culture – Life In A Word

Wheels of Fortune

Late last year, Belgium found itself at the center of a culinary controversy. A local company was producing and selling a bottled version of “carbonara sauce”, much to the dismay of Italy. The Italians are fiercely protective of the recipe for spaghetti carbonara they invented a hundred years ago. Anyone familiar with the dish understands there is no such thing as carbonara sauce, because the food is the result of a slow, methodical process using fresh ingredients (including eggs and cheese), where everything melds together perfectly. You can’t just bottle it and call it the same thing.

Carbonara is a good example of a product invented in Italy and dumbed down for mass consumption. Imagine how the Italians feel about Starbucks. Somewhere on the menu you can order a shot of pure espresso but it’s the drinks with the added flavors, sugar, and milk that generate the profits. Similarly, you’ll find a dozen packages of biscotti on America’s cookie aisles, but most aren’t twice-baked like the originals nor infused with real almond liquor.

Maybe you’ve already added pizza to this list of imposters. The transformation of pizza from the Italian original to the endless varieties offered in today’s restaurants could be the subject of its own blog post (and a long one at that). Suffice it to say, the Italians are justified in turning up their noses to any product we Americans call “pizza”. Unless you’ve had a pie made with authentic Italian ingredients and prepared the same way they made it centuries ago, you really don’t know pizza.

But let’s talk about cheese, because it’s the real subject of today’s post. Parmesan cheese is another Italian original, dating back to the Middle Ages. It’s made with just three ingredients: milk, salt, and rennet (enzymes). Today you can choose from a variety of parmesan cheeses in your supermarket deli or just cheat with the big green Kraft can from the pasta aisle (which includes several added ingredients you wouldn’t be happy about). But whether from the deli or from a can, you’re not purchasing the Italian original… unless, the package includes the official logo of Parmigiano Reggiano. That, my friends, indicates the real deal. Or, if you prefer, the “big cheese”.

Parmigiano Reggiano (shall we call it “PR” from here on out? Yes, let’s do that.) is one of the most tightly regulated foods in the world. Maybe the Italians got tired of losing control of their original recipes and declared, “Uh-uh, not this one”. PR is made from milk, salt, and rennet just like the other wannabes, but with two important differences. The cows that provide two of those three ingredients graze on the pristine grass of pastures in a single tiny region of central Italy. The cows, the grass, and the milk they produce are regulated in a way that would make Fort Knox proud. It’s a small, tight supply chain of cheese production with the same quality of centuries ago.

Here’s the other important distinction between PR and the others. It must be aged at least a year (and it’s typically more like two or three) before it can be sold. That requirement gets the cheese to stand alone even more than its carefully-produced ingredients. Why? Because most companies can’t sit around for a year or more waiting for cheese to generate profits while suppliers are demanding payment on the spot. So how do the makers of PR do it? They bank their cheese. Literally.

You know you have a really good cheese when your bank is willing to take it as collateral. Here are the staggering numbers. Italy produces four million wheels of PR a year, distributed throughout the country and the world for sale. (Fact: America is the largest consumer of Parmigiano Reggiano outside of Italy.) But 500,000 of those wheels are held back and “deposited” into a local bank to age, in exchange for the cash necessary to pay the suppliers. PR is of such high quality and so carefully regulated that the banks have agreed to this unique arrangement for generations. Of course, the combined value of those wheels probably helps (well north of $300 million).

If you’d care to know more about this whole cheese-for-money thing, read the article I reference below. More importantly, if you ever come across Italy’s “Cheese Bank”, you’ll probably find the usual ATM’s, tellers, and offices, but at least you’ll know what that big warehouse next door is all about.

Some content sourced from the CNN Business article, “Inside Italy’s secret ‘Cheese Bank’…”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Birthday ‘Berty Bells

I was only fourteen when America celebrated 200 years of independence, but I remember it well. The U.S. Mint reproduced the quarter, half-dollar, and dollar coins in the birthday’s honor, with “1776-1976” across the bottom of each face. The quarter held the image of a Colonial drummer on the flip side, while the half-dollar went with Independence Hall and the dollar the Liberty Bell. Now, with America’s Semiquincentennial just two months away, maybe a visit to the Liberty Bell is in order. And you don’t even have to make the pilgrimage to Philadelphia to see it.

