By / IRENE TORTORELLA
When it comes to moving abroad as well as the obvious practical tasks – like sorting out work permit, taxes, insurance, licenses and all the other necessary paperwork, there’s also a whole host of personal issues to deal with. While moving to Seoul, going back to Calabria, moving again to The Hague and now to London, I experienced feelings like loneliness, homesickness, exhaustion and sometimes even frustration.
Such feeling of dissatisfaction often occurs when my expectations about food are not met. I still cannot understand why, at various supermarkets abroad, it’s not illegal to sell soft wheat pasta and cheese powder called “parmesan” that tastes just like dust and salt.
The only conceivable nationalism is culinary: as an Italian, wherever I am, I demand my 100 grams of origin al pasta, at least once a day. In The Hague I had just to choose between Lidl and Albert Hejin, always considering my small Erasmus student grant, here in London the wide choice of retailers – and a higher reimbursement for my placement – put me in a situation to consider my options.
I didn’t go to the dogs yet – like Orwell in his brilliant book set in Paris and London – but until the day I’ll have a conspicuous wage I would never shop at Waitrose. Also, I’ve got the luck to live close to a huge Morrisons store, whose “M Savers” value range is, in my personal opinion, the best quality/price one. British supermarket chains seem to suit all the budgets. Asda “Chosen by you” fusilli (500 g) is just 50 pence, Sainsbury’s olive oil (1-liter) is a little more than 3.50 pounds and Tesco Everyday Value chopped tomatoes (400 g.) is around 30 pence.
I cannot say much about English white-labeled ready meals because my only experience with them was Easter Sunday in Reading. My boyfriend’s Sicilian great-uncle moved to this lovely English town after the Second World War and gave birth to a family branch with Italian blood but absolutely void of Italian taste. I’ve never spent an Easter craving food like that and that is because an Italian, even if starved to death, will never eat frozen Iceland food on a National holiday. Once back home I put my craving on hold for 15 minutes, the time needed to set up delicious pasta with organic dried tomatoes from Sainsbury.
England is a very good country when you are not hungry. Weather is not that bad and the British accent became familiar to me just after two months. When I don’t eat I spend most of my time working at a non-profit organization, Asia House, located in a magnificent townhouse in the center of Marylebone. Up to this time North Korea is not going to bomb any capitalistic country, Italy’s policy will continue to make us laugh and cry and Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher died on a day of early spring. Life is going smoothly but I didn’t find out yet how to get filthy rich in this world. Nevertheless I won’t miss today SuperScrimpers show on Channel 4 when Harry Wallop gets to the bottom of the toilet paper market, testing Morrisons, Tesco and Andrex products.
“Well begun is half done”, someone said.