Five things I miss about the U.S.

Inspired by Shelley at At Home in Rome (whom I believe was passed the torch by Italian blogger Mr. Diego - glad to see there are some Italians feeling the USA love!), here are five of the many things I miss about the U.S. Shelley hit on some of the big ones, such as the clothes dryer (I know, I know - it's horrible for the environment but my jeans and I feel such guilt-laden nostalgia for it). I AM just a girl who grew up in Ohio and says "pop" instead of "soda" and stands "in line" as opposed to "on line," but New York City is my adopted home and so the things I miss have a decidedly Newyorkese flavor.

1. Delivery. Now I was never one of those obnoxious and lazy people who would have, like, a pack of gum delivered from the deli (there are people who actually do that, but I was on a publishing salary so that was never me...) but, man, there's nothing like coming home after a long day of work and knowing that there's a stack of menus, two phonebooks and a Zagat's in the kitchen, and that whatever you want can be delivered to your door in 15 minutes. I even miss those conversations that go "What do you want? Chinese? Indian? Italian? Thai? Malaysian? Mexican? Polish? Ukrainian? Cuban-French?..." There actually is one pizza place that delivers somewhere around here, but we ordered from there once and it took several hours. Granted, they only deliver on Sunday nights and since 90 percent of all Italians eat pizza on Sunday night (see, mamma cooked up a storm for Sunday lunch so she thankfully gets the night off, meaning that the entire country is left to fend for itself and turns to pizza for sustenance), there's quite a backlog of orders.

2. This is a big one. I miss the Sunday New York Times. Yes, I know, I can read it online. But I miss the entire ritual. I miss its heft. I miss the sound of it hitting my stoop (I miss my stoop and I even miss the Puerto Rican kids who'd leave their empty 40 ouncers out there!) at 6 a.m. and waking me up. I miss the act of separating the sections (ciao ciao Sports, you are going in the recycling) and clipping coupons for things I don't even like and will never actually buy. I miss reading it at home in my pajamas with my breakfast. I miss putting it in a bag and taking it to brunch (I miss REAL brunch and don't tell me they do it in Milan - bacon, eggs, cold cuts and pasta salad served buffet-style for 20 Euros does not a brunch make). I miss the guilt I felt Sunday night if I hadn't yet finished it and the feeling of satisfaction of reading the last section Monday on the subway.

3. Young people. This may sound ageist and I certainly don't mean it to. I have much love for my American grandparents and Cristiano's nonni, and I even worked in a few retirement homes during high school where I had a posse of geriatric buddies. But before moving to Italy, I had always lived in areas where I was surrounded by young people - from the days of college dorms to the funky neighborhood I was living in before I came here full of bars, restaurants, cafes, record stores and bookshops. Now, I walk out my door and it's as if I've been dropped into the middle of an Italian-themed retirement village. Old people hobbling down the road to get the bread. Old people on bikes. Old people talking to other old people in Milanese dialect ("Buondì!"). Old people walking back from the market struggling with too many bags. Italy is an old country full of old people and with one of the lowest birth rates in the world. Even the Città Studi university neighborhood in Milan is a ghost town on weekends with everyone leaving town to take their laundry back home to mamma. I often miss that independent, can-do spirit of America's young people, something lacking in Italy's youth as previously documented here, here and here.

4. No list would be complete without mentioning my beloved bagel. I miss brunch and breakfast in general (it never ceases to amaze me that a country that prides itself on its healthy diet has such crappy and sugary breakfasts - I've never gotten into the brioche and shot of coffee thing), but anyone who knows me knows the bagel holds a special place in my heart. And I'm a bagel snob - Dunkin Donuts may make good donuts (though I wouldn't know;I hate really sugary things) but I would never buy my bagel there. Nor at Starbucks. They have horrible bagels - I know because the last time I was in the U.S. my aunt gave me a bunch of Starbucks cards and since I don't drink coffee, I bought bagels instead. Big mistake. For me, the perfect breakfast is a sesame bagel from the Bagelry on 3rd Ave. with tofu veggie cream cheese. I've counted and since I've been here I've missed out on approximately 2,500 bagel breakfasts. Sigh. Though Cristiano has taught himself how to make bagels and after much trial and error, he's very close to "cracking the code" (bagels made by Cristiano for my birthday brunch extravaganza can be seen here, thanks to a photo by the intrepid Ms. Adventures in Italy).

5. No, I don't miss Lindsay Lohan. I miss walking down the street with a drink. I miss cheap, readily available drinks - iced teas, iced chais, tea in a to-go cup, a can of Diet Coke - that I can take with me on the go. An Italian might say that it's poco chic, but I don't care. Here you can pay up to 4 Euros for a can of Diet Coke in the center of Milan. I don't need a glass. I don't need a lemon. I don't need to sit down or any special servizio, but I would like it fresh from the fridge and not taken from under the counter where it was sitting directly under the toaster. A 4-Euro Coke is ridiculous enough without it being hot as an espresso. And, yes, (gasp!) I'd like it to go.