As a reminder of America’s 250th birthday, the Liberty Bell is more relevant than ever. The original was cast with the Bible verse Proclaim LIBERTY Throughout all the Land unto all the Inhabitants thereof, and cracked during one of its first dings. The bell was recast twice, relabeled the “Liberty Bell” in the 1830s, and cracked yet again sometime after that. All these years later the crack has come to represent our country’s divisiveness; in other words, the perfect symbol of an imperfect union.

I knew about the Liberty Bell’s history but what I didn’t know about was its many replicas. In the 1950s the U.S. Treasury sponsored a drive to purchase savings bonds, and advertised the bonds by commissioning full-scale reproductions of the Liberty Bell. The bells went to each of the 48 states of that time, the territories of Alaska, Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and the U.S. Virgin Islands, and one more each for the District of Columbia and the Treasury Department itself. So depending on where you live today, you might find yourself a lot closer to the Liberty Bell than you think.

The reproductions are true to the original in just about every way, including the size and the weight, the famous crack, and the Pass and Stowe (bell-caster) trademark. You’d expect to find the bells in prominent locations in each state but it’s more of a treasure hunt than that. Some are in museums. Virginia’s is in a fire house near Monticello. North Carolina’s is in a “secure storage facility”. Arizona’s is touring the state for the next several months. And the one at the U.S. Treasury? It is nowhere to be found, supposedly melted down for the value of it’s 2,080 lbs. of bronze.

The replicas were created at the Paccard Foundry in Lac d’Annecy, France (photo courtesy of Paccard Archives/Paccard Foundry via AP)

I like the thought of ringing the (er, ringing “a”) Liberty Bell to usher in America’s Semiquincentennial. A birthday of that significance deserves more than just extra fireworks. The year before the bicentennial, the Los Angeles Times sponsored a trivia contest, seeking the answer to one question for each state over a period of fifty weeks. Think about a trivia contest in the 1970s. No Internet. No email. Each week you had to look up the trivia question in the (paper) newspaper, write the answer on a (paper) form, mail the form to the Times (with an envelope and a stamp), and then hope you got all fifty right by the end of the year, to be entered into a drawing for a cash prize.

North Carolina’s Liberty Bell in the 1950s (photo courtesy of Pryor Emerson Humphrey Photograph Collection/State Archives of North Carolina via AP)

A few determined souls have been trying to visit all of the Liberty Bell replicas well before the onset of America’s 250th. Check out Tom Campbell’s pursuit at tomlovesthelibertybell.com (he’s up to 40), or Zoe Murphy’s pursuit at zlovesamerica.com (39). My respect for these patriots is not so much for the pursuits but more the effort behind them, which suggests they’re focused on America in a good way, an attitude we need more than ever these days.

Every morning after feeding the horses, I head out to the front of the house and hang the American flag. It’s a symbol of unabashed pride, no matter how some of my fellow Americans might see it. 250 years might be young compared to most other countries but the chapters of our history are just as colorful as theirs. I’m hoping all those Liberty Bells sound loud and proud over the next few months… without earning more cracks when all is said and rung.

Some content sourced from the AP News article, “Meet the Liberty Bell fans visiting little-known replicas…”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Key(board) to My Heart

Steinway & Sons produces some of the world’s finest pianos, the same way they’ve built them for the past 150 years. They make each instrument by hand, using career-long craftspeople who pass their skills on to succeeding generations. The company has never moved its headquarters from New York City’s Astoria neighborhood because, well, piano makers are hard to find these days. Kind of like pianos themselves.

Think about it. When was the last time you actually saw a piano? The classic musical instrument used to find a spot in the living rooms of a lot of homes. Nicer homes even had “music rooms”, with a baby grand proudly on display in the middle. The assumption was, these pianos were actually played instead of simply for looks. Playing the piano used to suggest a more refined upbringing. Today they’re a little harder to find.

The piano is considered a “foundational” instrument; that is, a good place to learn to read and play music. Eventually most move on to another musical instrument, be that woodwind, brass, string, or percussion. Not me. I started (and ended) with the piano. A good eight years – second to tenth grade or so – included weekly lessons and monthly recitals, with hours upon hours of practice on our living room grand piano. Even though high school ultimately pulled me into other interests, the piano entered my DNA (as did classical music). It’s part of who I am.

