Milan Update #3: The Proof Is In the Panettone

There is one thing you cannot escape during an Italian winter and that my friends is panettone. A better version of your Aunt's fruitcake.

Legend has it that panettone was born in Milan sometime in the 15th century when a kitchen boy named Toni accidentally burned the duke’s dessert and in a moment of culinary panic, threw together flour, butter, sugar, eggs, and whatever dried fruit he could find. The result? Pane di Toni. Toni’s Bread. A legend was born and waistbands were tested.

Fast forward several centuries to NBC covering the Olympics across northern Italy, and suddenly everyone from Primetime to the Sports Desk is telling this origin story like they personally apprenticed under Toni.

You can’t walk through the compound without hearing: “Did you know panettone dates back to the court of Ludovico Sforza?”

“Oh yes, it symbolizes prosperity.”

“It must be hung upside down while cooling.”

By Day Three, even the lighting guys are explaining the Renaissance significance of candied citrus.

The crews keep returning from shoots in Milan, Cortina d'Ampezzo, and every picturesque mountain village in between, arms loaded with footage… and enormous boxes of panettone. They drop their hard drives on the desk and then gently set down what appears to be a twelve pound edible ottoman.

“Got great B-roll of the cathedral. Also… panettone.”

At first, everyone is thrilled. It’s fluffy! It tastes like Christmas morning if Christmas morning had a slightly boozy aunt. But panettone is a marathon, not a sprint. You have one slice and think, Delightful. Two slices and think, I respect the craftsmanship. Three slices and you’re reconsidering every life choice that led you to dried pineapple.

By week two, every edit bay has an unopened box sitting in the corner like a sugary paperweight. The break room table looks like a still life painting titled Abundance and Regret. The problem is that every Italian bakery, being gracious hosts and deeply proud of their culinary heritage, sends you home with more. For you! The best one! Artisanal! they insist, handing over another towering cylinder of Carbs.

So now the NBC offices are running a quiet redistribution program. Producers casually forget boxes near security. Camera operators leave one in the makeup room. Even Mike Tirico was chowing down on a massive slice from a shoot we did at Pasticceria Ranieri and yet, here’s the thing, it’s actually really good until it's not. It’s airy and rich and subtly sweet in that dangerous way that convinces you one more slice won’t hurt. It’s just that no human being, no matter how devoted to Renaissance baking lore, can sustain this level of festive carbohydrate intake indefinitely.

Somewhere, Toni is smiling. And somewhere at NBC, someone is gently placing another box of panettone next to a stack of hard drives, whispering, Please… take some.

There is, however, a small additional issue unfolding alongside the great panettone saturation of NBC.

The USA medal count.

Now, let me be clear…NBC has lovingly and expensively invested millions into marketing Team USA. There are cinematic promos. Slow-motion snow sprays. Intense close-ups of athletes staring meaningfully into alpine horizons. Dramatic orchestral swells that suggest destiny, glory, and at least three guaranteed gold medals.

And then… we finish second. Or fourth. Or have a strong showing. Which would be fine, very dignified, very Olympic spirit, except for one tiny logistical hiccup…half the building cannot confidently name the athletes. Not the interns. Not logistics. Not even some of the associate producers. Not even the very tired people labeling footage at 2 a.m. while nibbling their sixth slice of panettone.

I’ll ask a crew, very professionally, “How would you like this ingest labeled?”

And someone says, “Uh… the American figure skating couple.”

“Great,” I say. “Which one?”

Pause.

“Is that Bach and Dock?”

Silence.

Another voice from across the edit bay: “Pop and Lock?”

Someone Googles furiously. “Oh! Bates and Chock. Madison Chock and Evan Bates. That’s it.”

Yes. Madison Chock and Evan Bates. Not Bach and Dock. Not Pop and Lock. Though honestly, Pop and Lock has a certain rhythm-dance energy. And look, this isn’t shade. It’s just concerning. Because when the people responsible for producing 11 hours of daily Olympic coverage are labeling footage “USA Ice Couple Final Maybe,” it does not scream inevitable gold.

