people and beautiful scenery, but after two months of living here, I do think that there's something special in the way Italians live. I know I'm generalizing and have my own biases, but my American brain is in awe of the inner workings of Italian time. I love that there’s always time for a leisurely lunch between friends. There’s time to roll your own cigarettes and smoke them (sadly). There’s time to care about your wine and olive oil and where and whom they come from. The time of day is marked by a the enjoyment of a beverage: cappuccino, lunch wine, caffè, aperitivo, and everything in between. Even the hiking signs are in hours and minutes instead of the logical kilometrage.
In the US, time is a commodity that is stretched thin—in Italy, it is stretched out because it’s so valuable. In the last two months, I have moved beyond merely observing daily life in Perugia to exploring the more specialized, rural, and dedicated food producers in Umbria. At each visit to a small farmer/food producer, I have seen the ways in which the past is ever-present in their lives. From the locations and ways that the land was cultivated to the methods of production, history and tradition permeate the modern way of life.
While touring two seemingly different olive oil mills a couple weeks ago, I was struck by the similarities between them: attention to the process, care for the land, and pride in the product. The first is old, traditional, familial, and small: "WE are tradition, and THEY are innovation" they said before we left for the second mill. This was true upon first glance, as the buildings are modern, the branding is colorful, the products are more diversified, and the people are younger; however, after learning about this company that "honors the past but still innovates" I realized they have much more in common than they think. Their connections to the past run deep, and they share the fundamental value of honoring and preserving tradition today.
Tradition vs Innovation
But can tradition and the past constrain the present and the future? Marta from Zafferano e dintorni shared that her family only was able to bring saffron to the area once they convinced their neighbors that it was worthwhile and part of the area's tradition. Only after they found an ancient text that reported saffron in the area could they make it worth their time to revive. It seems innovation and change can only happen in certain settings—either because it actually mirrors history or because it isn't all that different. On one hand, I find this and all the rules of production so limiting, and my inner-American is screaming for some freedom. Yet on the other, I see how quality and diversity in food varieties are perceived as things of the past that we need to cling to and nourish. The fear of the takeover of the industrial food system is quite vivid. Is growing ancient varieties of apples and harvesting saffron a crucial last stronghold against the tyranny of the giant corporations and industrial farms? Is growing saffron as much a political stance as it is about producing a spice? Is the past being used as a weapon against the future?
Saffron can only be grown with the help of man
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