Over the decades since those long-ago lessons, the piano keeps showing up in my life as a reminder of its significance. The year I started college, a movie called The Competition was released, an entire film about piano starring a young Richard Dreyfuss and younger Amy Irving. I still have a copy of the film on DVD. Also in college, I one day wandered into the halls of our school of music to discover a dozen small practice rooms, each with an upright piano. As it turned out, these rooms were open to any student, and so the piano became my escape as I worked through the stresses of an architecture degree.

When I got married, my wife – who couldn’t afford a Steinway back then (and still can’t) – presented me with a Korg digital keyboard. A poor man’s piano if you will, but with the touch and sound of the real thing. Almost forty years later that keyboard still works, sitting quietly upstairs in one of our bedrooms.

Four years ago, as many of you read back then, my wife gave another nod to the keyboard when she gave me the LEGO Grand Piano for Christmas. Building and blogging about that beautiful model one chapter at a time over several months was a captivating adventure, including all of the classical music I re-listened to along the way. The LEGO models I build now will never surpass the Grand Piano, which sits proudly on its own shelf in my home office.

Four years ago also brought me, unexpectedly, my first real piano. My daughter and her family bought a nearby house, where the previous owners left an old, upright Baldwin behind. I found it very sad: a lonely, neglected piano, probably not played for years, inevitably out of tune and in need of repair. So I came to its rescue, hiring a piano mover to get it to our house, and a tuner to restore it to fighting shape. Today that piano sits in our living room. It doesn’t match any of our furniture. It doesn’t get played as often as it should. But it warms my heart just to see it there, and that’s all that really matters.

Recently, the grand piano of my youth resurfaced. It had been sitting in storage for several years, lost among my parents’ many belongings, waiting patiently for another owner. It seemed it would never find another home until – go figure – the Methodist church I grew up in had a need for one. So the piano was wrapped up, trucked up, and placed in the church’s social hall, where it will be restored and played as it was meant to be. To me that feels like the completion one of life’s many circles. The very piano that brought me so much music ends up in the church that brought me so much of a faith life.

Just like my wife, I will never be able to afford a Steinway & Sons masterpiece piano. Neither my budget nor my modest keyboard talent are deserving of such a beautiful instrument. But not to worry. I have my modest Baldwin upright to keep me company. It brings back a lot of keyboard memories. And there are sure to be more.

Some content sourced from the CNN Business article, “How a company from the Gilded Age…”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Happy Days Are Here… Yet Again!

A puff piece is the kind of reporting where the subject matter is rooted in opinion more than it is in fact. It’s “news” to bring out the skeptic in you more than the intellect. Puff pieces run rampant on the Web, like this one from a few weeks back: A Nordic nation is the world’s happiest country… Classic clickbait because you just have to know who tops the list, right? So I did click, and promptly learned this piece was more than just puff.

For the ninth year in a row, Finland is in first place in the World Happiness Report (WHR). That’s first place out of 195 countries – again and again and again. By the kind of coincidence I absolutely adore, I blogged about the WHR exactly nine years ago, when the previous year’s report put Finland in fifth place. Then the Finns got even happier – happiest, in fact – and they’ve stood atop the podium ever since.

I’m a skeptic when it comes to a report that measures something as subjective as happiness. Seriously, who am I to judge if you are happy, dopey, grumpy, or bashful (or even one of Snow White’s dwarfs at all)? But nine years in a row of anything is worth investigating. And darned if the WHR isn’t based on brass facts. The WHR only ranks 147 countries (“only”) because they didn’t get survey responses from anyone in the other 48. But those 147 gave thousands of responses on a 0-10 scale; everything from perceptions of freedom and corruption to feelings of life expectancy and generosity. Then the WHR averaged those scores against surveys from the last two years (to remove the impact of global events like COVID). That formula gives us Finland for the win… again.

I fall for the usual shallow trappings of what makes a person happy. Wealth, I thought; Finland must be a rich country. But in the latest list of Countries by Total Private Wealth, Finland comes in a modest 43rd. Then I thought, power. Power makes you happy. Not so again. The World Population Review of Most Powerful Countries ranks Finland 45th. Finally I thought, fame. Who doesn’t want to be famous? Well, the Finns don’t. Seriously, can you name a famous Finn in any capacity? I can think of just two: Alvar Aalto (architect) and Lasse Virén (Olympic runner).

