an italian thanksgiving.

There is nothing like having Thanksgiving in a foreign country to make one feel homesick. It is on the holidays, I think, that some people realize that food traditions have a time and a place. Those not usually bothered to eat seasonally suddenly crave pumpkin pie and sweet potato casserole.  And it’s not until leaving the US and coming to Italy did my fellow classmates understand that cranberries are a uniquely North American fruit. In fact, after a long and hard search for cranberry sauce, it is easy to see that Europeans do not have much of a taste for it. Dropping 6€ on a small can of imported Ocean Spray is not necessary for me to give thanks, but for many, the holiday is not complete without it. I prefer to focus on eating what is seasonal and available in my area, and this holds true on Thanksgiving. 

This year, I celebrated the holiday with the UW Rome center–potluck style, with all three programs, more than 70 people and four turkeys. While many people buzzed around the city for weeks in an attempt to amass all the American ingredients necessary for their family favorites, I decided to stick to Italian ingredients. It seemed more appropriate, and for me, Thanksgiving is about enjoying good food with friends and family. Or in this case, it is about the friends that have become family over the course of the quarter. 

There is always a notable lack of green at events like these, especially when catered by college students and especially at thanksgiving when all any one really wants is stuffing and gravy. I love vegetables though, so I offered to make salad, and providing a much needed fresh and acidic counterpoint to all the heavy food. I had planned on making a dish that I had never made for Thanksgiving before, using ingredients easily available here to pay homage to our location. In the process, I found a salad that, from now on, I will also be making at home.


Escarole salad with Pickled Red Onions (based on this recipe, via Smitten Kitchen)

For the Pickled Onions: 
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 cup cold water
2 tablespoons kosher salt
1 tablespoon sugar
2 to 3 really good shots hot sauce (recommended: Tabasco; I omitted this)
1 red onion, sliced into very thin rings

For the Escarole Salad:
1/2 cup grated pecorino romano
1/2 cup toasted hazelnuts
2 tablespoons freshly chopped parsley leaves
1 head escarole, washed, spun dry, cut into bite size pieces
High-quality extra-virgin olive oil

Make the pickled red onions: In a small bowl, combine red wine vinegar with 1/2 cup of cold tap water. Stir in salt, the sugar and the hot sauce. Add the sliced onions and let sit for at least one hour.

Make the escarole salad: Combine the romano, hazelnuts and parsley in the food processor and pulse until they are coarsely chopped. Toss together the escarole, hazelnut mixture and some of the pickled red onions and dress with some of the pickling liquid and olive oil. Season with salt and pepper.

On another note, my computer broke this week, and with it, I lost a lot of content I was working on for the blog. I hope to get it back soon, but it will likely be more than a week, so I those things will be posted later (granted the hard drive is salvageable!) This coming week is my last week of class, and I have two papers due, one on an artisanal food that I have researched and produced, and another on world hunger, with information gathered from the GARNET conference and People’s Food Sovereignty Forum. They are both fascinating projects, but will be taking up a lot of my time right up until the quarter is over. My mom comes to visit on the 8^th, the day I move out of my apartment. I can’t believe it’s almost over! I am going to miss Italy—and these classes—deeply.

slow food.

At least once a week, I wrestle with answering people’s nagging questions, even though it’s always the same thing: What are you going to do? This inevitably comes up when they find out that I am not planning on returning to UW immediately after fall quarter. Yes, I am taking some time off. I am trying to figure out my next step and I cannot afford to spend more money on out of state tuition trying to figure it out.

I have known that I want to get involved with food for quite some time; what I don’t know is what path to follow in order to affect the greatest change. Do I want to pursue nutrition so that I can help others stay healthy and combat chronic disease? Do I want to get involved with local, national or global agricultural policy? Should I attempt to tackle escalating world hunger, or should I focus on urban food deserts here in the US? Heck, some days I dream about having a farm, growing produce, making my own cheese, and opting out of the global food system altogether.

