SAC and I ventured to Torino – she to visit the Film Museum and I to travel to Eataly, the gastronomic super-store/museum/gorgefest. I found the city to be far more beautiful than I imagined, with snow-capped mountains framing the grand buildings that line old-town Torino. It’s entirely walkable, with wide cobble-stoned streets and easy to follow maps posted for when you get lost. I can’t wait to go back.
Sorry for the absence – life has been busy, to say the least. Until I can write more, here’s a slideshow of some of my latest kitchen adventures. Many thanks to SAC, who was out visiting and partook in a week of feasting!
The Abruzzo region of Italy is known for many things: a wild, unbridled countryside; delicious food spiced with hot peppers; old, archaic traditions wrought by centuries of heartache, toil, and isolation from outsiders. In short, going to Abruzzo is like traveling back in time, to an Italy that seems to operate much as it did 20, 50, even a 100 years ago.
What drew me to the Abruzzo was not the culture, however, but the food. The region boasts some of the spiciest food in Italy, which is a preference that seems to grow the further south you go in Italy. Honed by years of devouring Mexican food, I was tired of mild northern Italian food and craved a meal that left my tongue on fire. Even more, the Abruzzo also served another of my passions–outdated but magical kitchen appliances–as it is the home of the “pasta alla chitarra”, the pasta guitar.
I landed in Navelli, a town situated in the mountains above Pescara, with a population of 400. For now, I’ll leave you with my walking tour photos. They are of the old town on the hill, a mostly abandoned but hauntingly beautiful place that reminded me of Pompeii; it seemed as though one day, many years ago, everyone just picked up and left.
At some point during my snowy hibernation over the past few weeks, I noticed that I was not eating enough vegetables, despite being surrounded by fresh produce. Caused partly by a near fanatical devotion to trying all the new cheeses I had discovered, my cheese hoarding (and devouring) allowed me to ignore the greater task at hand: ordering vegetables from the “vegetable guy” around the corner from my apartment. The best vegetable produce in Italy is often found at the small, local, but abundantly stocked stands or in my case, shops.
The problem? Buying produce from the local shops requires full engagement with the store employee because you’re not allowed to pick the produce yourself. Welcome to full service grocery, similar to the full-service gasoline of days past, which requires a decent knowledge of produce vocabulary. I looked longingly every time I passed one of the over-flowing produce stands on my walk home from school, but scurried away when the proprietor would amble out to greet me. But a girl must eventually eat her vegetables. After laboring over my Italian dictionary for a few days, I finally mustered up the courage to visit, and this vegetable gratin was the simple but tasty result.
Playing on both French ratatouille and Italian olive oil roasted vegetables, I created a hearty, attractive dish that is made layer by layer like lasagna. Easy to assemble and accepting of improvisations or ingredient substitutions—add some sliced mushrooms or replace the tomato paste with pesto—my vegetable gratin delivers flavor, texture, and as a bonus, many vitamins. Served with rice or couscous, it turns into a complete meal that will help you (and me) make it through a cold winter night. Read the rest of this entry »
Never let the lack of an electric beater or mixer get in the way of whipping cream. At least when that whipped cream will be used in tiramisu, my all-time favorite Italian dessert that literally means “pick me up”. I couldn’t agree more.
Recipe to follow.
If you like mozzarella and you also like butter – or whipped cream, for that matter – then you will l-o-v-e burrata. Burrata, a fresh Italian cheese that comes from Puglia (the heel of Italy), is mozzarella times 10. How is it different than mozzarella? After cheese makers prepare the initial cheese curds, they then deviate from the normal mozzarella process: after stretching a piece of mozzarella to use as a container, cheese makers then stuff this “shell” with unstretched, soft curds and for good measure, some heavy cream. Normally, all of the curds are stretched into either a braid or a ball before being shipped to the market. After this creamy, cheesy bomb is created, it is twisted, tied, and delicately wrapped up, which is how it arrives at the market. Read the rest of this entry »
After many sad eyes and often exasperated glares at the cash register, I have decided that I must figure out the mystery behind Italians’ obsession with exact change. One week into my stay in Milano, I have been greeted time and time again with a request for smaller bills or even better, EXACT change, when I try to pay for something in cash. Completely counter to most Americans’ hatred of change – except, of course, quarters for laundry or parking meters – Italians LOVE change. And I have no idea why.
