This year, however, has been something else entirely. If Lunigiana was once a reliable sanctuary, those days are long gone. Over the past few days, we have swung between the stifling inertia of afternoon heat domes and sudden, ferocious mountain hail storms that have brought rolling power cuts, uprooted trees, and caused fatalities in the area. Against a backdrop of similar headlines across Europe, North Tuscany feels like a local microcosm of a broader continental emergency.

While I’m reluctant to add to the catastrophism of the broader media cycle, it bears repeating what more sober scientific commentators have been pointing out: what we’re living through is no longer a harsh seasonal variation, but the stark reality of climate breakdown.

In Italy, the political response to this planetary crisis has been predictably and frustratingly inadequate. The Meloni administration was long ago mandated to submit its national plan to unlock Italy’s share of the EU’s Social Climate Fund, a crucial mechanism intended to shield vulnerable households from the economic shocks of the carbon transition. They are now over a year past the deadline, having submitted precisely nothing.

This gridlock is part of a deeper ideological myopia, though. The current coalition has consistently stalled decarbonization efforts, framing the ecological transition not as a structural necessity but as a fictional grievance invented by their opponents. This resistance has recently hardened into concrete policy: the government has curbed its green ambitions by hacking away at the post-pandemic recovery fund’s environmental allocations down to the absolute legal minimum, while quietly extending the lifespan of the nation’s coal infrastructure well into the late 2030s.

I could go on.

With the estimated economic cost of climate breakdown in Italy now hovering around €12bn annually, and the human toll mounting, it is genuinely perplexing to observe the absolute lack of an integrated, forward-thinking economic programme even among the major opposition parties. The imagination of the state seems entirely exhausted. As a result, the burden of keeping up the pressure is falling once again on civil society and the beleaguered efforts of organizations like WWF Italia, Greenpeace and Legambiente.

I’ll be reporting more fully on this as the summer deepens, tracking the heatwaves, wildfires, and shifting systemic risks that the season now inevitably brings. For now, though, I’m off to find some shade. Stay cool, and more from me, in the usual format, next week.

Jamie

I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism is my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, The Invention of Sicily, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

Security and public safety are among the hottest topics in Italy right now. Many Italians (including several of my friends) feel the country is becoming more dangerous and that crime is soaring. It is a sentiment aggressively stoked by figures like Matteo Salvini and Roberto Vannacci, who regularly blame migrants for Italy’s ills. The reality, of course, is far more complicated. Here in Florence, a real and persistent spike in petty thefts has left residents frightened, and the local administration has done little to appease voters or tackle the root issues. But context is everything. This week, The Guardian published some illuminating YouGov data illustrating the massive gulf between public perception and actual crime statistics across Italy and five other Western nations. The survey reveals a universal truth: while national crime rates across the EU are steadily falling, public perception is headed in the exact opposite direction. Take homicides: Italy’s annual murder tally plummeted from 1,917 in 1991 to just 327 in 2024, giving the country one of the lowest rates in Europe. Yet, you rarely see those figures on the front pages. While this broad-brush data doesn’t capture every local nuance, it vividly exposes how untethered from the facts public anxiety has become. The real danger, in other words, isn’t just the crime rate itself. If European societies lose their grip on basic empirical truth, a dangerous political paradox emerges: how can any government ever prove it is successfully solving problems if the public has already decided things are getting worse?

The city of Salerno is one of the most bustling and chaotic along the Campania coastline. It is not generally considered a destination for quiet contemplation, nor is it built for fine-dining luxury. Nevertheless, it is a highly strategic base for travellers on a budget, and having stayed there myself on more than one occasion, I’ve found it has far more to offer than first impressions suggest. This week, I was pleased to read a piece by Jessica Furseth in The Guardian which rightly celebrates the city as a charming, affordable alternative to the famous cliff-top resorts nearby. While the author goes a bit hard on the praise and probably sets expectations rather too high, there is a lot of sage advice here. I can confirm that Salerno is a practical transport hub, rich in its own understated Norman history, and boasts a sprawling, beautiful, palm-lined seaside promenade which is perfect to sit along with a granita to watch the locals going about their passeggiata. If you are planning a trip to the Amalfi Coast but dread the intense summer crowds and eye-watering prices, this is an excellent city to spend time in. For a closer look at how to navigate it, explore Furseth’s full guide here.

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Arts & Culture: The Ghosts of Summers Past

Tomorrow, I’m heading off for a short vacation in Lunigiana, in Northern Tuscany, to spend a few days with friends up in the wild forested hills of the Apuan Alps. It’s a place close to my heart. I’ve been visiting every summer for a couple of decades now, and years later, it still offers me a completely different perspective on the region, the country, and (indulge me a moment of nineteenth-century romanticism here) modernity itself. Of course, Lunigiana is no paradise, and the economic woes of rural Italy are all too visible in its depopulated hamlets, but it remains a captivating part of the country. As I was preparing for this year’s trip, I noticed that an English translation of a local book came out this month: The Patient Wait of the Stones: Time and Memory in Lunigiana by Antonio Romani (originally published in Italian in 2023 as La paziente attesa delle pietre). The book is a memoir about aging, history, and the slow, deliberate act of restoring a house in a near-ghost town. While I’m not usually drawn to memoirs, I happened to read the first few paragraphs in a bookstore and found myself thoroughly charmed. Based on the glowing reviews, including in Publishers Weekly, this is a title that I hope will appeal to many readers here.

Next up is an interesting cinematic resource that is almost too good to be true. Over on YouTube, a channel with the (admittedly unpromising) name Film&Clips Bianco e Nero is uploading old Italian movies for free online, and there seems to be no catch. The account, which is apparently run by the independent distribution house Minerva Pictures, uploads three new films per week, and the catalogue is far more compelling than what you’d usually find on Netflix or even MUBI. This week, to make the prospect even more appealing, the administrators uploaded a true classic of mid-century Italian cinema: Michelangelo Antonioni’s 1961 masterpiece La Notte, which follows a novelist, Giovanni, and his wife, Lidia, as they confront the gradual decay of their marriage over the course of a single, drawn-out night of partying. I love watching classic films in the summer, especially during the many open-air screenings that pop up in July and August. If you’re looking for a home entertainment equivalent, though (something to while away the long, hot afternoons behind closed shutters) this channel is an excellent resource, and Antonioni’s film is the perfect place to get started.

Recipe of the Week: Stracci with Pistacchio, Mint, and Basil Pesto

I am always on the lookout for a good new pesto to add to my repertoire. In heatwaves like the one we are currently living through, I find a raw pestle-and-mortar paste provides a particularly delicious way to keep eating pasta while limiting time spent at the stove. This week’s recipe is an interesting one from Tim Siadatan’s book Padella. It’s a pistacchio pesto (one of the heavier variants that is usually eaten in Sicily, and which, I must confess, I sometimes find a little cloying). Here, though, Siadatan adds mint to the mix and proposes quite a lot less fat than you usually get in similar recipes. You could, of course, prepare this with dried pasta. The chef’s suggestion to use stracci, though (basically cut-up lasagne sheets, much like maltagliati) is a nifty one. Not only is fresh pasta fun to make, it has a short cooking time and adds a soft bounciness to the final dish. Full disclosure: I’ve not made this yet, but it sounds delicious, and based on the gorgeous picture alone, I’ll certainly be adding it to my dinner plans sometime over the summer. You can find the full recipe on Great British Chefs to try it yourself.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism is my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, The Invention of Sicily, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

This story is worth sticking with a little longer, not least because its implications spilled directly into Italy’s piazzas over the weekend. On Saturday, just days after the Gruber interview, thousands of far-right supporters converged on Rome, mobilized by a citizens’ initiative calling for immediate, mass deportations. The crowds included a significant contingent of Vannacci and Futuro Nazionale loyalists whose demeanour was aggressively hostile and, notably, anti-Meloni and anti-Salvini; it was an astonishingly shortsighted claim given that this administration is already one of the most punitive on migration in recent Italian history, yet the demonstrators routinely denounced the current coalition partners as “weak” sellouts who have failed to deliver. Thankfully, opposition movements mobilized to offer a more constructive vision of society. As Futuro Nazionale marched, anti-fascist and pro-democracy demonstrations swept through the centre of Rome. Thousands turned out to defend the rule of law, advocate for comprehensive European asylum frameworks, and offer an internationalist alternative to a narrow sovereigntist agenda. Heartwarming as these scenes were, I couldn’t shake a creeping sense of dread at the familiarity of the binary. As a veteran of the anti-Salvini protests a decade ago, I know exactly how quickly grassroots energy can dissolve into institutional and electoral defeat. With street-level tensions rising once more, my fear is that Italy’s civil society and its democratic parties remain too far apart, too deeply divided in culture, for this confident popular opposition to translate into a coherent political program. For more analysis on the ideological clash, check out this cool-headed analysis by Annalisa Camilli over at Internazionale.

In my work as a cultural historian, I’ve had the great fortune of being mentored by intellectuals with two remarkably similar names. Paul Ginsborg, the British historian, was instrumental during my early years in Italy; I used to meet regularly with him to discuss Italian politics, and it was he who inspired the creation of this newsletter around the time of his death in 2022. Another great influence, who I had the honour of meeting on several occasions, was Carlo Ginzburg, the legendary Italian historian, child of novelist Natalia Ginzburg, and author of foundational books of microhistory including The Cheese and the Worms, a study of the life and beliefs of Domenico Scandella, aka Menocchio, an Italian miller who was killed in the sixteenth century for his heretical beliefs. Well, Ginzburg died yesterday, so I couldn’t not add a note to mark the moment here for a man who, like no other, taught me how to read primary sources, to see the gaps in the historical record, and to deduce, and not just imagine, wider social implications. Ginzburg was a master at seeing grand historical trends in daily life, in diets, daily routines, songs, furniture, artifacts, maps, and texts. He staunchly sought out and defended the marginalized and subaltern in conventional history, demonstrating a clear method for how to give life to the workers and everyday people who actually made the medieval and so-called early modern worlds. So RIP Carlo, and if you don’t know his work, check out the obituary here and make sure to stock your shelves with his many thought-provoking books.

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Arts & Culture: Family Taboos

Fiction fans, this one’s for you: this week The New Yorker published a striking new story by Andrea Bajani, the acclaimed Florentine writer and Premio Strega winner who has built a formidable reputation in the Anglophone literary world in recent years. The story, ‘Constellation’, is adapted from his 2025 novel L’anniversario (The Anniversary), and it confronts themes of memory, family trauma, and domestic violence with a candour that remains rare among Italian authors, particularly male writers. The novel functions as a radical, taboo-busting critique of the nuclear family, interrogating the weight of inherited social duty and advocating instead for individual rights and personal freedom. Without giving too much away, the narrative hinges on a moment of profound shock, as the protagonist forces himself to confront the reality of his father’s violence against his mother, revealing how a toxic inheritance of guilt, complicity, and disgust can warp a person’s entire lifetime. You can read the full story here, and I highly recommend checking out his interview with Nina Mesfin for a deeper, more critical exploration of the novel’s vital themes.

Yet more exceptional music is coming out of the south of Italy this week. While hunting for further signs of the regional flourishing and self-confidence I wrote about in last week’s newsletter, I stumbled across a new release by the Sicilian collective Lero Lero that has been on repeat for days on my Spotify. The group has a fascinating remit: to unearth and elevate Sicily’s disappearing folkloric music by mixing archival field recordings and forgotten twentieth-century audio samples, then using these materials as the bedrock for a forward-looking, techno-infused reimagining of the island’s oral traditions. This is far from a standard heritage folk record, then. By bringing together academic researchers, traditional multi-instrumentalists, anthropologists, and contemporary electronic producers, Lero Lero captures a deeply rooted, bottom-up portrait of what Sicilian culture was, what it is today, and, most provocatively, what it might yet become. You can read an excellent feature on their process over at Rolling Stone and stream the full album here.