I have always struggled with that next step, but for now I think I have it figured out: Slow Food USA. I have applied for one of their winter internships, which perfectly aligns with my interests. I found out about it recently while perusing their website after speaking with a Spannocchia employee that graduated from Slow Food’s University of Gastronomic Sciences. After discussing it with my professors, I have learned that it will be possible for them to sponsor me and I would be able to get credit that goes towards my major. New York is a long way from Seattle, but I am so excited about this opportunity and eagerly anticipate hearing back from them. I strongly believe that some time working with everyone at Slow Food would help me see in which direction my passions lead me.

What’s a post without some pictures of food? Here’s a recap of a few things I’ve been eating.

Carciofi alla giudia, or artichokes deep fried in olive oil. Not to be confused with Roman style artichokes, which are soft and tender, these are nutty and crisp. Simply heavenly.

Pumpkin risotto that my class made together as part of a communal meal. The pumpkin was grated into the pot raw, but I think I would have preferred
it cubed and roasted so that the flavor would be stronger. It was perfectly cooked though, good work team!

GROM gelato in Florence (pistacchio, cioccolato fondente and crema di grom flavors). This stuff is the best. It is so good, in fact, that after tasting it in Bologna, I made room for it twice while I was in Florence for a little over 24 hours. They have opened up in New York City as well– which I will hopefully be able to enjoy if I get that internship!

Paella, eaten overlooking the ocean in Ostia Lido. Non-Italian food never tasted so good!

the prosciutto process.

Please meet the Cinta Senese. They are a heritage breed that Spannocchia is dedicated to preserving. There are many of breeds of pigs in the world, but with industrialized agriculture, the Large White gained popularity for its size and quick growth and the other breeds fell out of favor. The Cinta Senese are slower to mature, are smaller overall, and have more fat and less meat, making them incompatible for the feedlot method of raising pigs. But for Spannocchia, they are perfect. They root around the forests, foraging for chestnuts and acorns, giving their flesh a distinctive taste. Furthermore, their abundant and flavorful fat makes them perfect for salumi and prosciutto, Spannocchia’s specialties. They do take much longer to reach slaughter weight, making them far more expensive to raise, but the end product is so good that people are willing to pay for it. In fact, the foot of the Cinta Senese–with its black hoof– is left on the leg after being made into prosciutto as proof that it is the real thing.

At Spannocchia, we got to see where they kept the pigs. They get free reign over expanses of forest, and as a visitor, you are likely to run into them during your hikes. Well, at least we did after getting lost on paths that we were (very possibly) not supposed to be on. If I were a pig, this wouldn’t be a bad place to live.

They are happy pigs, I can attest to that. That is why, despite being an animal lover, I didn’t have trouble watching the prosciutto making process, despite having just seen the pigs’ cute little faces and floppy ears. These animals are well respected.

After slaughter, they get broken down by experts. No part of the pig is wasted; the legs make prosciutto and the rest of the animal gets made into pancetta, salumi, sopressata (made with the leftover pieces), burista (like sopressata, but includes blood), lardo (essentially just cured fat) and other cuts. The prosciutto comes to this little room to be salted. That joint you see? Prosciutto needs to have that; otherwise, it’s made with a different section of the leg. Still tasty, but you don’t mess with Italians and their pork. They say it makes a difference, so I am sure it does.

When it reaches the proper level of dryness, it gets hung to dry even more in a room with a certain humidity and temperature. After a person that knows what to look for determines that it’s ready, a mixture of pork fat, salt and spices gets spread on the “cut” part of the prosciutto to protect it and ensure it stays moist. Yes, it undergoes a long process to dry it, and it is cured in a specific way that ensures it stays moist. How they came up with these things, I will never know!

After this, they get left to mature and that is when expertise is especially important as things can go wrong easily, and all that will be left is moldy pork. Someone that knows exactly what to look for assesses the look and smell of each leg to determine when they’re ready. The actual length of time depends mostly on the size of the leg, but it’s for many, many months.