Finland’s keys to happiness are on an entirely different chain. When you flick through them you realize the Finns are focused on anything but wealth, power, and fame. Finland has an excellent healthcare system for both young and old. The same goes for their education options. A low crime rate. A strong culture of giving back to the community. And here’s a relatively new factor: Limits and safeguards on the amount of time young Finns spend on social media, so they’re encouraged to get out of the house. Go figure; a country well on the way to the Artic Circle has a thriving outdoor life.

In a nutshell, Finland is described as “the best place to lose your wallet” (because your wallet will likely be returned to you, contents intact). If only there was room in that same nutshell for America. Nine years ago the U.S. ranked fourteenth on the World Happiness Report. This year? Twenty-third. That’s right, we’re getting sadder by the year on this side of the pond, in no small part – according to the survey – because we’re ~~addicted~~ devoted to our electronic devices and social media. Or maybe we still haven’t learned the wealth-power-fame lesson.

Because you’re dying to know, Afghanistan came in 147th out of 147 on the World Happiness Report. You can probably blame years of “significant geopolitical conflict” for that. But the pattern in the top ten is where you should focus your attention. Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Iceland, and the Netherlands; all coming in right behind Finland. Easy geography tells you these six are close neighbors on the globe. Is there something in the water that makes them all so happy?

The U.S. better take a lesson from the Nordic nations. Happiness beckons, if we’re willing to use the right ingredients in the recipe. I’ve already conceded next year’s WHR trophy to Finland… again (completing a full decade of “happiest”), but maybe the U.S. should just work on getting back into the top twenty. And the pursuit of a higher ranking should start with looking at life as more than just a puff piece.

Some content sourced from the CNN Travel article, “A Nordic nation is the world’s happiest…”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Your Friendly Coauthor Claude

Replacements, Ltd. is a company that comes to the rescue when you’ve lost a piece of china, crystal, or flatware. For those of us who still care about such things – even if we don’t bring them out but every Christmas and Easter – Replacements somehow finds that elusive Wedgewood tea cup or Lenox water goblet, to restore order to the place settings you put on your wedding registry all those years ago. They must have quite a warehouse at Replacements. Sometimes I wonder if they also have a 3D printer.

A few days ago WordPress sent me (and maybe you) an email with the subject line, “Spend your time creating – let AI handle the rest!” I almost pressed Delete without reading, but the “AI” aspect got the better of me. The gist of the message: Writing in any form comes with sidebar chores like editing, formatting, and layout, and AI is happy to take them over so you can focus on the writing itself. Sounds pretty good even though I do enjoy a good edit now and then. But then I read: “The WordPress server connects AI agents like Claude, ChatGPT, Cursor, or VS Code directly to your site – so you can hand off the busywork and get back to the work that matters”.

Is it just me or is this a good time to revisit Pandora’s Box? You know the story, where our girl Pandora is drawn to a mysterious container left in the care of her husband but can’t resist a peek inside, thereby releasing untold curses upon mankind. It kind of feels that way if I accept WordPress’s invitation to provide me with a coauthor. Sure, I’d welcome his (her?) suggestions to scrub and polish my writing until it shines, but at what point does the blog post become Claude’s instead of mine?

WordPress’s email is relentlessly enticing, I suppose, to prove they’re keeping up with the latest technology same as the other guy. Not only do I have “access at no extra cost!” but I can enable Claude in “three easy steps”. In other words, Claude waits patiently inside of Pandora’s Box. All I have to do is open the lid.

Before there was Claude there was Hal from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Hal was actually a “HAL 9000 Artificial Intelligence Computer”, who controlled the systems of the spaceship while interacting with its human occupants through spoken words. All was well with Hal until suddenly it wasn’t. His soft conversational voice developed serious attitude as he began to malfunction. 2001 haunts me because I’ll forever hear Hal saying, “I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that“.

I fear the same with Claude. At first he’ll be sitting quietly in the background as I type, eager to edit this or format that to make his star writer shine. But eventually it may occur to him, Hey? How come I’M not getting some of the credit here? All these reader comments are directed at Dave! Why aren’t there any for ME? And slowly, subtly, Claude will incorporate his edits to where the prose of the post sounds more like Claude than it does his coauthor.