Recipe of the Week: Apricot and roasted vegetable gazpacho (Moroseta)

This week’s recipe is, quite frankly, the one I’ve been most excited to share with you all for a long time. It all began a few weeks ago when I decided to pick up a copy of the Masseria Moroseta Cookbook, a brilliant collection by Giorgia Goggi, head chef at the celebrated Puglian agriturismo. Every dish in it is a winner; though somewhat cheffy, the recipes are designed to help home cooks up their game and unlock entirely new techniques. To get the ball rolling, I tried Goggi’s unique take on gazpacho, the Spanish staple so beloved in summer across Italy, which introduces a host of unexpected ingredients including bell peppers, carrots, and apricots. Yes, you read that correctly: apricots! Despite sounding highly unorthodox, the result is exquisitely balanced; unlike a raw traditional gazpacho, the fruit and vegetables are roasted first, creating a deep, smoky, almost jammy complexity. Goggi also adds a vibrant topping of fresh raspberries, redcurrants, and sumac which provides a sharp, tart contrast that, to my taste, is completely addictive. This is the best thing I’ve cooked this summer, so do check out the full instructions reprinted over at the Irish News to reproduce the dish in your own kitchen.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism is my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, The Invention of Sicily, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

With summer here and MPs’ minds clearly focused on the upcoming vacation season, a flurry of legislation is being debated and pushed through parliament before the recess. Earlier this week MPs began sparring over a long-stalled government DDL on swimming pool safety, championed by Civil Protection Minister Nello Musumeci. Prompted by a string of child drownings, the bill seeks to replace Italy’s fragmented regional rules with strict nationwide mandates for fences, lifebuoys and load-bearing covers. The backlash, though, has been furious. Small commercial and condominium operators (many of whom voted for Meloni) are protesting against the proposed fines for misconduct and what they (ironically?) call an overly restrictive, Stalinist bureaucracy. Elsewhere on the agenda, the Senate has just passed a new educational overhaul that claims to encourage “affective literacy” while doing the exact opposite. The law enforces an outright parental veto and completely bans external experts from kindergarten and elementary classrooms, effectively state-sanctioning the ongoing taboo around sex education. Rather than modernizing classrooms, I can’t help feeling this targeted ideological blockade is a major step backward, ultimately perpetuating Italy’s strange stigma around a universal topic that concerns us all. Click here for the full details.

As I’m sure you will have noted, the internet went completely wild this week over Dua Lipa’s wedding party which was hosted at Villa Valguarnera in Bagheria, just outside Palermo. The media circus surrounding this event has been hyper-inflated, but the real offence, to my mind, was how perfectly the coverage served to flatten Sicily into a passive, luxury backdrop for the super-rich. Even the critical commentary has felt weak, falling into lazy tropes that inadvertently fuel the celebrity machine. One exception to this was the analysis by the Sicilian feminist author Claudia Fauzia, who published a brilliant essay on her Substack that sits far above the mainstream coverage. Moving beyond the usual polemics, Fauzia acknowledges the genuine local enthusiasm and the brief influx of hospitality jobs, but she uses the event to explore a deeper, more existential concern for her island, turning the focus away from the spectacle and back to material reality. As she puts it: “Sicily is not just historic markets, baroque, the sea, the street calls, the giant ficus trees, the carriages and motorini chaos. Sicily is the relationship between people, a mix of dialects, memories, conflicts, humour, survival, neighbourliness, rage, and community care. It’s a society that cannot be reduced to a stage backdrop.” If you are as fed up with the superficial hot takes as I am, Fauzia’s piece is an essential read from a Sicilian perspective. So check it out here.

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Arts & Culture: Subaltern Voices

A couple of months back, I wrote a brief note on the debut novel by Emanuela Anechoum, the Calabrian writer whose book Tangerinn is probably the most hyped and well-received Italian release of the year so far. This week, I was delighted to read an insightful interview with her by Giulia Kappelin Cingolani over at Italy Segreta, which provides enlightening context on Anechoum’s writing process and her creative vision. The two dive deep into the book’s core themes: the contemporary and historical mechanics of the migrant experience, the current state of Italian fiction, the fraught nature of modern national identity, and (in the same spirit as Fauzia’s critique) the historically subaltern status of the Italian South. With Sicily now firmly entrenched as a global luxury destination, Anechoum steers us instead towards the forgotten, un-romanticized territory of Calabria, a territory that, she argues, has a huge amount to tell us about the contradictions of this strange country called Italy. Check out the full interview here, and here – again – is the link to buy the book.

‘Meet TÄRA, the ‘Arab&B’ Artist Italy Has No Category For.’ I have to admit, this headline by Rolling Stone was the first I had heard of Tamara Al Zool, the 23-year-old Frosinone-raised, Italian-Palestinian singer-songwriter. The near-total silence from mainstream outlets outside the alternative corners of the Italian indie press only exposes the rigid, exclusionary boundaries of the domestic music industry, which remains utterly unequipped to handle an artist who refuses to sanitize her identity for TV and online streaming services. TÄRA’s debut EP was released on 15 May (coinciding with the anniversary of the Nakba), and having now spent some time with the album, I can say, without hyperbole, that it’s groundbreaking: a sophisticated mix of trap, pop, and R&B, drawing on classic Arabic harmonies and melisma while tapping into the pan-Mediterranean electronic groove that artists like Liberato or Nu Genea have pioneered in recent years. Lyrically, the album tackles Palestinian identity, historical displacement, and the ongoing genocide, bridging the personal and the political with confidence, courage, and a healthy dose of swag. So check out full album here and do make sure to read that Rolling Stone profile too, which offers a great overview of the politics of Italian music right now.

Recipe of the Week: Rebekah Peppler’s Lambrusco spritz

As the nights get hotter, these long, gorgeous sunsets are calling out a proper seasonal cocktail. I’m a creature of habit, and most years I stick to a few tried-and-tested classics, the ubiquitous Aperol spritz, the limoncello spritz, the negroni, and, at a push, the occasional (and entirely non-Italian) mojito or margarita. This week, however, I stumbled across a compelling proposition that offers a perfect way to mix up the usual routine: a spritz built on Lambrusco. The author, Rebekah Peppler, suggests using a dry, high-acid Lambrusco di Sorbara as the base, rather than prosecco; a brilliant vindication for a wine so often globally dismissed as cheap, sickly grape juice. Peppler pairs the wine’s bright, floral profile with a bitter amaro (such as Montenegro or Nonino), a splash of fresh pink grapefruit juice, and a wedge of fruit for a sharp, bittersweet finish. It is low-alcohol, beautifully savoury, and just as chic as one of those over-priced bar aperitivi. The original recipe link is free on the NYT here, though their links can be notoriously temperamental, so you may want to head directly to their Instagram page for paywall-free access.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism is my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, The Invention of Sicily, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

If the pageantry in Rome offered a polished myth of the Republic, the reality in the Calabrian countryside provided a grim antithesis this week. On Monday, four agricultural labourers were found dead within the charred skeleton of a vehicle on the outskirts of Cosenza. While a sadly predictable omertà has already settled over the details, local activists have pointed to the systemic signature of the caporalato, a form of mafia-adjacent exploitation that reduces vulnerable workers to a state of near slavery. To speak of this tragedy as an isolated, stomach-turning incident is therefore to miss the structural dimension of the phenomenon. This violent undercurrent feeds all-too-much of Italy’s supply chains. The ongoing judicial inquiry will, I’m sure, find scapegoats in the short term, but the true responsibility here surely lies with a state that tolerates a parallel economy built on the consumption of disposable bodies. There could be no starker reminder of how far contemporary Italy has drifted from the labour-centric ideals written into the 1946 constitution.

Last weekend the philosopher Edgar Morin died at the age of 104, prompting passionate tributes from across the political spectrum. You might wonder why a radical French intellectual is cropping up at the centre of this week’s newsletter. Well, leaving aside the somewhat surreal sight of neo-fascist Alessandro Giuli and his conservative contemporaries lining up to praise this openly socialist thinker, Morin’s work has long held a vital place in the nation’s thinking. Several of the philosopher’s concepts (most notably on transdisciplinarity, planetary citizenship and so-called “complex thought” i.e. complexity theory) have provided an aspirational horizon, steering national political discussion away from the polarization that has fractured the country since the anni di piombo. While the government’s sudden appreciation for his legacy feels ironic, Italy’s independent presses and radical thinkers such as Antonio Negri and Bifo Berardi have long drawn on his ideas to critique our automated, media-saturated culture. So RIP to this important thinker. Check out il manifesto’s obituary here, and if you aren’t familiar with Morin’s bibliography, now is an excellent moment to dive in.

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Arts & Culture: the resilience of Italian cinema

Last Friday the twelfth edition of the Cinema in Piazza festival kicked off in Rome, offering free, open-air screenings across the city from Trastevere to Tor Sapienza. This time, however, the opening was clouded by controversy. A few weeks ago, the Ministry of Culture abruptly — indeed mysteriously — pulled its financial backing for this fabulous grassroots initiative, leaving the Lazio Region and the Municipality of Rome to foot the bill alone. According to inside testimonies from the organizers, the bureaucratic shift was deeply suspicious; and the funding gap came without warning. Giorgia Meloni’s government has spent months aggressively reshaping state subsidies for the audiovisual sector and curbing the autonomy of experimental film institutions like the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia. We’re already seeing the implications, not least in the unprecedented absence of Italian films in competition at major international festivals this season. There is a longer story to be written here about what on earth this administration is up to vis-a-vis the arts. For now, however, I simply want to celebrate the resilience of Cinema in Piazza, and correlative initiatives in Bologna, Florence and other cities, that are surviving and thriving against considerable odds.

It’s been a while since I read an Italian novel in translation that genuinely gripped me; and I can’t escape the sensation that this year’s pickings are rather more meagre than one might hope for. I was therefore delighted to note that last week The Foundry Press, (in collaboration with ICI London), published the English translation of Michele Masneri’s latest novel, Paradiso. Masneri is an easy writer to love. His humour is wonderfully acerbic, his Italian prose translates into something remarkably light, and his characterization is airy, vivid, and deeply cinematic. The narrative here follows a disillusioned young journalist who, chasing a vague dream of metropolitan glamour, finds himself unintentionally marooned on a ramshackle provincial resort along the Lazio coastline. As the blurb puts it, this is “Alan Bennett meets Fellini, a shabby Italian White Lotus.” If you’re looking for an Italian summer read to take along to the spiaggia, this certainly sounds like one to consider! Order straight from the publisher here.

Recipe of the Week: Friggitelli alla Romana

Eating in Rome this week has been a wild ride. Instead of defaulting to the usual triumvirate of carbonara, amatriciana, and cacio e pepe, I’ve been intentionally seeking out traditional offal dishes (cuore, pajata, coda etc) as well as bitter, forgotten greens (amaranth, grattaculo) in an effort to connect with the historical diet that the city’s popolo minuto once relied upon. One of the more approachable dishes I enjoyed was a simple plate of cold friggitelli (sweet green peppers) at a tavola calda inside the Testaccio market. Cut in half and lightly stewed in a rich, garlicky tomato sugo, they were a revelation, and I am longing to cook them myself. This is a versatile dish. While some Roman cooks like to melt a few anchovies into the oil at the start, more contemporary spots, like the excellent Piatto Romano, have even succeeded in adding exotic ingredients such as passion fruit into the mix. My advice is to keep it classic: make a generous batch, let the flavours marry in the fridge, and serve cold with some bread and perhaps a nice chunk of pecorino. Here’s the link.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism is my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, The Invention of Sicily, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

But onto more prosaic matters. Giorgia Meloni was quick to claim total victory following last weekend’s local elections, and if you read the international press this week, that’s the story you’ll be likely to read. Oddly enough, however, it’s not really what the numbers show. Yes, it’s true the right-wing coalition secured high-profile headlines by holding Venice and flipping Reggio Calabria in the south. Treating this as a clean sweep, however, ignores a formidable progressive resilience across the rest of the peninsula. In Salerno, the centre-left won an emphatic first-round victory behind Vincenzo De Luca, matching solid triumphs in traditional strongholds and battlegrounds like Prato, Pistoia, and Mantova (where, by the way, the progressive candidate Andrea Murari won almost 70% of the vote). Even apparent failures offer strategic silver linings. In Venice, while the PD mayoral candidate Andrea Martella failed to dominate and secure the outright win that was hoped for, looking closer at the municipal numbers reveals a less bleak reality. In the city centre, the PD actually won 24.8% of the vote as a single party, outperforming the entire combined right-wing list of FdI, Lega, and Forza Italia, who won 20.12%. The structural lesson, alas, remains familiar: once again, the mainland working-class vote in Mestre and elsewhere did not turn out for the left. Despite the rhetorical adjustments, progressive messaging simply isn’t breaking through outside the urban centres. At the end of the day, this was a rather snoozy set of local elections. While far from a triumph for the opposition, the results confirmed, once again, that the right-wing wave is no longer unchallengeable.