Our class was led through a tasting, but I have no photos of the finished product as we were in a dim, windowless room. It was the best prosciutto I have ever tasted, you can be assured. The happy pigs make all the difference!

it’s been quiet around here.

I’ve been away.

Generally speaking, I have trouble detatching from my computer and the internet for any length of time. The Tuscan countryside, however, provides some fairly compelling encouragement. Spannocchia didn’t have to work hard to lure me with its charm. A week away from the clamour of Rome and all that city life offers went by impossibly quickly, and I didn’t even miss my computer.

Spannocchia is an ancient property with a rich history, nestled a 30 minute drive outside Siena. It is comprised of the Castello, complete with tower, as well as several other buildings that were added over the centuries. Like much of Tuscany’s rolling hills, the surrounding land had long been cultivated for a agriculture, but with the increases in industrialized agriculture, its economic viability was jeopardized and the tenant farmers moved off the land. It went through many transformations to become what it is today: a small scale organic farm focusing on sustainability and education.

And was it ever educational. We did a wine tasting, learning about terroir, which accounts for the particular character that certain soil gives to a wine. They produce their own wine at Spannocchia (red, white and Vin Santo, a dessert wine) and it’s all organic and sulfite free.

We did olive oil tastings, comparing their own with others produced in different regions of Italy.

We learned about how it is made, how to properly store it, how to determine if it is rancid or not. The oil was intensely vibrant in terms of both flavor and color. A fresh olive oil will have a spicy finish that leaves your palate clean, not greasy.

We went on a tour of the gardens, lead by their manager, Carmen.

She was incredibly informative, explaining how she rotates crops and considers what time of the sun hits each plot of land. She explained the importance of compost, how she manages to grow food throughout cold winters and how to properly prepare cardoons (once you figure out what they are, you have to peel them!). She also stressed the importance of record keeping so you can learn from the previous years mistakes and successes, building her knowledge of the land year after year.

They even grow and harvest their own saffron, which I had certainly never seen in the ground before.

I discovered wild fennel, which grows around the property like a weed. They harvest the seeds for a certain variety of salumi that they produce.

The plants were beautiful, but I was especially drawn to their animals. I fell in love with their chickens, beautiful and lively. They are impeccably healthy, a source of entertainment to watch as they root around the compost, and serve as both an important part of the farm ecosystem and a prolific source of eggs.

I was also charmed by some of their most personable farm hands… er, paws. There were at least half a dozen big white floppy dogs leading a pretty rough life!

That is just the first part of my stay. The rest will be in another post, which I will hopefully have time to complete shortly. We had an awesome lesson on beekeeping and honey tasting, a salumi and prosciutto tasting, partook in wood-fired pizza night and so much more that I would like to be able to give justice.

coping with pizza let-down.

Saturday, I went to Naples for the day. My friends and I got an early start, taking the 8:15AM train, and arrived some time after 10. Our first destination was the Naples National Archaeological Museum, which I thought was well worth the 10EU admission fee. A woman at the door asked us if we spoke English and then told us that it was going to be 40EU each to see the museum. We looked at her like she was crazy. I assumed that she wanted to give us a guided tour and politely told her no thank you, and headed to the ticket office. She replied with “Okay fine, but you won’t understand anything!” Well, then.

I managed to quite enjoy the museum, despite that initial experience. In fact, luckily for me, the signs were all in English, so I was even able to understand it! Among the highlights was the Farnese bull, the mosaics from Pompeii and the Atlas statue. I tend to be a drive-by museumgoer; I am interested but my attention span wanes rather quickly. I prefer to get in and get out, and that is just what we did.