We’ve built sweeping montages. We’ve crafted narratives about grit and redemption. We’ve mic’d them up in practice. We know their childhood pets names. But in the trenches where hard drives are swapped and clips are logged, the vibe is occasionally…

“Wait, is he the snowboarder or the skier?”

“No, that’s the other guy.”

“Just write American guy – final run. We’ll fix it later.”

Meanwhile, the medals are being won by athletes whose names we absolutely know… because we have had to Google them repeatedly.

There’s a subtle panic that sets in when primetime opens with soaring music, we cut to a dramatic USA graphic package, and half the control room whispers, “Remind me how to pronounce that again?”

It’s hard to project dominance when the chyron operator is double-checking spelling.

The cruel irony? The athletes are extraordinary. World-class. Years of sacrifice. Decades of training. They deserve precision and reverence.  Instead, somewhere in the building, a tape is being labeled: “Bates & Chalk? Check spelling.” And next to it sits another unopened cylinder of Milanese fruit bread. At this point, we’re not sure what’s heavier…the medal expectations or the panettone backlog.

Speaking of backlog and the stress it creates while possibly creating a caught with your foot in your mouth at work moment…

My good friend Mike and I have been working the Olympics together since 2002. At this point, he’s less colleague and more institution.  He’s one of the first people I look for when I land at the NBC compound, right after I locate my credential. 

Mike and I have a shared passion for home renovation. During every Games we exchange photos of backsplashes and lighting fixtures like other people trade medal predictions.

And let’s be honest, we’ve all had that moment where you’re excited to finally meet someone you’ve admired from afar. You rehearse what you’re going to say. You’ve seen the segment that moved you. You’ve found the one thing you have in common. And for Mike, that’s Tara Lapinski.

About a year before these winter Games, Mike watched an HGTV special featuring Tara Lipinski giving viewers a tour of her dream home. He was transfixed. The kitchen. The fireplace. The Spanish tile. So imagine his delight when he found out he’d be working with Tara at the Olympics. This was it. The crossover episode. Figure skating meets floor plan.

He arrives on set, spots her, and goes in with the enthusiasm of a man who has rehearsed this speech in the mirror. “Tara! I just have to tell you, I loved your home special. The kitchen! The way you incorporated the fireplace! And that Spanish tile was unbelievable.”

At first, she smiled politely. Then the smile… softened. Then it disappeared.

She turned gently and moved to another area of the studio.

Now, a normal person might read the room. Mike is not always that person.

He doubles down. “No really, the Spanish tile! It was so warm but modern!”

That’s when the line producer, Hailey Sue, floats over with the calm demeanor of someone about to deliver information that will alter the trajectory of a man’s life.

“Mike,” she says carefully, “don’t think too hard on this… but Tara lost her home in the Palisades fire.”

Silence.

The kind of silence usually reserved for missed triple Axels.

Mike was beyond mortified. I believe part of his soul left his body and I’m not entirely sure he’s made direct eye contact with Tara since.

I, of course, handled this situation with grace and self-awareness.

By which I mean, I immediately created my own.

Just yesterday, I walked into the NBC commissary and saw Jim Bell, former President of NBC Olympics. Apparently he’s involved with the 2028 Olympics in LA and I’ve worked with Jim since 2002 on NBC Sports weekend updates. I was genuinely thrilled and so I marched right up, gave him a big hug and said, “Jim Bell! We were just talking about you the other night and how much we miss your leadership at the Olympics.”

He smiled. Awkwardly. And that’s when I slowly turned my head to the left.

He was having lunch with Gary Zenkel. The current NBC Olympics President.

There is no Spanish tile strong enough to absorb that level of regret.

Now, much like Mike avoids eye contact with Tara, I avoid Gary. In the commissary. In hallways. When turning corners. Possibly in open air. If Gary is in a room, I have suddenly remembered an urgent need elsewhere. I guess one can say, the Olympics are about excellence under pressure.

Some of us are still working on it.

More to come…