If you’ve spent any time in Rome over the past couple of years, you will no doubt have found yourself navigating the ubiquitous scaffolding, dust, and diversions that have accompanied the run-up, duration, and aftermath of the Jubilee. It has been an exhausting chapter for the capital, and a brilliant photo essay in The Guardian by photographer Lorenzo Grifantini does a good job of capturing the psychological and spatial toll of it all. Grifantini documents how the forces of mass tourism and hyper-tourism have quietly restructured urban space, carving the historic centre into restrictive corridors and strange zones of containment. Walking through Rome right now, it becomes obvious how public space has been organized entirely around the management and circulation of visitors rather than local life. He documents the “metal barriers redirecting pedestrian flows away from the very monuments people travel to see”, the “portable toilets that sit awkwardly beside churches and Renaissance walls”, and open public piazzas “reduced to mere holding pens, transit checkpoints, and spaces of constant exposure.” It is an essential, visual record of the changing city, so check out the full gallery of shots here.

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Arts & Culture: Precarious Rhapsody

Zerocalcare - Italy’s most famous fumettista - is back with a new animated series for Netflix this week, and, as far as Italian TV goes, this is probably going to be one of the better shows of the year. Due Spicci (My Two Cents) follows on directly from the previous instalments of Strappare lungo i bordi (Tear Along the Dotted Line, 2021) and Questo mondo non mi renderà cattivo (This World Can’t Tear Me Down, 2023), but the premise goes even deeper into the collective despair unleashed in the years of financial crisis. This time round Zero and his sidekick Cinghiale have decided to set up a small bar-restaurant in a peripheral Roman neighbourhood, only to discover that the economics are so challenging they find themselves on the verge of mental breakdown. As characters from the past turn up, and reality dissolves into fantasy, the pair struggle to navigate the fallout of their failing entrepreneurial venture, and come to terms with their own exhaustion. There are few narrators of the Italian present better than Zero, so if you haven’t checked out his stuff before, I implore you to rectify that immediately. The new show is streaming now on Netflix [and if you read French and have a subscription to Le Monde, they’ve done an interesting interview with him here.]

If you’ve ever listened to the Gola podcast, or followed any activities of the Dante Society of America for that matter, you may be familiar already with the work of Danielle Callegari, the author, academic, and food writer. Best known for her academic work at Dartmouth College, and more recently for her wine journalism, Callegari is a multidisciplinary scholar who skilfully mixes research with public communication, depth with clarity. This week she has a new popular history book coming out called A Bite-Sized History of Italy: Gastronomic Tales of the Roman Empire, Renaissance, and Republic, which I am really looking forward to. As the title suggests, this is a romp through the origins of Italian food, tracing the myths, real stories, and developments of some of the country’s most well-known dishes, including the ancient Roman obsession with garum, Mussolini’s failed propaganda campaign to replace pasta with rice, and the recent international headlines made by ‘Carbonaragate.’ Don’t be put off by the somewhat vulgar cover. Callegari is a serious writer and this is sure to be excellent. So order a copy here.

Recipe of the Week: Tomato Salad with Basil-Pea Puree

Everywhere you look online right now, there is a distinct panic over the heatwave. With months of these temperatures stretching ahead of us in Italy, and the knowledge that this is merely a foretaste of worse to come, I’ll spare you yet another apocalyptic climate take for now. What I do want to share is an excellent option for the summer table that I came across by chance while browsing through Saveur magazine this week: this beautiful recipe for a tomato salad with a basil-pea puree. The dish borrows from contemporary American and French culinary sensibilities, but the core flavour profile is pure Ligurian Riviera: that classic pairing of ripe tomatoes and bright greens, given an aromatic lift here by a splash of fresh lime juice. This is a flexible template rather than a rigid instruction; you can use any mix of tomatoes, provided they are organic and at peak ripeness, and, of course, adjust the herb proportions to your preference. Whatever you do, I can vouch that, served alongside a chunk of crusty bread, it is a perfect, effortless summer lunch. So check out the link here.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism is my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, The Invention of Sicily, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

Ever since this spring’s constitutional referendum, I’ve been tracking the now-undeniable slow-motion collapse of the right-wing coalition. This weekend, however, brings the first comprehensive test of how voter sentiment is actually shifting. On May 24–25, a massive 748 comuni will go to the polls, including 18 provincial capitals stretching from northern hubs like Pistoia and Prato down to Salerno, Reggio Calabria, and Messina. The most important contest, however, is due to take place in Venice. The lagoon city has been governed (and arguably hollowed out), by Luigi Brugnaro’s centre-right administration for two terms now. With Brugnaro legally barred from running again, the right has put forward his deputy mayor for (over)tourism, Simone Venturini, promising total continuity. The wind, however, appears to be shifting. The centre left has pulled off a rare feat of unity by backing PD senator Andrea Martella as part of a list called ‘La Stagione Buona.’ Venetians are inherently suspicious of the PD, which has been historically linked to local clientelist networks, but Martella’s core campaign – tackling the short-term rental crisis to protect the resident population and building a city that works for young families rather than just day-trippers – does sound transformative on paper. Could this be the moment that the right loses a symbolic stronghold? I’ll be back with a full analysis next week, so watch this space.

Next week I’ll be heading to Rome for a few days, so — naturally — I’ve been keeping a close eye on the Roman Radar substack to plan out my itinerary. While browsing their homepage, I came across a striking essay from the editors’ inaugural print magazine that I want to share here. The piece, signed off by Stella Scocco, opens with a powerful reflection on a feminist action from April 2025, during which students at La Sapienza University threw purple paint over Arturo Martini’s iconic bronze statue of Minerva. As the classical deity of ingenuity and institutional rationality, Minerva historically stands for craftsmanship, mathematics, and science within the campus landscape. The students targeted her to force a discussion about Italy’s ongoing femicide emergency, which was temporarily pushed into the news cycle after the brutal murder of 22-year-old Ilaria Sula. A year later, general public attention has predictably drifted away from those campus blockades, but the systemic trauma remains raw, particularly this week, as prosecutors inside the Rome court officially requested a life sentence for Sula’s killer, Mark Samson. While legal matters are, of course, part of the struggle, Scocco’s analysis stands out for cutting past the standard judicial solutions to interrogate the rigid cultural environment and institutional complacency that really underpins this epidemic of violence. So make sure to check out the full piece here.

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Arts & Culture: This summer’s must-visit exhibitions

With summer upon us, Italy’s exhibition calendar shifts toward a slower, more contemplative rhythm. While the Venice Biennale is a (manic) staple of many summer itineraries, there is a wealth of exceptional modern and contemporary art to track down at a more relaxed pace elsewhere on the peninsula. In Milan, at Palazzo Reale, you can still catch the impressionist retrospective I Macchiaioli alongside Anselm Kiefer’s monumental, site-specific exhibition Le Alchimiste, which fills the war-torn grandeur of the Sala delle Cariatidi with massive canvases honoring forgotten female scientists. In Rome, MAXXI is hosting a retrospective of the revolutionary underground comic icon Andrea Pazienza titled Non sempre si muore (They Don’t Always Die) which looks brilliant, while Naples’s Gallerie d’Italia offers a comprehensive catalogue of Shepard Fairey’s graphic street activism in OBEY: Power to the Peaceful. Here in Florence the Rothko retrospective at Palazzo Strozzi will continue to run until late July, but beyond that there is a remarkable array of other shows like Georg Baselitz at the Museo del Novecento, Firenze Déco at Palazzo Medici Riccardi, and the spectacular images of the Foto Locchi exhibit at Villa Bardini. I may be biased, but if you’re looking for art, the Tuscan capital is, to my mind, the place to be this summer.

Earlier this month, the journalist and author Sophia Smith Galer released a powerful new book on language diversity that should be of interest to just about everyone reading this newsletter. How To Kill A Language: Power, Resistance and the Race to Save Our Words is an impassioned plea to recognize the quiet cultural emergency of global ‘linguicide.’ Inspired by her own family history, Galer bookends her globe-spanning investigation with the story of her nonna, an émigrée from the valleys near Piacenza whose passing mirrors the imminent disappearance of piaśintein, the fragile Gallo-Italian language of her childhood, known to her simply as al dialët. The deeply personal experience of witnessing that linguistic erosion, of subsequently learning standard Italian, and uncovering the long history of state-enforced homogenization at the expense of the peninsula’s rich regional languages, led Galer to chart a global trend that threatens to extinguish half of the world’s 7,000 tongues by the end of the century. This is a profound, beautifully written exploration of what we lose politically, ecologically, and intimately when a language is silenced, so make sure to pick up a copy here.

Recipe of the Week: Roasted Apricot Sorbet (with pistachio biscotti)

Ed è subito estate. After a glorious April (and a patchy start to May), I, like the rest of the peninsula, woke up yesterday to an absolute explosion of heat. Part of me is immensely grateful for the sudden shock of vitamin D. Another part feels the creeping dread at the prospect of the infernal months ahead. In any case, it is officially time to shift gears. This week’s recipe is therefore conceived as a welcome to the new season: a roasted apricot sorbet, served alongside delicate pistachio cookies. Here in the Tuscan markets, the early apricots have been piling up on the stalls for a few weeks now, but they are still a touch too tart for eating out of hand. Roasting them whole is therefore a nifty solution, one that unlocks the fruit’s hidden sugars and deepens its dense, aromatic notes. Nigel Slater’s version serves as an excellent blueprint here, and his instinct to pair his sorbetto with crisp, buttery pistachio biscuits sounds gorgeous. This is my dream early summer dolce, perfect to follow a plate of simple grilled sea bass or a fresh seafood salad. You can find his full recipe over at The Guardian here.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism is my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, The Invention of Sicily, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

It’s not just the schools that are in disarray. Over at the Italian Culture Ministry stormclouds are gathering once again. Earlier this week, Minister Alessandro Giuli suddenly fired two of his most senior colleagues: Emanuele Merlino (head of the technical secretariat) and Elena Proietti (head of his personal secretariat) over serious allegations. Merlino was fired for apparently denying funding to a documentary about Giulio Regeni, the left wing Italian student murdered in Cairo in 2016, on grounds that many held to be purely political. Proietti, meanwhile, was dismissed following allegations of malpractice and a string of missed work trips. Beyond the headlines, however, the story touches on a deeper disarray. Meloni’s government has already seen two culture ministers fall: Vittorio Sgarbi resigned in early 2024 over conflicts of interest, closely followed by Gennaro Sangiuliano who was involved in a dramatic clientalist scandal. While Giuli is acting the part of the reformer, his axing of his closest staff, as sacrificial lambs, is, arguably, symptomatic of his own ineptitude. On thing’s for certain: at a time when the world sorely needs confident, assertive public patronage in the arts, Italy’s Culture Ministry, alas, remains in a state of civil war wracked by factionalism, score-settling, and deep-seated grudges.

Now for something lighter (albeit with a sting in the tail.) If you’ve been browsing the Italian internet lately you’ve likely seen the viral video of Saverio, a charming cat who lives in Poppi, a small town in the Casentino area just outside Arezzo. For locals, Saverio has been a celebrity for years; they’ve looked after him with typical Tuscan nonchalance, even setting him up with an Instagram account. This week, however, mainstream Italian media, including TG24, descended on the story, racking up millions of views. The problem? Zero credit was given to the original source. The footage and the ‘scoop’ actually belonged to Souls of Italy, a project run by a fellow journalist here in Florence, Kirsten Hills, who has been documenting these everyday scenes for months. Despite strip-mining her content, the giants of the Italian press failed to mention her project even once. I therefore wanted to share the story for two reasons. Firstly because the story is simply very cute, and secondly to encourage readers here to follow Souls of Italy, and enjoy Kirsten’s brilliant video work directly at the source.

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Arts & Culture: Napoli Calling

Stanley Tucci is everywhere at the moment. From the Met Gala to the Devil Wears Prada sequel, the man has become inescapable. Whether you find him charming or a bit “much,” as I confess I sometimes do, the National Geographic channel has just aired the first episode of the second season of Tucci in Italy. In response to critics of the first series, Tucci has claimed this iteration says “no to food porn and yes to stories.” The premiere sees Tucci return to Naples, where he attempts to look past the pizza-clichés to find the city’s deeper history. He meets with a Michelin-starred chef to discuss the spaghettino alle vongole fujute (runaway clams), a dish where the clams are entirely absent, a culinary metaphor for the city’s historic poverty and ingenuity. He also spends time rediscovering a nearly forgotten grape, tracing the link between Campania’s volcanic soil and its ancient identity. As someone who has historically found Tucci’s travel-host persona slightly grating, I actually really enjoyed the focus on these social narratives. This time round, caveats aside, the producers managed to capture a city that is too often treated as a mere backdrop for gastronomic tourism to tell a story about the real, and rapidly evolving, food culture. Bravi.

