bucato

bucato
laundry

    In the United States, laundry is a chore, and Tide is a detergent. In Italy fare il bucato (doing the laundry) can be an adventure and detersivo (laundry soap) nothing less than “un amico di cui ci si puo fidare” (a friend you can trust).

    That’s what the label of Dixan detergent says, underneath its slogan of  “Da 50 anni, il pulito che ami.” (The clean you’ve loved for 50 years.)  By using it, according to the label, I—an enthusiastic lavandaia (laundress)--join millions of Italians, along with their mothers and grandmothers, who have discovered “i segreti del bucato” (the secrets of the laundry).

    These secrets have a long—and literary—history. In the 14th century Italian master storyteller Giovanni Boccaccio wrote of lenzuola di bucato, linens that were “pulitissimi” (the cleanest) because they’d just been washed. By the following century, bucato was officially defined as a quantity of clothing (un quantità di panni) washed at one time.

    Back then fare il bucato involved washing clothes by hand in local rivers and streams. These days I apply some smacchiatore  (stain remover, from the wonderful verb smacchiare for “to remove stains”) but  turn over the heavy labor to the lavatrice (washing machine), which offers an alphabet of options.

    “A,” with a temperature setting of 176 degrees Fahrenheit, scalds stains into submission.  “B” offers a prewash (prelavaggio) before pulverizing sweaty shirts. “C” spins stinky socks around the centrifuge with enough force to fling them into the Mediterranean. I add fabric softener (ammorbidente) and aim for the mid-range of “G” through “K,” never sure what ordeal awaits our clothes.

    Then I wait, and wait, and wait. Regardless of the setting, la lavatrice insists on keeping our clothes hostage for most of the day.  Hour after hour, I can only gaze helplessly through the glass porthole in the unlatchable front door as the laundry tosses in a sea of foaming water.

   When I finally retrieve our soggy duds, I tote them in a cesta del bucato (clothes basket) to a stendibiancheria  (more informally, a stendino or portable hanging rack).  Like most Italians I prefer to stendere il bucato al sole (hang the laundry in the sun) rather than use an asciugabiancheria  (clothes dryer).   Held snug by wooden clothes pins (mollette), la nostra biancheria (our whites and linens) flutter like sails in the breeze.

    An old Italian proverb   cautions,  “Fate il bucato in famiglia.”  (Wash laundry in the family—or behind closed doors.)   But you should also be wary of something entirely different: il lavaggio del cervello  (brain-washing).

Sayings and Expressions

la lavata – washing

stirare il bucato –iron the laundry

lavare a secco – to dry clean

candeggiare -- to bleach

capi delicati -- delicates

lavanderia a gettoni – laundromat

bucataio/a – laundryman, washerwoman

Comments

[Bonnie(valentinsowife)]

I too love hanging laundry on the line to dry in the sun - something quickly accomplished in the Florida sun - safe if one remembers to turn clothes inside out to avoid fading -- but something also forbidden in most neighborhoods in this area - how is that for strange in this new 'green'era? They claim clotheslines are "unsightly" - so will be lack of electricity eventually!
But I am constantly amazed that Italian machines take SO LONG to do laundry - ours take about 40 minutes at most for full cyles?
Bonnie(valentinoswife)

[dianne]

I don't know if it's true but I'm told there's a built-in "pausa" to soak the clothes in the middle of the wash cycle in Italian machines. I kind of like the idea of a siesta for laundry! Thanks for the note.