We were there, however, long enough to have worked up an appetite, and so we set off in search of pizza. I had it on good authority—or rather, I had it on good authority from my sister, who had it on good authority from a coworker, who apparently had scoured the city for recommendations—that some of the best pizza to be had was at a small pizzeria called ‘900, pronounced novecento. Interested in checking out more than just the famous, guidebook pizzerias (Da Michele, Trianon, Brandi, etc.), it had made my list of places to seek out. I love hidden hole-in-the-wall restaurants. Luckily for us, it was a short walk from the museum.

Before you read further, I should warn you that I am just a little bit obsessed with pizza. I tend to be very particular and my criticisms come down hard on perfectly edible pizza when it’s not just how I want it. On top of that preexisting condition, I spent my entire summer without anything resembling pizza. I was dealing with food-allergies to, among other things, dairy (no mozzarella) and tomatoes (I know, the cruelty didn’t escape me). Pizza invaded my dreams, and I really wish I were exaggerating. In fact, it was the first meal I ate after setting foot on Italian soil. Unfortunately, the thin and crispy Roman-style pizza is not my cup of tea and it only furthered my longing for the perfection that is pizza napoletana.

I ordered the margherita DOC. I’ll say it up front: I was disappointed. Perhaps my expectations were too high. It’s entirely possible (no, it’s undeniable) that I was anticipating some sort of pizza nirvana. I may even have had inaccurate ideas of what exactly Neapolitan pizza is, having had only one other pizza in Naples. But I’ve also eaten Neapolitan-style pizzas in numerous restaurants in the US (one of my favorites being Punch Pizza in the Twin Cities) and I don’t think it’s unrealistic to expect pizza just as good. Heck, in Naples, the pizza should be the best.

To start, the crust was too even, too dense, and all together too perfect for my tastes. Much like the city itself, the pizza in Naples should have some grit, some character. I welcome bubbles and irregularities; I can’t get enough of the contrasting crispness, lightness and chew that it brings. There was very little char, so it lacked the smokiness and lovely crackle that should come from being cooked in a blazing hot wood fired oven. The tomatoes, while delicious, were not what I anticipated. I prefer a heavy dose of  tomatoes on my pizza. The soupiness that results is a key part of the pizza experience for me. The mozzarella had a good texture and great flavor, but I was too distracted by the rest of the pizza to make much note of it. The pizza was also lacking the drizzle of olive oil that usually completes a pizza margherita.

My companions were enjoying their pizzas, one of which included the arugula, fior di latte, prosciutto and tomato pizza above, and I was starving, so I ate my pizza despite the gnawing feeling that there was better to be had. I planned to spend the whole day in Naples, so I knew I would have another opportunity to experience incredible pizza.

After a few hours of wandering the Spanish quarter, ducking into shops to avoid the intermittent rain, we decided to stop to get something to eat before we had to head to our train. No one was all that hungry; we taste tested some of the special pastries and sweets that Naples is known for throughout the afternoon. More than that, we were tired and damp. My companions weren’t in the mood for more pizza (this is not a phenomenon I am familiar with, but apparently this is a problem for others). Needless to say, I was the only one interested in pursuing more pizza.

As a compromise, I spotted a pizzeria that I recognized: Lombardi on Via Fiora (not to be confused with Lombardi a Santa Chiara). We were seated at a table in a surprisingly nice restaurant, instead of the bare-minimum eatery I was expecting. In an attempt to get a break from all the pizza—not my choice, trust me—we got a couple dishes and split their specialty pizza, which had two different types of cheese, proscuitto crudo, tomato and basil. The cheese was not specified on the menu, but I think provolone was in the center and on the outer edge, ricotta was almost stuffed under the outer crust. This was pretty good, but I prefer the simplicity of the margherita, and was therefore a little heavy for my tastes. The crust was a vast improvement from the disappointment earlier in the day, and although many of the same problems persisted, it was to a lesser degree.

I knew I should have followed my instincts and ventured to the classic pizzerias like Da Michele. From this experience, I have learned a few things:

1. Just because it’s pizza in Naples, that doesn’t mean it will be as good as I have heard.
2. If you’re short on time, don’t mess around with any pizzerias that aren’t well known. Everyone that cares about pizza goes to the good ones for a reason.
3. I simply don’t deal well with pizza let-down.