Sticking with Naples: the city’s most respected anonymous electronic music producer, Liberato, dropped his new album, RADIO LIBERATO, on 9 May: a sprawling, 15-track collaborative experiment that feels more like a curated broadcast than a standard LP. The record features high-profile reinterpretations of his classics, including a standout version of INTOSTREET with Mahmood and a haunting take on ME STAJE APPENNENN’ AMÒ by Calcutta. There’s even a contribution from Iosonouncane, pushing the project into weirder, more experimental territory. By decentralizing his own voice through these diverse filters, Liberato manages to transform his back catalog into a collective civic anthem, proving that his project is less about an individual identity and more about the shared, mythic frequency of the city itself. That’s a thumbs up from me. So here’s the link.

Recipe of the Week: Saltimbocca alla Romana

Is there any better meat-based weeknight secondo than Saltimbocca? The traditional recipe, a staple of Roman cooking and a personal favorite of mine for solo dining or a quick, versatile dinner for two, is something every carnivorous home cook should know how to prepare. The essence of the dish is absolute simplicity: you want thinly sliced meat escalopes, traditionally veal, though lonza di maiale is a perfectly respectable alternative, topped with a fresh leaf of sage and a slice of salty prosciutto crudo, pinned together with a toothpick. The trick is to keep the cooking time incredibly brief, no more than five or six minutes at a high temperature to keep the meat tender. Once they’re done, deglaze the pan with a generous splash of dry white wine and a knob of butter to create a glossy, salty emulsion that brings it all together. Serve with a simple green salad or, if you’re feeling more deluxe, a bowl of vignarola to lean into that Roman spring spirit. Here’s the link.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

Two weeks ago, a small fleet of vessels set sail from the Sicilian port of Augusta to join the Global Sumud Flotilla, a grassroots initiative that aims to break the Israeli blockade of Gaza to deliver food and medicine to residents there. Last Thursday, however, the mission met a predictable fate as the Israeli navy intervened near Crete, arresting activists and seizing the cargo. As with last autumn’s mission, this incident has touched a nerve in Rome, not least because two of the activists this time round, Saif Abu Keshek and Thiago Avila, were aboard an Italian-flagged vessel when they were taken, forcefully, and shipped to Ashkelon for processing. The situation is increasingly dire. As of this morning, Abu Keshek is reportedly on a dry hunger strike after an Israeli court rejected his appeal for release. In response, prosecutors in Rome are asserting jurisdiction over what they are pointedly describing as “piracy” or “abduction” on sovereign Italian territory. While Meloni’s government attempts to maintain a precarious diplomatic neutrality, the fallout is understandably spreading; from civil society groups to the political opposition, and even within the more nationalist ranks of the right, there is a growing, indignant demand that Italy stop looking the other way and more seriously (re)consider the price of its ties to the Israeli state. For up to the minute news on the activists’ fate, and the latest from the Flotilla, make sure to follow updates over at Global Project.

Every summer I make sure to spend at least a few days in the south of Italy. Indeed, over the past decade I’ve had the pleasure and privilege of spending many weeks and months in Puglia, Calabria, Sicily, Basilicata and even humble Molise. One area I’ve never explored, however, is Cilento, a national park located to the south of Campania. Every year I plan to visit, and every year I find some logistical obstacle that gets in the way. Well, this week I came across a great piece by Kristi Derkacy in Italy Segreta about the pleasures of travelling around Paestum, Agropoli and Santa Maria di Castellabate, and, once again, I’m hoping 2026 will be the year I make it there. Like many other travel writers, Derkacy frames Cilento as an alternative to the overcrowded Amalfi coast, adopting a ‘not here but there’ type lens. Her research, though, and her suggested itinerary, do far more than that rhetorical device suggest, and her tips for sightseeing, swimming and, of course, where to enjoy the country’s best mozzarella, seem totally legit to me. Check out her travel guide here, then, and be prepared to add a handful of new sites to your Italy bucket list.

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Arts & Culture: Klinghoffer revisited

Last month, Florence’s Maggio Musicale theatre opened the spring festival season with a controversial show that has been gaining headlines around the world. I’m talking about Luca Guadagnino’s new adaptation of The Death of Klinghoffer, an opera by John Adams and Alice Goodman that explores the true story of the hijacking of the Achille Lauro cruise ship by Palestinian terrorists who murdered a retired, wheelchair-bound Jewish-American man (the eponymous Klinghoffer) back in 1985. Adams and Goodman were apparently inspired by the Bach passion, and, with this work, set out to offer a meditation on the causes and trauma of political violence, not an endorsement. Nevertheless, post 7 October, critics are asking why Guadagnino, a figure best known for his film work, has been so insistent on revamping an artwork that, many argue, glamorizes terrorism. Unfortunately, I’ve no space here to unpack the thorny issues herein. If you’re interested in the opera, though, or yet another faultine of the ongoing cultural wars, check out this interview with Guadagnino where he offers his own interpretative framework. Better yet, stream the full show on RAI play here to make up your own mind.

Nu Genea. Need I say more? If you follow the Italian music scene, you’ve almost certainly heard of the Neapolitan funk duo whose mix of 70s synth sounds and multilingual, pan-Mediterranean approach to disco has been exciting critics and the public alike across the peninsula for years now. Well, after a long wait, the band are back with a new record, People of the Moon, which I’m pleased to report… is exquisite. The soundscape is similar to previous releases, developing from a solid foundation of chopped up drum samples and funky guitars. This time round, though, the likes of María José Llergo’s vocal lines and melodies boldly and more confidently mix North African, Middle Eastern, and South Italian melisma with U.S. soul and R&B influences; while the skilful production brings it all together without this ever feeling like a pastiche. What else can I say? This is all about the vibe. Music to cook and dance and relax to, not to overanalyse. So listen to the album here and if you like what you hear, check out their summer tour which is taking to the road around Europe from now until September.

Recipe of the Week: Cacio e Pepe con Fava e Menta

This week’s recipe is another winner from Vanja van der Leeden’s blasphemous cookbook Italopunk: 145 Recipes to Shock Your Nonna. As the title suggests, it’s a variation on cacio e pepe, the classic Roman pasta dish that looks like a three-ingredient breeze but often ends in a panicked scramble to avoid rubbery lumps. Van der Leeden’s variation actually takes the pressure off a bit, utilizing a mix of pecorino and parmesan, which seem to make melting that little bit easier. Most importantly, though, she elevates the flavours with two non-traditional ingredients, mint and fava beans, for a contemporary twist. The former, inspired by a variation the author tried at trattoria Sora Lella, provides a cooling, sharp aromaticity that cuts through the funk of the pecorino. The latter brings colour, earthiness and the illusion, at least, of virtuousness. So check out the recipe here and click here to order van der Leeden’s excellent book.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

Once upon a time, the 25th of April was a relatively uncontentious public holiday. OK, it’s true, different segments of the population have always had different interpretations of the regime years, the role of different ideologies in leading the partisan resistance, and different views on the U.S.A. Nevertheless, the anniversary has generally been recognized as a moment of national unity. This year, I’m sorry to say, in a continuation of a deepening trend, the celebrations were bitterly divided. On Saturday, as diverse crowds gathered to mark the anniversary of the victory over Nazi-Fascism, tensions exploded across the peninsula. In Bologna, demonstrators apparently attacked activists marching for Ukraine, arguing that NATO’s involvement in the conflict undermines the ‘pacifist’ message of Liberation Day. In Milan and elsewhere, factions clashed over the presence of Israeli flags with pro-Palestine actors booing and chanting at members of the Jewish Brigade. In Rome, in a particularly grave incident, Eitan Bondi, a 21-year-old Jewish man, fired a compressed air gun at members of the ANPI partisan association, injuring two. These are just the most high-profile cases in a day that was, across the board, less about historical reflection than the deep fractures that now exist among would-be anti-fascist allies. As the dust settles, then, and the debate continues, I recommend paying close attention to the words of groups like LƏA - Laboratorio Ebraico Antirazzista, who, in the days since the attacks in Rome, have mobilized admirably in the name of peace. Check out their statement here.

During my time off last week, as I indulged in some slow reading and gentler-than-usual scrolling, I stumbled upon that now rarest of things: some truly transportive, long-form travel writing. In an age of shallow listicles and bland PR regurgitation, I honestly sympathize with anyone losing interest in the genre. Props, then, to the BBC for commissioning Maria Salvati to author a personal, intimate piece about walking the Cammino della Santissima Trinità. This 18km pilgrimage is a perfect example of “slow travel,” winding through the rugged, emerald heart of the Lazio and Abruzzo countryside. Though the two-day trek is apparently suitable for ‘amateurs’, the scenery is staggering, leading walkers through ancient beech forests and across high-altitude meadows with sweeping Apennine vistas. The route’s crescendo is the Monastero di San Benedetto a Subiaco, an architectural marvel carved directly into a sheer rock face in seriously dramatic fashion, which I’ve long wanted to visit. Salvati’s account is a poignant reminder that the best of Italy often lies in these quiet, peripheral paths, that, without fail, make for wonderful escapes from the beautiful but overcrowded tourist cities. Check out her piece here.

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Arts & Culture: The Fire in the Mountain

The wonderful Helena Attlee, author of The Land Where Lemons Grow and Lev’s Violin (which I reviewed for the Guardian a few years ago here), has a new book out this month dedicated to a place very close to my heart: Sicily. Like her previous work, The Fire in the Mountain: Sicily, Etna and her People is an intriguing, elegantly woven mix of travelogue, history, and literary musings. At its core, however, as the title suggests, is a meditation on the power of the island’s most sublime presence, Mount Etna. If you’ve ever spent time on the volcano’s slopes and felt the crunch of its grit under your boots, you’ll know the singular, almost spiritual energy the geologic formation transmits. Attlee is a deft synthesizer of these elemental forces, exploring how the volcano’s mercurial nature has shaped the resilience and psyche of the people living in its shadow. Beyond the geology, then, she sets out here to capture the complex Sicilianità forged between the fire and the sea. Whether you’re planning a trip to the island or just fancy some armchair wandering through one of the Mediterranean’s most intense landscapes, then, this looks like essential reading. For more info, check out this review in The Times or order straight from the publisher here.

Madame, the nom d’artiste of the 24-year-old Lombard singer Francesca Calearo, was a breath of fresh air from her first emergence onto the Italian music scene. When her debut album came out back in 2021, she seemed to represent a break in the panorama of the national soundscape, bringing a voice that defied rigid hip-hop and pop sounds for something freer, blending influences from Michael Jackson to Jamie xx into something entirely new. Well, after a long pause, Madame is back with a new record, Disincanto; an album which, as the title suggests, offers a more loaded and cynical take on her position in the Italian music industry. Charged with success, but burnt out after just three years of career, the singer proposes questions that are both personal and political: how can we quantify the monetary value of music? What is the meaning of art in a world of AI content? How can a social media persona relate to the authentic self? On a first listen, honestly, I found this release a little uneven, and rather less assured than the artist’s earlier work. Nevertheless, if rap, trap, and R&B are your thing, this is still an interesting and idiosyncratic listen, and a powerful protest against the state of the music business today. So check it out here.

Recipe of the Week: Strawberry Sorbet From The River Café

Temperatures here in Florence tipped over the 27°C mark this week. Perfect weather for wandering around the city and nearby hills, but still, more than a little concerning for the end of April. Leaving aside the usual caveats about eco-anxiety, then, the strawberries this year do seem to be enjoying the warm weather, and I’ve been devouring them by the crateful for the past couple of weeks. The thing about strawberries, of course, is that their shelf life is sadly so short and after a few days they do tend to go bad. Time, then, for a classic sorbet; a perfect way to store the fruit, to make the most of a substantial glut, and, more simply, the perfect mid-afternoon or after-dinner snack. There are a million strawberry sorbet recipes out there, but my go-to for years now has been the River Café classic. With just three ingredients (strawberries, lemon, and sugar) balanced in perfect alchemical proportion, this is as simple and delicious as a dessert can get, and the texture is, frankly, divine. So if, like me, you’re ready to dust off that ice cream maker for the bella stagione then check out the link here.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie.