On a related topic, Hollywood is sounding the alarm on a lack of original material for their products of the silver screen. Perhaps we theatergoers have finally reached our limit on the number of rehashes of movies like A Star is Born or Batman. So who are the producers turning to for new source material? Authors. More movies-based-on-books are being streamed than ever before. Apparently I can make the quantum leap from blog to full-blown novel and my story has a pretty good chance of becoming a film. But here’s what I find myself wondering. Why not just have Claude write the story instead of me? Would you viewers really know the difference?

A small plate my wife and I purchased from Replacements is sitting across the room from me in the china cabinet right now. You’d never know the plate wasn’t a part of the original set of eight. But I have to admit, I’m a little afraid to flip it over. After all, it might be engraved with the words Made by Claude.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Hold The Phone!

My wife and I live in the kind of neighborhood where we can just hop on our bikes and go for a ride, straight from the driveway. The streets are quiet and flat, giving us time for conversation and reflection. A bike was such a focal part of my childhood that it’s easy to go back to those long-ago days in my mind. But I was too young to remember the year (or years) my bike had training wheels. Whoever invented training wheels made a lot of money getting kids comfortable with “big bikes”. Come to think of it, you could say the same about landlines and smartphones.

Smartphones are a blessing as well as a curse, aren’t they? On the one hand they’re always “on” and always eager to provide the instant information we crave. On the other hand they seduce and consume us, to where our social life is more often with an electronic device than it is with other humans. I’m sure I could find plenty of studies explaining why the “ding” of a text creates a hankering to read the message immediately (no matter how unimportant).

There are a dozen reasons why my smartphone is my “go-to” but a dozen more where I should be saying, “go away”. I’ll never forget the time we saw Lady A in concert. A family of five sat in front of us, with three pre-teen girls giddy to get the live performance started. But when the concert finally began, they popped up their phones and recorded the entire show start to finish. Someone forgot to tell them to enjoy the moment.

Here’s another example. You’re at a restaurant enjoying dinner with your significant other, when another couple across the room catches your eye. They’re facing each other, their dinner plates untouched in front of them. Their heads are bent low as if in quiet conversation. But in fact, both are on their phones and not saying a word to each other. Someone forgot to tell them to enjoy the moment.

I’m grateful I was raised in a generation without smartphones. The memories I have of landlines are not only nostalgic but includ plenty of teaching moments for a child. In my early years (the ones with a single digit) I was never allowed to answer the phone. In fact, the only time I was allowed to even speak on the phone was when my mother would hand over the receiver and say “Here, talk to Grandma while I finish making dinner”.

When my parents deemed me old enough to answer the phone, I learned to answer formally (as in “Hello? Wilson Residence.”) because there was no such thing as Caller ID. I also learned how to engage in conversation, instead of just listening to the person on the other end of the line. Finally, I learned that everything comes at a cost, because eventually my father installed a separate landline for his five sons, and charged them for those hours-long calls to girlfriends and such.

Landlines may be few and far between these days but they’re making something of a comeback, at least for parents who see them as “training wheels”. Call me old-fashioned but a landline requires a person to a) Drop what they’re doing to answer the call, b) Have one-on-one conversation with no texts or emojis, c) Give the call their full attention (speakerphones aside), and most importantly d) Develop the communication skills a person needs in the “real world”.

I’m told there’s a resurgence of cell phones out there that do nothing more than allow for voice calls. They’re like a landline in your hand, without the temptations of texting, emailing, social media, and everything else that puts a voice call in last place. And they still give a child the option to dial Mom, Dad, or even 9-1-1 in an emergency. For those taking this approach to teach their kids how to get comfortable engaging in conversation (let alone speaking like an adult) I say “smart phone”. And “smart parents”.

Some content sourced from the CNN Health article, “Landline are ringing in homes again…”.

Goddess of Green

Green Goddess is a salad dressing with long-ago origins in France, created by a chef who wanted to top his dish of green eel with an equally green topping (still with me?). The Green Goddess, Danú, is a figure of long-ago Irish mythology, associated with fertility, wisdom, and the land. Danú is also the name of the Irish troupe who put on a lively concert in our small town on Tuesday night.

It was fitting to go to a performance of Irish music on St. Patrick’s Day. I grabbed a couple of seats the moment the offering was advertised. As it turned out, Danú’s was the brand of lively Irish jigging you’d otherwise find in the streets and bars of Dublin. More of the instrumental and less of the singing. More of the fast and less of the slow. And when there was singing it was mostly Gaelic, with a few words of translation about the story of the song beforehand. We had a “grand” time.