For now, I am taking a break from Neapolitan pizza. I hope to get back to Naples to continue my search for pizza nirvana, but it may be a while. In the mean time, I have been consoling myself with a pizza of an entirely different breed: pizza bianca, a simple focaccia-like flat bread. I buy it in great olive-oiled hunks from Il Forno, which is famous for having the best of its kind in Rome. There’s no need to go on a great search for this pizza; it’s right outside my front door.

world food day, fried chicken, culinary ramblings and what’s ahead.

This post is slightly random as I attempt to fit together a week-plus worth of food-centered events into one post. I am currently going through major crunch time, my program’s equivalent of mid-terms, where we have projects, presentations, and papers all in one four day span. But, no matter how busy I have been, you all can rest assured that I’ve still been eating very, very well. I’ll get to the food soon enough, but first I would like to say a word about some of the other (food-related!) things I have been able to do during my time here.

world food day.

My professors were able to secure invitations for the class to attend World Food Day on October 16 to hear Dr. Marion Nestle give the George McGovern Lecture. As the event’s date approached, the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations further extended the invitation to include attending the Opening Ceremony. The theme this year was “Achieving Food Security in Times of Crisis.” This is an issue that is very near to my heart for many reasons. Notably, I have grown up hearing about how my great-uncle George (McGovern) was working hard to help the hungry get nutritious meals. As each speaker during the opening ceremony pointed out, the number of people in the world suffering from malnutrition has increased to 1.02 billion. What they failed to stress was that this number has continued to increase, despite increases in “technology,” also known as genetically modified foods, pesticides and fertilizers. No speaker provided any concrete solutions for improving this situation, and most strikingly absent were any ideas aimed at alleviating some of the root causes of malnutrition.

I was so excited for Dr. Nestle’s talk; she is a pioneer in a field that I would love to be able to work in. Dr. Nestle is a Professor in the Department of Nutrition, Food Studies and Public Health and a Professor of Sociology at New York University. She is also a long-standing voice in the area of nutrition, maintains a strong media presence, and is the author of several books, including Food Politics, Safe Food, and What to Eat.

After listening to each speaker talk circles around the issue of world hunger during the opening ceremonies, I found that Dr. Nestle provided a breath of fresh air: a different perspective and real solutions to a daunting and ever-growing problem. She noted that hunger and obesity are two epidemics that are interrelated, going on in parallel, and are fundamentally rooted in agriculture. Through out her speech, she pointed to the fact that these are social issues, not personal ones, and therefore the solutions are likewise social, involving sustainability, social justice, and democracy. I found myself nodding in agreement through out the lecture.

After Dr. Nestle’s compelling speech, we watched the movie Fresh (a must-see!) and she answered questions. The attitudes of many people in the audience were disappointing; their approach seemed rather close-minded, even hostile. In fact, Ertharin Cousin, Obama’s recent appointee as U.S. ambassador to the U.N., made a point of following up the session with a disclaimer; that the opinions expressed did not represent those of the U.S. government. It seemed to me that politicians don’t want to be seen as radical, so they don’t dare to be forward thinking. They don’t want to offend any one, so they don’t dare to offer new ideas, especially if they contradict others’. It could be said that I had one of my first encounters with disillusionment.

A group of us broke off from the rest to make our way back to our apartments, and we happened to run into Dr. Nestle, on her way from the FAO. We accompanied her to her hotel, an incredibly fortuitous coincidence. She was very gracious and allowed us to pick her brain. Grasping the unexpected opportunity, I was able to have a wonderfully informative and remarkably candid one-on-one talk with her. It was a great end to the day.

biodiversity film festival.