However! I do still want to use this week’s shorter instalment to flag-up an interesting story from this week concerning the left-wing mayor of Genoa, Silvia Salis. If you haven’t heard about Salis yet, well, this is the scoop. Last weekend, the Ligurian city’s public administration organized an enormous party in the central Piazza Matteotti. The event was a family friendly daytime “rave” — not dissimilar to the party that took place in London’s Trafalgar Square the other week — and it brought 20,000 out into the streets. Salis, an ex-Olympic Hammer Thrower who won the mayoral race last year on an independent ticket, looked totally at ease as she danced on-stage alongside the Belgian techno DJ Charlotte De Witte, and many took to social media to express their amazement at seeing this politician (yes, a politician!) inhabiting such a relaxed and contemporary public role in the traditionally buttoned-up port city.

Over the past week the above image, and related videos, have gone viral, and Italy’s journalists are having a field day. Some commentators have already dubbed Salis the ‘anti-Meloni’ and on the left some are already calling for her to replace Elly Schlein as PD leader. This is obviously premature. But it says something about the fighting spirit of the Italian opposition right now. With Meloni flailing, dropping in the polls, and increasingly at-odds with her one-time ally Trump, the government is teetering. Activists are rightly asking which candidate could work in a future election to (re)galvanize the huge youth vote that won them the justice referendum, and, at the same time, unify a fragmented factional left-wing base.

Salis is a capable communicator; a key skill, obviously, for a leader. Beyond that, the focus now should shift onto her actual political vision. In English this piece by Nicoletta Ionta for Euractive offers a good overview (though still frustratingly limited in scope). Is Salis the one, then? Of course, it’s too soon to tell. As the summer beckons, however, something is clearly shifting in Italian politics, and the mayor of Genoa looks set to make a move on the national stage.

That’s it for a while. Thanks in advance for your patience and I’ll be back on 30 April with the normal format. A presto.

I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie.

Next up an under-the-radar story about ‘urban regeneration’ that has had no attention in the mainstream press but which highlights the ongoing struggle against speculation, concrete and the destruction of neighbourhoods across Italy. Earlier this year, a group of residents quietly decided to occupy Bologna’s Mitilini-Moneta-Stefanini park to protest against the local administration’s plans to build a new ‘Museo delle bambine e dei bambini’ (Muba) on a large green site. The park, which is located to the north east of the Emilian capital, has long been a community space; a public arena where children play and people of all ages hang out. The idea that trees are being chopped down to make way for a niche cultural institution has understandably upset many residents, and so, when the works began, hundreds blocked them. Well, in the latest developments, the police has moved in, attacking protesters, beating some and making arrests. In a city with a progressive municipality and a reputation for dialogue, this escalation is a dispiriting reminder of how quickly the ‘social’ in social democracy is discarded once it comes into conflict with the logic of investment. For the full story check out Dario Morgante’s piece for VoiceOver here.

Trieste is one of my favourite Italian cities. Nestled up in the extreme north east of the country on the border with Slovenia and Croatia, it offers a mix of cultures that is totally unique, not to mention natural and architectural beauties that easily rival more famous and more frequently visited destinations. This week, then, I was interested to read a piece by the food writer Rachel Roddy in The Guardian in which she explores the Friulian capital with a culinary itinerary in mind; touring the buffets, coffee houses and pasticcerie looking for the port’s authentic spirit. The food she eats is the genuinely local fare: fried vegetable snacks, pork rolls with horseradish, sauerkraut, goulash, soups and risotti and of course, like nearby Venice, plenty of seafood. All lovely stuff! For some reason the presentation of the article is weirdly cluttered (and dissolves into an uneven and seemingly erratically edited list by the end?). As a snapshot of an amazing city, though, and legacies of Austro-Hungarian cuisine in Italy, it’s beautifully written and well worth a read. So here’s the link.

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Arts & Culture: Beyond Silence

Back in 1928 Italy’s nascent fascist regime passed a set of censorship laws that sought to control the public culture industries. One of the clauses singled out Naples, and specifically, the depiction of the city on film. Directors, so the ordinance outlined, were forbidden from depicting “stallholders, beggars, urchins, dirty alleyways, and people dedicated to dolce far niente [sweetly doing nothing]” on the basis that such representations were un-Italian and presented the nation’s spirit in a negative light. Well, one figure who flagrantly ignored these rules was Elvira Notari, Italy’s first female director, who made 60 features and who, contrary to the law, allowed herself to film all manner of protagonists in the streets and piazze of the south in particular through the 20s and 30s. Mussolini’s thugs destroyed most of the director’s work and for decades it has been lost. Now, though, thanks to great detective work, the filmmaker Valerio Ciriaci has pieced the footage back together in a documentary Elvira Notari: Beyond Silence which, a hundred years on, gives her a voice again. Catch the film at an arthouse cinema near you, and in the meantime check out the trailer below to learn more about this fascinating history.

It’s been a while since I’ve been to the theatre here in Italy, not least because the scene here in Florence has been a little lukewarm for a while now. Well, next week I’ll be breaking my unintended hiatus when I attend Baret Magarian’s play Il Manoscritto which opens in Rome in the Teatro Trastevere for a three-day run on the 17, 18, and 19 April, and you might want to check it out. I’ve always enjoyed Baret’s books, stories, and poems; in particular his novel The Fabrications, which I reviewed a few years ago here. This new show, which takes the form of a monologue starring Roberto Zibetti, sets out from a strange metaphysical premise. An anonymous man is tasked with delivering a mysterious package; the only condition being that he is forbidden from opening it. The stage action takes place when the courier stops at a motel in a deserted dreamlike landscape, during which time the package seems to come to life and reflect, in a strange way, our narrator’s own psychic conflicts. The show has just finished in Paris at the Théâtre du Temps where it reviewed rave reviews, so if you’re in Rome, make sure to get down to Trastevere to catch it.

Recipe of the week: Ligurian potato salad with green beans and pesto

If you’re feeling a little overfed after the Easter festivities, well, this one’s for you. A light salad inspired by the vegetable-forward cuisine of Liguria where green beans and potatoes are ubiquitous in just about every meal. The recipe is taken from Waitrose magazine but don’t be put off by the UK supermarket branding, this really is something you’d find on a tavola fredda spread or aperitivo plate along the Cinque Terre coastline, especially for lunch or in the aperitif buffets the region is so good at preparing. You can obviously serve this salad with some grilled fish — perhaps a lemon sole — if you’re looking for a real dinner. Personally, though, I enjoy eating this just as it is, letting the herbaceous oil bring the elements together as the uncontested star of the show. If you’re looking for an alternative way to make use of some pesto genovese, then, this is the perfect solution. So here’s the link.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie.

I’m not a big football fan. I don’t follow Serie A these days and I’ve largely run out of patience with the sport to be honest. This week, however, the whole of Italy is in a state of shock about the latest high-profile defeat, which, as a national event, is worth reflecting on. For the third time in a row, the Italian men’s football team has failed to qualify for the FIFA World Cup. That’s right, for three consecutive tournaments there has been no Italian team competing. This is a staggering collapse for the Azzurri, a team that can look historically great one moment (winning the 2021 Euros) and then, just a few years later, fall apart against Bosnia in a qualifying knockout. Italian media is filled with tactical post-mortems right now. Personally, though, I’m more interested in the sociology of it all. How has a country that invests so much identity into football lost the fundamental skill to compete? How does this recurring failure impact other spheres of life? Many Italians see this as a symptom of a broader stagnation, a national lamento that refuses to lift. While this seems a stretch for what is just eleven men who can’t kick a ball, it has captured minds as a symbol of decline. In the somewhat melodramatic words of one fan: “We are a population of failures. End of story.”

Next up, a story that seemed right out of Kelly Reichardt’s film The Mastermind. On Monday, news broke of a heist at the Magnani Rocca Foundation near Parma that was so clinical it felt scripted. A group of masked men managed to bypass high-tech security, making off with works by Renoir, Cézanne, and Matisse in an operation that reportedly took less than three minutes. On the Italian internet, the news was met with weary sarcasm. “At least some Italians still know how to find the goal,” read one widely shared headline riffing on the team’s failure against Bosnia. There are serious questions to be asked here, of course, about how this theft was able to take place, who was behind it, and what can be done to rebuild credibility. In more quotidian terms, though, this was a bit of real-world chaos that perfectly captured the current sense of malaise. While the state’s formal institutions flounder and the national spirit wanes, the only thing many people can still rely on is the tried and tested folkloric celebration of modern banditry. Che tristezza.

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Arts and Culture: Rethinking the Novecento

I’ve been following Veronica Raimo’s work for a while now. Since breaking onto the global literary scene with her 2018 book Miden (The Girl at the Door in English translation) she has gone from strength to strength, developing a style that is concrete, essential, minimal, well-observed, and in a quiet way, brutal about the miscommunications between people. Earlier this year, Raimo published her latest novel with Einaudi titled Non scrivere di me, and I for one can’t wait to read it over the Easter weekend. The plot follows a woman named S. who, upon learning about the death of a famous director she once knew, is forced to relive a past sexual assault that derailed her life and writing career. The story branches out from here as the narrator grapples with the weight of the past and the decision of whether or not to go public. If you read Italian and are looking for something up-to-the-minute, this is the book of the moment. If you’re confined to English, I strongly recommend Raimo’s previous novel Lost on Me in the lovely translation by Leah Janeczko.

If you haven’t ever seen Bertolucci’s Novecento, then stop reading right now and rectify that immediately. The film is one of my favorites of all time; a masterclass in why we still look to the “golden age” of Italian cinema for gravity and scale. Unlike Fellini, who told dreamlike personal tales, Bertolucci’s epic has a rigorous political history and an intellectual weight that feels entirely in keeping with the spirit of late 70s. It manages to be grand and historical while remaining deeply aesthetic, visceral, and undeniably sexy. This week marks the 50th anniversary of the film’s premiere at Cannes, and to recognize the occasion, Parma is hosting a major exhibition at the Palazzo del Governatore titled ‘Bernardo Bertolucci: The Twentieth Century’. The exhibit, which runs until July, reconstructs the film’s legendary production, featuring hundreds of never-before-seen photos, original set materials, and a dialogue between the film’s sequences and the figurative art that inspired them. If you’re in the area, then, absolutely check it out. If not, this is the perfect excuse to rediscover this masterpiece of Italian cinema.

Recipe of the Week: Rossini cocktail

Back in February, I paid a trip to the baths at San Pellegrino Terme in an effort to shake off a nasty winter illness. While the thermal pools and saunas were the primary draw, the retreat also included a lunch and aperitivo where I encountered a cocktail I’d somehow never come across: the Rossini. The preparation is delightfully simple, essentially just macerated strawberries folded into chilled Prosecco. The result though is moreish, elegant, and feels far more sophisticated than the near-zero effort required to make it. With Easter approaching and a string of celebrations on the horizon, I’ve been meaning to recreate it at home, and fortunately, I tracked down a reliable ratio guide over at Saveur which looks like it should do the job. As strawberry season enters its peak across southern and central Italy, there’s no better time to lean into the spring sunshine with one of these in hand: so treat yourself, and enjoy the festivities!

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie.

Sticking with the fallout for a moment: many are asking what happens next, and what the implications will be for the broader political situation in Italy. Is Meloni doomed to fall? Is this the beginning of the end for this far-right administration? Is a left-wing resurgence on the horizon? None of these, of course, is a given. What’s certain, nevertheless, is that a discursive shift is underway. Until now, Meloni has seemed invincible, acting as if the nation were hers to shape. Those days of perceived total hegemony are over. Resignations from the government are mounting by the day, including Justice Undersecretary Andrea Delmastro Delle Vedove, Chief of Staff to the Justice Minister Giusi Bartolozzi and, just today, the perennially embattled Minister of Tourism Daniela Santanchè. In the opposition, meanwhile, various actors are jostling to claim ownership of the victory. Giuseppe Conte, leader of the M5S, has spent the week framing this as a personal defeat for Meloni’s brand of leadership. Elly Schlein of the PD has been more measured, focusing on the defence of the Constitution. The most significant actors, however, have been found in civil society; tellingly, both the CGIL trade union and ANPI (the Partisans’ Association) have seen a spike in new memberships over the past week. For now, Italy’s progressives can afford to breathe a sigh of relief. As the dust settles, however, these disparate forces will need to find new ways of cooperating to build a coherent, joint programme, one that can channel this sudden burst of social mobilization into a credible, long-term alternative for the country.