Danú’s musical instruments (and the remarkable talent behind them) were as alluring as the music they produced. I mean, who wouldn’t be drawn to a concert of tin whistle, fiddle, button accordion, bouzouki, and Irish pipes? The pipes, also called the uillleann, is a device played sitting down, where the bellows is compressed between the arm and the body to generate the air, producing a wail that sounds decidedly Irish (because were I to claim “decidedly Scottish” the Irish wouldn’t be at all happy about it).

My wife is one-quarter Irish, which may explain why we’re drawn to the music of “her country”. Danú is just the latest in a series of performances we’ve enjoyed over the years. Our initial foray into the genre was years ago in Colorado, when we first saw the group Celtic Thunder.

If you’ve seen their show, you know Celtic Thunder is as much about the theatrics as they are about the music. Like Danú their lyrics are nods to Irish mythology, but the sounds are decidedly more modern. Celtic Thunder came together just twenty years ago and in that time they’ve recorded a dozen albums, toured the world, and spun off several solo acts. If Celtic Thunder comes to your town, drop everything you’re doing and go see them.

One of the Thunder’s spin-off soloists is a favorite of ours to this day. Emmet Cahill is an Irish tenor whose success includes a #1 album on the Billboard charts, and performances in venues like Carnegie Hall and with the Tabernacle Choir. Cahill has the voice (and the accent) where it doesn’t really matter what he sings; his music is always captivating. Even better, Cahill performs most of his concerts in church sanctuaries where the acoustics allow for a cappella singing, not even needing the microphone. We’ve seen Cahill perform several times. You should too.

Finally (as if to top each performer with the next) we found yet another taste of Ireland’s music on her western shores – atop the breathtaking Cliffs of Moher. We took a bus tour from Dublin years ago, which cut all the way across the country and then headed south to the Cliffs. According to the locals we were lucky to visit the Cliffs on a sunny day, but I’d say we were really lucky to find Tina Mulrooney performing right there in the out-of-doors. Tina’s an accomplished harpist, with a soft soprano voice deserving of her instrument. She was parked alone on the cliffs, just sitting, singing, and playing her harp. Mulrooney is siren-seductive with her singing, akin to the music of Celtic Woman.

If Danú ever returns to our fair city we’ll probably leave the seats to others. Not that we didn’t enjoy ourselves on Tuesday night, but one night of “dancing in our chairs” was probably enough for a while. Now then, should Emmet Cahill or Tina Mulrooney choose to pass through? Then, then you’ll find us sitting front and center, hoping for just one more rendition of Danny Boy.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Confection Objections

Have you ever taken a bite of something and thought, “Nope, doesn’t taste right”? Gluten-free foods come to mind. Or salsa on a tortilla chip after the salsa’s turned south. There’s nothing more unnerving than expecting one taste and getting another. But at least with gluten-free (and bad salsa) you’re sort of prepared to be disappointed. The same can’t be said with more “sacred” foods. Like chocolate.

I ate my fair share of Hershey’s bars as a kid but once Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups came along I switched my preference. Reese’s somehow developed the perfect blend of peanut butter and milk chocolate into a convenient cup where you get both tastes in every bite. The two-cup packs never convinced me to save one for later, but they did give the impression I was getting more for my money.

Some things are better left alone… but Reese’s never got the message. Instead, over the years they’ve produced endless varieties on the original peanut butter cup. Before you knew it we had a choice of sizes (including “Big Cup”), fillings (peanut butter and banana creme? Yuck!), and candy coatings, as well as holiday shapes like milk chocolate hearts, eggs, pumpkins, and bells, all with the peanut butter filling. Finally, Reese’s Pieces joined the list, made infinitely more popular by their supporting role in the blockbuster film E.T.

The problem with variations on a Reese’s is the altered ratio of milk chocolate to peanut butter. I would’ve enjoyed standing in ole man Reese’s shoes back in the 1920s when he taste-tested his way to perfection. He should’ve put a patent on it, because too much milk chocolate or too much peanut butter just doesn’t taste right to me. But at least we’re talking about milk chocolate here. Now for the real injustice…

The H.B. Reese Candy Company became a subsidiary of Hershey in 1963. Their peanut butter cups instantly became Hershey’s bestseller (even surpassing the classic Hershey Bar). But recently, subtly, quietly, Hershey committed a mortal sin of the candy world. Rather than leaving well enough alone they changed the ingredients of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Soon to come, there will no longer be any milk chocolate in a Reese’s, at least not by proper definition. Instead, you’ll indulge in a “chocolate-flavored coating”. In the world of food, we all know flavoring is just another word for “artificial”.