The following day, roommate Laura and I attended the Biodiversity film festival, which was going on October 16-18. It was held at the Centro de Cultura Ecologia, a new park in the outskirts of Rome. The Centro was very unique, with modern buildings and extensive gardens; it is a repurposed farm in an urban area. We had some difficulty finding it, so we arrived after the start of one of the feature films, The Age of Stupid. This was a sobering film, impressively attention grabbing and very well done. I hope to see it again, from start to finish, and would definitely recommend it to others as well.

Because of the bitterly cold air, we were more than ready for the Bio Pranzo, which we enjoyed after meeting up with our professors. It was catered by a local organic café, and offered a stewed bean and sausage dish, a baked quinoa and chard dish as well as a rice and vegetable dish. I chose the last option as they were out of the quinoa bake, my first choice. I have not seen a whole lot of this type of food in Italy before; it was something one might expect to find at Whole Foods in the states but seems a little out of character for the Italians. It was delicious, albeit a bit cold by the time I was able to partake.

Hot out of the oven, however, was some doughy pizza bianca. Entirely organic, it was sprinkled with fresh rosemary, drizzled with olive oil and seasoned with sea salt. We watched the dough being kneaded at a high table and left to rest; another employee slipped rounds of the dough into the wood-fired oven with careful precision. We joined many of the other people passing by and stopped to warm ourselves by the flames. It was an enjoyable day, but cut short due to the unseasonably cold temperatures.

a weeknight meal.

I made this meal one blistery cold school night, served with a side of school-related reading. Adapted from one of my favorite fall recipes, I have made this several times in the states with butternut squash, but I have only been able to find Italian-style pumpkin here. The huge blue-gray gourds are everywhere, and chunks are available for sale inexpensively so that’s what I used. The texture is stringier than butternut squash, which I don’t like as much, but the flavor is just as delicious. Instead of pine nuts, I used walnuts that I had on hand, which I toasted to bring out the flavor and then coarsely chopped. I used whole-wheat Rotini, which I found to be impressively similar to regular pasta. If you are looking for an autumnal meal, you can’t go wrong with this. Do not skip or rush the pan-frying process as it provides the perfect contrasts of texture, but only do the portion that you plan on eating because it tastes best if you eat it immediately after. Try it and let me know what you think.

group dinner, southern-style.

My friend La Tonia and her husband, Isaiah, made this giant pan of fried chicken for dinner this past Friday. There were eight of us (including their adorable baby Rayne), and I don’t think it needs to be said that this entire pan was gone in minutes. I have never had fried chicken this good. Honestly, I wasn’t even aware that I liked fried chicken very much! Oh, now I know I like fried chicken. I have been converted.

To accompany that pile of delicious, we had mashed potatoes with gravy and kale. To contribute, I made this salted butter caramel sauce. Incredibly delicious, incredibly easy, and incredibly rich. To really put it over the top, we went to a local gelato shop and bought 10EU worth of coffee and chocolate gelato. Yeah, it does not need to be said how good that was. If you are looking to make desert any time soon, this can’t be beat. It has only four ingredients, but it is revelatory. Drizzle over anything and you will have people at your feet.

Salted Caramel Sauce
Using really good butter is important for this, as it’s flavor comes through. I like to use sea salt, but regular salt works too. Instead of adding salt, you can also use salted butter.

1 cup sugar
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
Salt, to taste
1/2 cup heavy cream, at room temperature

Melt the sugar over medium high heat in a large pot (at least two or three quarts), whisking the sugar briskly as it melts to ensure it caramelizes evenly. Cook the syrupy sugar to a rich copper color. Stir in the butter while it is still on the stove. Add the salt, then slowly pour in the heavy cream, continuously whisking until you get a smooth sauce.

what’s ahead.

Saturday, I went to Naples, which really deserves its own post. As I mentioned, I am currently doing a lot of writing and reading for school so I must prioritize. There will be a recap of a certain Neapolitan specialty!

a gem of a place.