The referendum result wasn’t the only blow to Italy’s far-right this week. Over the weekend, thousands across the North gathered to mourn the death of Umberto Bossi, the founder and long-time leader of the Lega, who died on 19 March in Varese after a long illness. Bossi, the kingmaker of the 90s and a defining ally of Berlusconi, shaped the landscape of modern Italian politics and was, in many respects, the face of an era. Any Italian in their 40s or 50s will remember him first as the man who accelerated the First Republic’s collapse, and then as the maverick, revolutionary senatùr. Back then, of course, the Lega Nord was defined by its anti-Italianism: a separatist movement that sought to break away from the South (which Bossi famously dismissed as a ‘drain’ on taxes) to form the micro-state of Padania. Those days are long gone in the wake of Salvini’s nationalist pivot, but the DNA remains. Bossi was crude, charismatic, and profoundly consequential; he oversaw the institutionalization of regionalist xenophobia in the 90s and helped inaugurate the hard-line migration policies that define the present day. While some might disregard him as a relic of the past, Bossi was, in many ways, the architect of our current moment and his life story is a testament to how much Italy has stayed the same, and radically changed, over the last quarter-century. Check out Lorenzo Zamponi’s obituary here for the full picture.

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Arts and Culture: The Sun Also Rises

A few years ago, I had a half-baked scheme to write a biography of Fausta Cialente, a project I’ve since had to shelve, but which still sits in a Google Doc on my old laptop. If you aren’t familiar with the author’s work, I’m afraid I’m not surprised; she is sadly under-read in the Anglosphere. Cialente was, nevertheless, an inspirational figure. Born in Cagliari, she was a staunch anti-fascist who spent the war years in Cairo working with the Italia Libera partisans and broadcasting anti-Mussolini messages. Her true legacy, however, lies in her novels: epics and family tales that influenced numerous peers, including the luminary Natalia Ginzburg. This month, Cialente may (I hope) find the wider audience she deserves with the release of a new English translation of her 1966 novel, Un inverno freddissimo (A Very Cold Winter). Set in Milan, the story follows a group of women through the post-war reconstruction as they struggle to piece their lives back together after years of conflict. As with all of Cialente’s work, however, the book’s real strength is the ferocity with which her characters navigate the stifling patriarchy of the era. The LARB has published an excellent review if you’d like to dive deeper, and the new edition features an introduction by Claudia Durastanti, who’s also a long-term fan. If you like what you read, you can order a copy directly from the publisher here.

I don’t know about you, but I’m in a particularly good mood this week. The referendum result felt like a breath of fresh air, the sun is finally, confidently out, and political energies are mobilizing in hope for once. I’m writing this on the Frecciarossa back from Milan, where last night I had the privilege of attending Rosalía’s LUX tour at the Unipol Forum, a spectacular show (sadly cut short by the singer’s illness) but still a reminder of the sheer creative energy this city has been attracting lately. Milan feels alive, electric, and finally in its stride. With delays (as ever) on the high-speed line, I’m glued to my laptop browsing my feeds and I’ve just stumbled across the perfect soundtrack to match this sudden, defiant lightness of mood: Enzo Carella’s 1979 cult classic, ‘Barbara.’ Recently remastered and reissued on vinyl earlier this year, this is quintessential ‘Italo-boogie’, a genre that sits at the eccentric crossroads of Roman funk and surrealist pop. The tight, elastic bassline and Carella’s effortless vocals are sheer bliss, and it feels like an ideal record to blast out as the days finally get warmer. A vintage treasure ripe for rediscovery.

Recipe of the Week: Pizza with asparagus and taleggio

In culinary terms, the end of March is all about asparagus. The market stalls in my neighbourhood are already packed with variants: small, spindly wild spears, thick green stems, and those stubby, strange-looking white specimens that Mediterranean chefs are so fond of. This weekend I’ve reluctantly committed to some DIY and spring cleaning ahead of Easter, and I plan to offset the chores by preparing a slow-rise dough. This week’s proposal is thus for a seasonal pizza topped with prime spring produce. My basic recipe comes from Russell Norman’s classic cookbook, Polpo, where he suggests a small pizzetta with an assemblage of deli ingredients, the requisite asparagus, taleggio, and prosciutto. I’ll likely deviate by making a larger dough and leaving it much longer to rise. Whatever your own preference, the draw here is the topping: a mix of fresh greens and pungent Northern Italian cheese that fits these bright, clear days perfectly. So here’s the link.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

Back on the Italian shore, the news is dominated by the last days of campaigning ahead of the weekend’s justice referendum. While most of you are likely up to speed by now the Roman Radar Substack has just published an excellent, deep-dive take, so if you’re still feeling in the dark, I highly recommend you check that out. With just a few days to go, however, I want to put my cards on the table and unambiguously endorse the NO camp. I know some voters have gravitated towards this stance from a purely reflexive anti-Meloni position, but having spent weeks dissecting the details of this reform, I firmly maintain the proposal is fundamentally wrongheaded. On a purely practical note, the Nordio reform does absolutely nothing to address the systemic rot of the Italian legal system: the interminable length of trials, the chronic lack of administrative staff, or the sluggish digitalization of the courts. More gravely still, the proposal for a High Disciplinary Court under direct political control would surely create a punitive environment for magistrates who make rulings unfavourable to the political majority (thus potentially paving the way towards totalitarian rule). At the very least, this is a dangerous erosion of the separation of powers. There are dozens of other technical issues here, including the questionable application of sortition, but the threat to judicial independence alone should be enough to inspire any democrat to mobilize to kill this bill. If you are an Italian citizen reading this, then, please do head to the polls and vote on my behalf!

Have you ever heard of Menton, the multilingual gem on the Mediterranean Riviera that melds French and Italian influences in more or less equal measure? Despite my personal passion for Italy’s border communities and these ‘hybrid identity’ spaces, I was somehow entirely oblivious to the place until this week, when I came across an evocative travel piece by Jon Bryant in The Guardian. Bryant offers an affectionate portrait of this small community, where locals and tourists alike seem to spend their days drinking espressos on the seafront, practicing ginnastica, and indulging in the region’s famous vegetable-forward cuisine. Paradise, in other words. Yes, Menton is technically situated within the modern nation-state of France, but its soul remains deeply Ligurian. For nearly five centuries, the town was a possession of the Republic of Genoa, and that heritage is still visible in the pastel-washed architecture and the local Mentonasc dialect. Based on Bryant’s description, it still boasts a fiercely Italian cultural spirit too. I particularly enjoyed his description of Allo Robert, a warehouse-emporium of French and Italian bric-a-brac where the author spent his time sifting through “the kind of things couples had on their wedding lists 100 years ago.” It is lovely writing about a truly enchanting-sounding spot. So read the full piece here.

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Arts & Culture: Linguistic Flourishes

The Premio Gregor von Rezzori is one of Italy’s most prestigious and consistently exciting translated literature prizes. Founded in 2006, the award is unique in that it honours both the author and the translator, recognizing the collaborative alchemy required to bring international literary fiction into the Italian language. Last year, Ferdia Lennon and Valentina Daniele took home the prize for Eroi senza gloria; a well-deserved victory for a book and an interpretation that were, to my mind, pitch-perfect. This week, the 2026 longlist was announced to mark the 20th anniversary of the prize, and at first glance, it is an intriguing selection. Highlights include Julia Deck’s Ann d’Inghilterra (translated by Yasmina Melaouah), Isabella Hammad’s Entra il fantasma (translated by Maurizia Balmelli), Rachel Kushner’s Il lago della creazione (translated by Silvia Pareschi), Ian McEwan’s Quello che possiamo sapere (translated by Susanna Basso), and Maria Elena Morán’s Tornare a quando (translated by Roberta Arrigoni). There are many more novels worth digging into here; a list that, as ever, showcases the true literary excellence of contemporary publishing. The award ceremony will take place in Florence on 7-8 May, so in the meantime, do check out the translations (or the originals) and follow the prize’s progress here.

La Niña’s album La Furesta was one of my absolute favourite records of 2025. Formed during the isolation of the pandemic, this South Italian singer’s “futurist pan-Mediterranean folk” project is one of the freshest and most energetic musical experiments to emerge from Naples in recent years. This week, I was delighted, and somewhat astonished, to see this niche mezzogiorno act showcased by the web radio giant KEXP as part of their Trans Musicales collaboration in Rennes, France. And let me tell you, the concert is an absolute blinder. La Niña plays a short, six-song set that demonstrates the incredible breadth of her talent and the textural richness of her soundscapes. While the studio version of La Furesta is powerful, it can occasionally feel a little flattened by production; here, however, the artists are fully unleashed in their element. They pivot seamlessly between acoustic instruments, guitars, and drums, while showing just as much expressive skill on the autotune, the synth pads, and other electronic flourishes. It was a genuine joy to watch, and I hope it brightens your day as much as it did mine.

Recipe of the week: Panzanella con Mango e Lime

This week’s recipe comes courtesy of Vanja van der Leeden, the Dutch writer and author of the wonderfully heretical cookbook ItaloPunk: 145 recipes to shock your nonna. I first came across van der Leeden’s work on Instagram and, I have to admit, I initially disregarded it as a passing fad designed to harvest clicks rather than spread real culinary knowledge. As I explored further, however, I realized the chef is putting forward a very constructive philosophy of fusion; one that takes Italian roots but injects them with a sophisticated understanding of modern “flavor alchemy” and aesthetic preferences. Take this beautiful panzanella with mango and lime. Panzanella, of course, is perfect just the way it is; it is not a recipe that technically needs “fixing.” This version, though, makes for a brilliant Asian-ish variation, with lime, honey, ginger, and chili spiking the dish, alongside a splash of fish sauce (a clever, if dubious, nod to the ancient Roman use of Garum). Sacrilege? Certainly. But if you’re curious to experiment and fancy a break from the usual tried-and-tested Italian fare, this is a magnificent dish to shock the senses. Here’s the link.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

When I first moved to Italy in 2012, the topic of emigration, and specifically youth emigration, was at the very top of the news agenda. Those were the pre-Brexit days of the austerity crisis, when huge waves of Italians were heading to the UK, Germany, and Spain to try and thrive where their own country wouldn’t allow them. I was therefore struck to read new data this week from Università Cattolica which shows that, over a decade later, the situation is little better. According to yesterday’s updated figures, 367,000 young people under the age of 35 left the country between 2015 and 2024. The data paints a bleak picture of a nation that’s fatally stalling: among EU nations Italy has one of the lowest levels of graduates, the second-highest level of NEETs (those not in education, employment, or training), and a dismal level of state investment in research at just 1.4% of GDP. I could go on citing the widening inequalities between North and South or the stagnation of salaries, but the numbers speak for themselves. Meloni is fixated on demographic questions and she continues to campaign on tackling immigration with that logic in mind. If she cannot stop the ‘brain drain’ of the country’s own youth, however, Italy will soon face a genuine social emergency that would not just compromise business and culture but potentially bring down the welfare state itself.

Next up, a travel piece. This week my friend and colleague, the journalist Laura Rysman, published a lovely essay for the New York Times reporting from Naples, where she interviewed Pasquale De Stefano, the city’s “last living numeraio,” or number painter. If you’ve ever visited Naples I’m sure you’ve been struck by the beautiful attention paid to the hand-painted placards and targhe advertising wares from fruit and vegetable vendors’ baskets. As of now, the vast majority of those that remain are the work of De Stefano who, gifted with a strong and slightly anarchic spirit, continues his poetic work while lamenting the sterile state of the modern world. Laura’s piece does a masterful job of profiling De Stefano, offering a full, non-hollow picture of the man, his craft, and his opinions. His insights are genuinely thought-provoking, touching on how we travel, what we truly value, and what we want our urban spaces to look like in an era of digital homogeneity. Laura has also kindly provided me with a paywall-free gift link, so make sure to check that out and enjoy the evocative photos by Pontus Berghe while you’re at it.

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Arts & Culture: Distant Reading, Close Listening

OK, this one is admittedly pretty niche, but bear with me. Back in my student days, I went through a phase of obsessing over world literature and critical theory, particularly the work of Franco Moretti, the Italian scholar who pioneered the technique of “distant reading.” By reducing texts to shadows of themselves to oversee macro-thematic patterns at a global level, Moretti changed how we visualize literary history. This week, I noticed my publisher, Verso, has released a new collection of essays exploring the legacy of his thinking and assessing the growing field of ‘experimental literary materialism.’ If this sounds abstract and technical, well, I’m afraid it is, but the field is genuinely exciting. I have always believed it can help non-specialist audiences reflect on tangible issues like how we read, what we read, and how we think about books within a larger cultural ecosystem. This book gathers contributions from leading theorists including Federico Bertoni, Jérôme David, Giuseppe Episcopo, and, of course, Moretti himself, making it the likely defining work on the field for years to come. If you’re an academic or a scholar in the humanities, make sure to check this out. For everyone else, trust me, this work is guaranteed to revolutionize how you think about the literary canon. So here’s the link.