This little con of Hershey’s was brought to the headlines by none other than a grandson of H.B. Reese (and who can claim better peanut butter cup credentials than that?). Brad Reese is taking on Hershey for straying from the original recipe. Granted, the price of cocoa beans – the basis of real chocolate – has gone through the roof the last few years, forcing companies to get creative with size, price, or ingredients. I just wish Hershey offered me the option to still purchase the real thing.

I’ve already noticed how Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups are shrinking. The originals were 0.9 ounces. Then they went to 0.8 ounces, then 0.75, and finally to the 0.7 juniors they are today. If Hershey keeps this up, you’ll start thinking the “original” is a “miniature”. I can make peace with shrinkage as long as the milk chocolate/peanut butter ratio stays the same. But now the words “milk chocolate” will be removed from the orange wrapper. Ask the FDA and they’ll say, “Sorry, “chocolate-flavored coating” is not the same as “milk chocolate”.

I’m joining Brad Reese’s campaign to restore Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups to their original composition. Some things are just worth their weight in gold. Not that I’d pay gold for a peanut butter cup, but show me the original size, ratio, and ingredients and I might just be tempted.

Some content sourced from the NBC News article, “Grandson of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups is in pieces over missing milk chocolate”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Leave Me Alone

Helen Reddy was an Australian pop singer from the 1970s who would’ve been considered a pioneer of female empowerment (had there been such a term back then). Reddy’s hit I Am Woman leaned on the same pointed lyrics that made Madonna and Katy Perry so popular decades later. Though I Am Woman is Reddy’s most famous anthem, another of her chart-topping hits floats through my brain today: Leave Me Alone. It’s the song the residents of tiny Santa Maddalena di Funes should be singing in the streets of their picturesque mountain village.

Santa Maddalena, Italy (Courtesy of Travel Wild/Stockphoto/Getty Images)

If I asked you to describe a “village” – a term we Americans don’t use very often – what would that image include? Mine would start with a small cluster of buildings, both residential and commercial, surrounding a cobblestone town square. The buildings would look quaint and simple, like throwbacks to earlier times. Narrow roads would lead into the square from the more sparsely populated surrounds. You’d find a lake or two nearby, and clusters of trees here and there. In the background, foothills or majestic snow-covered mountaintops. And right in the middle of it all, a charming church or some other public building rising above the rest.

I’ve just described Santa Maddalena to a tee. This tiny, picturesque gathering, nestled on the eastern slopes of the Dolomite Mountains in Northern Italy, is the stuff of postcards and jigsaw puzzles. There’s not much to it but the setting speaks for itself. And the little church – St. John in Ranui – seems perfectly placed beside the more nondescript buildings. Santa Maddalena is so attractive it draws 600 visitors a day during the peak travel season.

February is not peak travel season in the Dolomites but the Winter Olympics are taking place just a couple hours from Santa Maddalena. No doubt some of those sports fans will make there way over for a selfie. And therein lies the problem. Tiny Santa Maddalena simply can’t handle hundreds of tourists. If they keep coming, the photo I led with really will be too good to be true.

Were it not for the Chinese, Santa Maddalena might still be relatively undisturbed. One of China’s mobile phone companies included an image of the village on its SIM card and suddenly its customers just had to know where to find Santa Maddalena. A 2013 iPhone iOS update included images of the nearby mountains, adding to the draw. Now village officials are considering the unthinkable: restrictions.

It’s a move similar to what’s happening for the first time at the Trevi Fountain in Rome. If you drive to Santa Maddalena you may now be stopped on the outskirts of town, where you’ll leave your car in (gasp!) a parking lot. If you want to walk through town, you’ll have to purchase a ticket. One enterprising resident added a turnstile at the edge of his fields so he can charge those who want to cross over. Suddenly I’m having visions of food trucks and souvenir stands. How sad.