After a brief internet search, I could come with no conclusive reason for it, other than that it happens to travelers all over the world. And after surveying the different shops I’ve been to – food, clothing, bars, big chains, local shops – I am disinclined to believe that it’s a tourist-only treatment. I do appreciate that it’s a good if high-pressure exercise in my understanding of Italian numbers and Euro-change, but there’s a larger and inevitable problem here: I run out of change, which happens after only a few days scrupulously (and in my case, slowly) counting out and using my precious Euro coins. Because this love-fest for change only goes one way, and unfortunately, its not in my direction.
There could be any number of reasons why Italians love change so much. Is the mint not printing enough? Do banks not distribute small bills and coins? Fear of paper money? A secret, burning passion for coin collecting? Do truffles grow if Euro change is buried on the north side of oak trees?
So that’s what I’ll be up to. That, and devising a clever way to get more Euro change, since right now, I can’t even pay for an espresso (.83 Euro, to be exact).
Between Christmas and New Year’s in any city, you may find it a bit more quiet than usual, as the revelry wanes from holiday feasting and gifting in preparation for the big eve party. However, in Milan, this period of solitude extends well past January first…to January 7, or 8, depending on the weather.
That’s right – the Milanese take an extra week off. And when I say off, I mean lights-out, game-over, The End. The metro transportation system operates “in festivo”, which means that it runs…whenever it wants to. All of the local shops also participate in this period of festivo, which means lots of shuttered storefronts and for those that do open, erratic hours dictated by handwritten signs that change with the whims of the current managing employee. If you add something like a giant snowstorm into the mix, you have the exact conditions necessarily for one rare and elusive state of being: hibernation.
Tough for most Americans to accept, including me, but it’s a matter of being driven crazy or just accepting that, for instance, I should not expect to buy groceries if it is snowing. I should also accept that, regardless of the weather, shopping on Monday morning is an exercise in futility, as shops here take the morning off. In addition to the 2-3 hour midday break.
I will spend my newfound free time indoors – time originally set aside for buying groceries, wool socks, and black clothing – cooking, studying, and occasionally peering out into the eerily calm street, looking for a sign of life.
Rather than venture out into the “freezing fog” that has Milano covered in a thick curtain worthy of a mystery novel, Josh and I decided to stay in and try making one of our favorite restaurant dishes: pasta all’arrabbiata. Arrabbiata means “Arabian.” Back in the day, Arabia was THE exotic land of spice for Italy, and things that were spicy were often given their namesake. Even today, this association with spiciness persists in the language; for instance, arrabiarsi means “to make angry” in Italian.
Back to the dish. It is two things: pasta and a simple red sauce. The spicy, tomato-based sauce can be made in under 30 minutes (perhaps a bit more if you’re slow at chopping) from a can of whole plum tomatoes, some garlic, an onion, and of course, hot peppers. Tubular or rolled short pasta shapes, such as penne or casarecci, work best in this recipe, as they are adept at catching bits of the chunky sauce in their folds. Together, they form a familiar taste heightened by the warmth of spicy peppers. Leaving you feeling warm but not laden down, it’s a perfect meal for cold weather. Read the rest of this entry »
Cari amici,
Saturday afternoon in idyllic Santa Barbara. Surf, sand, sweat: a nice run in the sun yielded views of both a pelican the size of Alan Iverson and the confirmation of the mythic nude beach (claimed years ago by my 93-year-old grandmother). A stiff glass of Sauvignon Blanc was in order upon my escape from the buff in SB. But the real news is all the fantastic red wines I have imbibed in the last week. Upon her departure to my adopted homeland of Italy, Misa graciously left me with several wine winners. The what-shall-go-unnamed reunion this weekend started with a 2005 Garnacha (Las Rocas de San Alejandro, $8 @ LA Wine Company). Pre-Pad Thai Perfect. New Year’s Eve was celebrated while cooking and quaffing a 2007 Cantine Colosi Nero D’Avola ($11, ibid). And in my scholastic solitude tonight, the Mil Piedras 2006 Malbec ($8) is fueling my long overdue foray into French New Wave film. Luckily I just heard my favorite line: Je suis tre’ fatigue.
Buona notte…