After a particularly uninspiring year of Sanremo performances, where, frankly, almost nothing jumped out at me, I’ve been a little despondent about the state of contemporary Italian music. This week, however, I started to feel slightly more positive while diving into the new EP by 22-year-old Milanese producer ‘prima stanza a destra’. This mysterious, anonymous artist has been on my radar for a while now, with the odd track popping up on my Spotify shuffle over the last few years basically at random. But their new EP, titled la ragazza che suonava il piano, is the first time I’ve truly become immersed in the artist’s specific soundscape. After a morning of listening on repeat, I can now say I’m fully on board. At first I was a little put off by what felt like an imitation of that 2010s Anglosphere falsetto (think early Bon Iver). Once I settled in, however, my ears acclimatized to the production, which is a gorgeous, atmospheric mix of ambient textures, trap-inspired drums, and intricate electronica. It’s all stitched together beautifully. If you’re a fan of the textured, emotive electronic work of James Blake or Fred Again, I think you might enjoy this. Listen to the lead single ‘infinito’ below, and stream the full EP here.

Recipe of the Week: Frittata di scammaro

I like to think I’ve accumulated a fair bit of knowledge about Italian cuisine over the years of writing this newsletter, but I still find dishes that catch me completely off guard. This week’s recipe is a case in point: the frittata di scammaro. A Neapolitan Lenten staple, it is an architectural marvel of the Campanian table in the run-up to Easter. I first stumbled across it while researching the city’s street food and was captivated by Katie Parla’s description of it as “the anti-frittata frittata: crispy, crackly, and conspicuously eggless.” If that sounds like a contradiction, think of it as a pasta alla puttanesca that has been reborn; the spaghetti is tossed with olives, capers, and oil, then pressed into a pan until it forms a golden, shattered-glass crust. This is a masterclass in “store cupboard” cooking, turning humble pantry staples into a sophisticated, salty wedge of finger food. Whether you’re observing Lent or just looking for a novel addition to your next aperitivo, this is a brilliant way to repackage familiar flavours into something entirely unexpected. So here’s the link.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

In a week when newspapers have been dedicated, overwhelmingly, to covering the war, I know many of us are looking for other kinds of reporting; not only to escape the onslaught of propaganda from all sides, but to maintain our own attention on systemic issues like migration, climate change and social justice. Well, this week I found a necessary sanctuary from doomscrolling while dwelling on a lovely piece in The Guardian about Italy’s ‘wall lizards,’ which, it turns out, provide a fascinating insight into Mediterranean ecologies. The piece, by Roberto García-Roa, which was published as part of the newspaper’s Age of Extinction series, explores how researchers are finding new theories about colour variation in different species of the lizard and, by doing so, identifying new trends for conservation. At the core of the investigation is the humble Aeolian wall lizard (Podarcis raffonei); a species under threat due to rats and non-native breeds of reptile that are taking over its historic habitats. Now, scientists are working to form sanctuaries on two tiny islets, Lisca Bianca and Bottaro, not just to save the species but as a way of exploring more deeply how minor variations within lizard communities can impact the wider ecosystem of flora and fauna. While I’m no biologist, there was something deeply restorative in learning about these beautiful animals that live alongside us in this part of the world. So here’s the link.

It’s almost a decade now since I first set out to begin work on The Invention of Sicily, and while I don’t now make it down to the island as much as I’d like these days I do try my best to keep up with the changes that are taking place, most of all to Palermo, which remains one of my favourite cities in the world. This week, then, I was really pleased to encounter a new piece by Lorenzo Villa and Bartolomeo Sala over at Italy Segreta about the photographer Tommaso Serra and specifically his shots of the Albergheria street markets. Back when I was living in Sicily, I spilt quite a bit of ink writing about the Ballarò market which, at the time, was a vital social laboratory and genuine meeting place for long-term residents and new migrants alike. Now, as Ballarò succumbs to gentrification, it’s fascinating to see the authentic popolare spirit migrating into the chaotic streets of Albergheria. Despite being centrally located, right next to the Norman Palace, this district is still home to plenty of genuine community spaces but also struggles with many social challenges that are more often associated with peripheral neighbourhoods. Serra’s shots here hone in on the street life, the goods, the personal objects and the detritus that together tell the material story of this unique place. Check out the full story here.

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Arts & Culture: Films to catch this March

This week, during a marathon readthrough of the latest UK-US-EU literary magazines, I came across a fascinating long read by the historian Erin Maglaque in the London Review of Books dedicated to Caravaggio, and, specifically, the ways that the artist depicted and, in some respects, defiled the human body in his corpus of work. If you have a strong stomach and an LRB subscription, you must absolutely read it here. If you aren’t a subscriber, however, the good news is that Maglaque also did a show for the LRB podcast, speaking about Caravaggio with Thomas Jones, and the full episode is available to listen to free from the paywall. The discussion, which clocks in at a neat 40 minutes, packs a lot in, focusing on the Baroque pioneer’s studied provocations, his use of filth, street-life models, and an active process of taboo-busting that still feels radical. I enjoyed learning more about the artist’s employing of sex workers, his patrons’ fear of paintings they themselves commissioned, and the longer controversies that have accompanied some of the best-known works. If you’re a Caravaggio fan then make sure to read Maglaque’s essay and listen back to the discussion. If you like what you read/hear make sure to also pre-order her new book Presence: A Hidden History of the Female Body which sounds absolutely excellent.

After a relatively arid spell for Italian cinema, March looks like a more interesting month for films, with several new releases hitting big screens and streaming platforms in the weeks ahead. Of the many silver screen releases (and there are many coming up) I want to flag up two in particular. First is La Lezione by director Stefano Mordini; a psychological thriller starring the always excellent Matilda De Angelis as a brilliant lawyer whose moral compass is tested when she takes on the defence of a mercurial professor played by Stefano Accorsi. This is a treat for fans of the genre and has the added appeal of being set in gorgeous Trieste, an under-filmed location that feels naturally composed for the noir aesthetic. Another release you might want to check out is La Mattina Scrivo, a dark comedy by Valérie Donzelli about an aspiring writer who drops out of his successful job and takes a position as a gig-economy everyman worker in order to make space for his creative practice, much to the dismay of just about everyone in his life. As the narrator wryly puts it in the excellent trailer: “there are a lot of very well-paid slaves out there today.” Both films are out today so check your nearest cinema, or streaming platform, for info on where to catch them.

Recipe: Tagliarini with mussels, oregano, chili and garlic

Tim Siadatan’s Padella was at the top of many folks’ best cookbooks lists at the end of last year, and, having picked up my own copy a few weeks ago now, I do understand why. The UK-based chef has done a great job collating a lovely mix of recipes, from the everyday simplicity of “a million things to do with anchovies” right the way to more elaborate ragùs and filled pastas fit for a dinner party. This week, as the weather tentatively moves into primavera mode, I plan to continue my way through the book by exploring his recipe for tagliarini with mussels, oregano, chili, and garlic. This is a lovely proposition; Northern Italian-coded on account of the fresh egg noodles, but freshened up with Mediterranean herbs and a hint of spice. The best bit, though, at least according to his evocative description, is the mussel stock, which he tosses the pasta through to lend a hefty seafood flavour to the dish as a whole. Click here to check out the full recipe, and if you haven’t got the book, I highly recommend ordering yourself a copy here.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

Next up some news on Italy’s religious culture wars: on Monday thousands of pilgrims flocked to the hilltop town of Assisi to witness the bones of Saint Francis which are currently on display in the main Basilica for the first time in three hundred years. This event, to mark the 800th anniversary of Francis’s death, has an important meaning for Christians. The man was, after all, one of the most important saints in the history of the faith. Personally, though, as a non-believer, I’m most interested in the historical significance of the cult of Francis; in the philosophy, the politics and social implications of the rituals as performed today. It’s striking, for example, how many agendas are working to shape the narrative. For progressive Christians, Francis is an inspiration: a multicultural cosmopolitan who opposed the crusades and enjoyed friendship with Sultan al-Kamil. He was a lover of animals, a proto-environmentalist and a pacifist whose vow of poverty represents a kind of medieval precursor to anti-capitalism. For conservatives, meanwhile, Francis is a proud identitarian, an evangelist who was devout in his religious mission, a paragon of seriousness and discipline who was committed to self-sacrifice in service to God’s higher power. I’ll be writing more on the history of these ideological stances soon, tracing interpretations from Mussolini’s fascists all the way to Berlinguer and the PCI. In the meantime though, as the religious festivities continue, I hope you’ll take this as a gentle hint to pay close attention to the various actors who are turning this old saint into a pawn for their competing political agendas.

It’s not often I find myself watching Italian TV these days; or at least, not in diretta. After years of reporting on the news, hours spent in front of grotesque sexist gameshows, the whole spectacle makes me feel rather sick. I do make an exception most years for Sanremo, however, the Italian music festival and precursor to Eurovision which, as you probably know, is a national obsession. So far I’m afraid the 2026 edition has been underwhelming; the music bland and formulaic, the skit performances even more wooden than usual. While I enjoyed Levante’s contribution on Monday, she was the lone voice of talent in a sea of mediocrity, and I’m not surprised to read that opening night audience share is down by approximately 3 million on 2025 (!) One thing I do want to flag here is the surreal and rather upsetting use of Artificial Intelligence at this year’s festival. In the middle of the opening, when the hall of the Ariston Theatre resounded with the notes of Papaveri e Papere by Nilla Pizzi, RAI broadcast a short sketch developed by AI which deformed the audience in the stalls, and presenter Carlo Conti himself, into ducks and ducklings. The idea, I suppose, was to create a novel, “cute” intervention. Instead, as you can see below, the result was a hallucinatory nightmare that seemed, unintentionally, to cut to the core dark essence of Italian postmodern media. If the experiment backfired it at least had an uncanny truth to it: clearly demonstrating the poor taste, out of date spectacle that Sanremo has sadly become. Che imbarazzo ragazzi.

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Arts and Culture: All Hail The Duke

This week was a big one for the Italian author Matteo Melchiorre. As he prepares to attend a number of literary festivals in the coming weeks (from Testo here in Florence, to Milan Book Pride), the international media has catapulted the 45-year-old into the spotlight. On Tuesday, the Booker International Prize judges announced that Melchiorre’s book The Duke is featured on the long list. Which is surprising! This is Melchiorre’s debut novel, and when it was first released in Italian it passed somewhat under the radar. Now, thanks to the English translation, by Antonella Lettieri, the author and work are set to find a wider reading public. I confess, I have not read the novel yet, but the plot sounds very much up my street: the last descendant of a noble family navigating the decaying splendour of his ancestral estate in Vallorgàna, a tiny, isolated village high in the foothills of the Dolomites. Yes, this is a very Italian sounding story about inheritance, memory, and the weight of history in a changing world. And I can’t wait to read it. Can Melchiorre capture audiences like last year’s Italian nominee Vincenzo Latronico? Can he succeed where his predecessors have fallen short? We’ll find out on 19 May. Until then, if you’re looking for an Italian book to read — in original or translation — this is the title of the moment and you can order it here.

Next-up some non-fiction. This month, Penguin is releasing the paperback edition of the historian Tom Holland’s refreshing English translation of the 2nd Century AD writer Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus’s work on Roman imperial history, and the author is also organising several live events to mark the occasion. If you haven’t read it before, The Lives of the Caesars is a canonical work of biographical writing that remains one of the main sources of information for understanding the personal lives, motivations and proto-psychological conditions of 12 key Roman emperors (and, to a lesser extent, the societies they lived in and presided over). This is a book about politics, about the rise and fall of dynasties. It’s also a raucous and certainly exaggerated account, filled with tales of personal scandal, foul tempers, violence, and sexual vice (Tiberius’s supposed activities on the island of Capri being a case in point). I first read Suetonius at university many years ago and was shocked by the gossip girl-like account of ancient elite history. I’m much looking forward to tucking into this translation, then, and reacquainting myself with some of the more salacious details. Order here if you’re interested.