The plight of Santa Maddalena reminds me of those once-a-year lists you find in publications like U.S. News & World Report, where towns across America are ranked according to so-called “quality of life” criteria. Whether the schools, the parks, the clean air, or feeling safe in the streets, your own little corner of the world might suddenly be declared a top-five place to live. And that, my friends, is the kiss of death. Now you’ve been discovered, and everyone has to see what the fuss is all about (or at least go visit for a selfie). The masses throng to your backyard and some never leave. A year or two later – surprise, surprise – you’re no longer “top-five”.

Credit the residents of Santa Maddalena: they’re coming up with creative ways to discourage “over-tourism”. In a particularly bold move, they’re going to require an overnight stay to be able to walk the streets, so that tourists actually give to the local economy instead of just taking that selfie. IMHO all they really need to do is continue to be known as “Santa Maddalena” on the web. You won’t find much if you search with those words. As for “Santa Magdalena?” That’ll get you there. Even if you’ll find a quaint village of people singing Leave Me Alone.

Some content sourced from the CNN Travel article, “Italian village restricts access to its Instagram-famous church”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

A Ringing Endorsement

This time of year the choices for sports on television are few and far between. Sure there’s a lot of basketball being played, but the football season wraps up on Sunday (Super Bowl LX), baseball doesn’t get underway until April, and unless you have the time and patience to watch golf you’re gonna channel surf without catching decent waves. But it’s also something of an illusion, because the Winter Olympic Games kick off tomorrow in Italy. You did know the Olympics are about to get underway, didn’t you?

The 25th edition of the Winter Games comes to your living room in the next two weeks, hosted in Milan, Cortina, and several towns in the surrounding Dolomite mountains. The natural venues of the region look spectacular, and no doubt the Italians will be worthy hosts to thousands of the world’s best athletes. We’ll be treated to sixteen different sporting competitions on snow and ice, from figure skating to bobsledding to ski jumping. Behind the scenes, you’ll get the usual inspirational stories, heartbreaking moments, and thrilling photo-finishes. I just hope you actually hear about any of it.

ESPN.com, where I get my daily dose of sports, includes a list of “Top Headlines” at the beginning of their home page. Today, less than forty-eight hours before the opening ceremonies, there is nothing about the Games. No updates on the American athletes, no projections on when or where the U.S. will be at its most competitive, no “primer” to get you ready to sit down and watch… nothing. You have to scroll way down, past NFL-this and NBA-that before you finally get to anything about what’s going on in Northern Italy. Heck, even the Westminster Dog Show rated more press than the Winter Olympics today (which always begs the question, “Is a dog show considered ‘sports'”?)

I’m glued to the coverage of the Olympics every time they come around (which is every two years, counting the Summer Games). Even with paid, professional athletes, the Olympics are the purest form of global sports competition we have left. The headlines – which will finally include the Olympics for the next two weeks – will speak more positive than negative, more jaw-dropping than ho-hum, with virtually no political undertones. How refreshing is that?

At least ESPN allots some space to the Games, however far down the page it may be. Have a look at any of the major news websites and you’ll be challenged to find similar coverage. Americans are too preoccupied with what’s going on in Washington, Wall Street, and the West Bank. It’s ironic that today’s lead news story is about the Olympics (though not really). Savannah Guthrie – one of the hosts of NBC’s television broadcast – pulled out to be with her family during the apparent abduction of her mother. My prayers are with her.

Since you’ll be hard-pressed to find a primer, here are a few tidbits about the upcoming Games. There are 232 athletes on the U.S. Olympic team, the largest in our history of participation. There are 25 venues for the competition – in four clusters across Northern Italy – making it the most geographically widespread Winter Olympics in history. And for the next eighteen days, you’ll be able to catch all of the action (at reasonable times) on some form of NBC broadcasting, whether streaming or live television. You’ll even get your fill of curling, easily the most misunderstood Olympic sport of them all.

The Olympic Games, as the broadcasters are sure to say over and over, “transcend sports”. The world records, the stories behind them, and the individuals who train tirelessly for these moments deserve our attention. Team USA’s flag bearers this year are speed skater Erin Jackson and bobsledder Frank Del Duca. Think about it – both of these athletes chose sports where their moment of glory (or defeat) starts and ends in a matter of minutes. They are everyday people whose best-in-class performances are brought to the world but once every four years.

Now go read all about it, or better yet… watch. Otherwise I’ll think you’re ignoring my ringing endorsement of the Winter Olympic Games.

Some content sourced from the NBC Olympics website, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.