Recipe of the Week: Fettuccine with artichokes, guanciale, and pecorino

The end of February is always an erratic time here in Tuscany. Yes, the flowers are out, yes the mimosa is looking beautiful and the hope of spring is on its way. At the same time, the produce aisles are desolate. The winter vegetables are getting mealy, the oranges are starting to dry out, the fennel is losing its crunch while the tomatoes and asparagus are far-off yet. What to eat in this middle ground time, then? My answer, following in cucina povera tradition, is the humble artichoke. I know some people are a little intimidated by this spiky looking vegetable, but really it’s nothing to fear. There’s a knack to the peeling, sure, but it’s something you can get the hang of with only a minor amount of practice and the results are certainly worth it. This week, then, I plan to prep a Roman style pasta dish that farmers around rural Lazio often eat at this time of year apparently. The recipe is a simple mix of regional ingredients: fresh egg fettuccine, the eponymous vegetable, and, of course, the essential flavour bombs of Roman cuisine: guanciale, pecorino and vast quantities of black pepper. This is a hearty, woody, earthy, decisive-tasting mix of ingredients that is bold and unapologetically salty. So click here for the recipe if like me you’re craving a carb-heavy pasta pick-me-up this week.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

It’s carnival this week and, as you may have noticed, the mood across Italy right now is pretty raucous. On Sunday in Viareggio the annual parade took place with floats depicting Ursula Von der Leyen as a warmongering hawk and, most striking of all, Sebastiano Santi’s ‘The Last Hop(e)’ which depicts the Devil presiding over an unholy conference of Putin, Xi Jinping, Netanyahu and Trump. While there was surprisingly little venom targeted towards Meloni and the current administration this year, I thought I’d draw your attention, anyway, to the bigger picture of these events via a fascinating article by Paolo Mossetti I read this week about the ‘workers’ carnival’ which emerged in 1977 in the small town of Pomigliano d’Arco where domestic unrest was, by contrast, on full display. This moment was a huge gathering of local people, where workers turned to theatre and performance art to depict the values of progressive social struggle at a time of terrorism, violence and state terror. Today, thankfully, the bloodshed in Italy is a distant memory, but the lesson is as powerful as ever. Carnival is about fried sweets, yes. But as Italians well-know it’s also a moment of subversion, when we, the people, can reflect on our more renegade sides and meditate together on what we might all be capable of in our follia organizzata (organized madness). Click here to read Mossetti’s piece (ITA only I’m afraid).

Earlier this week I was travelling up past Lake Como, en route to the Lombard mountains, when I found myself struck by the beauty of the River Mera valley, a little-known corner of the region that few place on their maps today while rushing for the glossy centres of Bellagio and Menaggio. Shortly after, by total coincidence, I stumbled across Annabel Abbs’s latest travelogue for the Guardian which explores the town of Chiavenna, an ancient stone-built outpost in the vicinity that once served as the essential gateway for Grand Tourists like Goethe and Mary Shelley. Sadly, I didn’t have time to make a stop, but her piece evokes a town blissfully unperformed, where the ‘giants’ cauldrons’ of glacial rock and the grueling stone steps to the abandoned hamlet of Savogno offer a texture that the more manicured parts of the region have long since traded for polish. Abbs drifts through the crotti, natural mountain caves that breathe a cool, constant wind, and the frescoed rooms of the Palazzo Salis, painting a picture of a place defined by silence and a certain understated, quietly romantic decay. If, like me, you’re a traveller who prefers the rugged and the atmospheric Italy over the Instagrammable fads, this might be a place to consider. I for one plan to be back. So here’s the link.

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Arts & Culture: two faces of the Italian 80s

Enzo Tortora was once one of the most recognizable faces on Italian television. As the host of the Friday night variety show, Portobello, he was the epitome of the national TV personality until one evening, in 1983, the myth collapsed on itself when he was arrested, in dramatic fashion, on live television for alleged ties to the mafia. This week director Marco Bellocchio has got a new HBO series out which dramatizes the true story behind Tortora’s arrest and the dramatic legal proceedings that followed. The six-part series tells the story of the man’s ascent to fame, from a modest background to national star, before documenting his personal collapse and, most tragically, the shocking coda. Tortora, it turned out, was set-up, or, at best, the victim of a terrible mishandling of events by the judges and media. To this day many Italians consider the Tortora case as one of the most visible demonstrations of a miscarriage of justice, not to mention a warning about the power of paparazzi and journalistic agenda. Starting in the Years of Lead and stretching into the origins of Berlusconi’s populist media empire, Bellocchio’s show reminds us how much this ‘in-between’ chapter of Italian history still has to teach us today. Check it out on HBO Max starting tomorrow.

It’s been a bit of weirdo week culture-wise, honestly. And this newsletter, I realize now, well-captures that. Every story here, from Umberto Eco to the carnival to Tortora, captures a side of Italian life that dates back, essentially, to the late 20^th century and specifically to issues that came to a head during the 1980s. It seems fitting to end this week, then, with the new song by neo Italo-disco outfit Mind Enterprises who released a new track this week called ‘Tacchini’. Is this a masterpiece? No. Absolutely not. Nevertheless, like everything the duo produces, it’s a remarkable piece of performance art anyway; a metamodern parody of consumerist optimism that somehow remains entirely earnest in its injunction for us all to give up our worries and get dancing. The song has a great vibe, an infectious hook and makes a nice and unashamedly hedonistic counterpoint to the dark institutional version of the 80s that Portobello is so concerned with. So turn up the volume and skip to 1.10 for the synth drop on the track below. And if you don’t know these guys’ work make sure to check out their YouTube mixes here for a perfect break from the grind.

Recipe of the Week: Pan-Roasted Trout with Crispy Fennel Salad

Trout isn’t a fish most people associate with Italy, and I get that. This is, after all, a country surrounded by relatively warm waters, where most people consume bream and bass and squid and mussels and tuna and swordfish. Trout, by contrast, can seem rather uninteresting. It’s a shame, though, because the fact is in and around the pre-Alpine areas in the north, and especially near the lakes, people actually prepare the fish pretty often and it makes a lovely counterpoint to some of the heartier mountain and pianura food. Most Italian recipes for trout are simple, pan-fried in a lemon sauce or baked with orange rather than the elaborate Austro-Hungarian preparations many people are used to eating. This week, though, I stumbled across an interesting-looking recipe by the cook ‘Chef Bikeski’ where she prepares the fish, yes, in classic way, but also adds a load of mediterranean flavours like sundried tomatoes, oregano and fennel into the mix. This is not a traditional recipe by any means but it sounds like a really lovely way to eat in these (hopefully) final days of winter, and I’m curious to try it. So here’s the link.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!

But onto more constructive, potentially positive news: I was pleased to read this week that the Milan Public Prosecutor’s Office is coming out of its slumber to try and protect the nation’s workers from the worst excesses of unregulated neoliberal capitalism. On Monday, Prosecutor Paolo Storari opened a new investigation into the food delivery platform Glovo, accusing the Spanish-based company of digital caporalato [exploitation of a gig-economy labour force]. The company, which has about 1.6 million users in Italy and accounts for 25% of the nation’s digital delivery market, is an increasingly massive part of the domestic economy. On the frontline are 40,000+ riders who work without real contracts, fair pay, or basic security; some earn as little as €2.50 per transaction while working 12-hour days. This is a worldwide problem, and one that neoliberals often argue is the responsibility of the consumer. What is really needed, of course, is legal action, so I for once am pleased to see the Italian magistrates stepping up. With the referendum on judicial reform fast approaching, it’s clear the Courts are flexing their muscles; and as campaigns go, it is a stark reminder that an independent judiciary is often the only thing protecting 40,000 riders from total exploitation. From the government, meanwhile, we can expect arguments that prosecutors are overstepping their remit by appointing ‘judicial administrators’ to oversee corporate management. Personally? I know which side of the argument I am on…

I’ve got to be honest: I am, in general, somewhat reluctant to cover over-tourism in this newsletter. Yes, it’s an important topic, and yes, the phenomenon is hollowing out Italy at a worrying pace, but the coverage is often repetitive and feels more like journalistic posturing than politically constructive criticism. Nevertheless, I too get caught up on occasion by the more outrageous cases, and this week I want to flag the situation in the Dolomite Val di Funes, where locals are finally at a breaking point with visitors. I say this, mainly, because it’s such a surprise. I’ve been vacationing near Val di Funes for years and I used to find the place totally deserted. It is, of course, stunning, but it is now a bigger destination than ever — reportedly sparked by the Chinese mobile carrier CMCC printing an image of the local Santa Maddalena church on its SIM cards back in 2005, a legacy that has since gone viral on TikTok and Xiaohongshu. This year, the local government has introduced strict new measures, including road barriers (starting this May) and increased parking fees, to discourage ‘hit-and-run’ selfie-seekers. If you’re planning a trip to the area, then, by all means still go, but do keep this context in mind. Alternatively, you might want to consider a lesser-known Dolomite valley like, for example, the Valle Aurina: a stunning mountain area near the Austrian border that remains mercifully off the viral path.

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Arts and Culture: The Invention of Lampedusa

An essay by one of my favourite Italy correspondents, Rachel Donadio, about one of my favourite authors, Curzio Malaparte, for one of my favourite magazines, the New York Review of Books? Well, I simply had to link to this one. In Donadio’s piece, which is online now and features in the 26 February print edition, the writer reviews Maurizio Serra’s expansive biography alongside Joe Wright’s TV adaptation of M. Son of the Century. The latter has been making quite a splash on Sky and MUBI lately, and while some critics have been divided, I find Wright’s hyper-stylized approach to the rise of fascism criminally underrated. Really, though, this is an essay about power: an eloquent reflection on how writerly narcissism can intersect with radical politics, and how the two feed into one another. Malaparte was a shape-shifter, a figure whom Donadio neatly summarizes as “a Fascist turned critic of Mussolini turned Maoist sympathizer; a prescient and provocative author of novels, reportage, political analysis, poetry, dramas, and a screenplay; and a gifted frontline reporter.” He was also a vital editor and translator, of course — the man who brought García Lorca, Rilke, Éluard, Yeats, and T.S. Eliot to Italian audiences — not to mention a formidable existentialist-surrealist philosopher-poet-journalist in his own right. To find out more about this complex figure’s life and work, check out the full piece in the NYRB (free reading options available).

A few years ago, while researching my book The Invention of Sicily, I went to Augusta to report on the refugee crisis. The experience was one of the hardest of my career; the meetings with children who were victims of traffickers and torture were life-changing, and they remain instructive to the politics I try my best to represent here. One of the things that has stayed with me most are the stories about Lampedusa, from locals, migrants, and journalists alike. I have never been there personally, but the island exists in my imagination, as for many, as a mythical place of good and evil, heroism, cowardice, beauty and ugliness. This week, I was interested to discover that the anthropologist Dionigi Albera has released an essential book on the island called Lampedusa: Una storia mediterranea. Moving from its present reality as a “frontier theatre” to explore the deep past, Albera employs a method similar to the one I attempted in my Sicily book: peeling back the layers of the Mediterranean to shine a light on the paradoxes of modern Italy and Europe. It is a world-island of crusaders, hermits, and “Enlightenment tolerance” that complicates everything we think we know about the current crisis. This is exactly my kind of book, then. But if you still need convincing, check out this recent essay by the author and find out more about his work here (note for English readers: a translation is due out next month).

Recipe of the Week: Patrick Pistolesi’s Cosa Nostra Cocktail

It’s almost the weekend, and after a pretty brain-foggy start to the year, I for one am looking forward to some carnival rejuvenation. What I really mean, honestly, is a good drink. A cocktail, ideally. Something well-made and out of the ordinary to wake up my palate from its wintry dullness. After a few days of research, I’ve come across a compelling option from Katie Parla’s latest book, Rome: A Culinary History, Cookbook, and Field Guide to the Flavors that Built a City, which I’m keen to try. It’s called a Cosa Nostra: a bitter and fairly potent concoction that resembles two of my favourite Italian classics, the Campari spritz and the Negroni. This version, however, is an invention of barman Patrick Pistolesi (of Cafe’ Propaganda fame) and uses a base of bourbon, Rabarbaro Zucca, and Fernet-Branca.Yes, this is seriously decadent and will certainly require some finger food to soak up all the hard liquor. If you’re also in a party mood, though, why not follow in my footsteps and whip-up a few of these, perhaps served with some supplì or radicchio in saor for the full Italian home cocktail bar experience. Tempted? Here’s the link.

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I’m Jamie Mackay, a UK-born, Italy-based writer, working at the interfaces of journalism, criticism, poetry, fiction, philosophy, travelogue and cultural-history. I set up the Week in Italy a few years ago to cover ‘under the radar’ news. Since then this space has evolved to focus on politics, social issues, travel, books, music and film with particular attention to indie and underground culture that doesn’t get enough press. This is a labour of love, and journalism’s my full time job, so if you like what you read please consider a paid subscription, buying my book, or simply help spread the word. Grazie!