The first week we were in Testaccio, two of my roommates (Laura and Kylie, above, for those that would like to keep track) and I stumbled upon a jewelry box of a storefront, every available surface seemingly encrusted with necklaces and rings and earrings of all kinds. Dozens of pieces garnered our attention and the reasonable prices drew us inside. The interior was no different than the front window, glass cases lining every wall brimming with gems. As more and more items caught our eyes, we ended up chatting with the woman behind the counter for a longtime, piecing together conversation as well as we were able. Upon finding out we were studying food, she wanted to know if we needed to know good places to eat. These bits of information are essential to eating well in a city full of substandard fare aiming to take advantage of tourists, and we eagerly accepted her advice. We followed her outside as she rattled off her favorite places to get different specialties, pointing in all directions from her tiny store. One, she insisted, was the best, and not too expensive. We had to go there sometime.

Yesterday, some people from my class and I ventured back to Testaccio, armed for a special kind of market research. After a couple hours of taking note of varying prices, stand locations, and produce origins, we had worked up a reasonable appetite. The jewelry shop owner’s emphatic recommendation immediately came to mind. After all, it was supposed to be the best. And what a jewel it turned out to be.

The restaurant is tucked around the corner and locals are usually lined up outside the front door. The overworked lady in the front initially told us that seating five would not be possible, but we offered to come back later, and she urged us to come back in an hour and a half as the place was filled to capacity. By 2:30 in the afternoon, the clusters of old men were beginning to peel themselves from their seats. We were seated at a corner table as it was being set with a freshly pressed white table cloth. Just as we settled ourselves into our chairs, the waiter appeared, asked us if we wanted water, and rattled off the day’s menu. While the five of us know a respectable amount of Italian, particularly the words associated with food and eating, we had trouble deciphering what to order. Keeping our limited funds in mind, we chose four primi, two secondi and two contorni, and eagerly anticipated the feast to come.

first course, or primi piatti.

This is the ravioli alla Felice, which has a sauce made of cherry tomatoes, basil, mint, orgegano, thyme, marjoram and ricotta salata, a fairly mild sheep’s milk cheese. The brightly flavored herbs pop against the mildly tangy cheese, light and rich at the same time. The juice seeping from the fresh, uncooked tomatoes lend a pink hue to the dish, the colorful sauce enveloping the pockets of pasta.

The pasta filling was an unknown mix of cheese and greens, most likely spinach and more ricotta. The one thing that I do know is that it melded perfectly with the vibrant sauce and, despite ordering two plates, we were all fighting over the plates’ remnants.

Next in line was the cacio e pepe, also known as my new favorite pasta. Although this is not listed as their specialty (the ravioli was), the jewelry shop owner told us that this was the best dish to get here. It has so few components, but they fuse together in a way that truly transcends each ingredient. It arrived at our table in an entirely different state, a pile of grated cheese resting on top of steaming fresh egg pasta, thicker than spaghetti and the definition of al dente, firm without a trace of hardness. The woman that brought it to our table tossed it in front of us so that we could watch the cheese transform into a thick and smooth velvet, coating each strand evenly with a pearly sauce cheesier than any box of Kraft mac n cheese could dream to be. The finely ground black pepper added a slight spiciness that can only be attributed to exceptionally fresh spices, uniting with the sharpness of the cacio cheese. Simple, but in no way boring. This was perhaps the finest plate of pasta I have ever had.

Next, our waiter brought out the pasta alla carbonara. Expecting some sort of long and thin noodle, the huge rigatoni caught me off guard. The electric yellow color was unlike any carbonara I have seen before, thanks to the vibrant marigold egg yolks that are commonplace here. The high quality egg yolk collected in the ridges, draping the pasta in a uniquely rich and luscious coat. Although hidden, a punch of flavor came from cubes of panchetta, tucked neatly into nearly each tube. The carefully executed sauce was mopped up greedily with the requisite bread provided for the meal.

second course, or secondi piatti.

Despite not being a huge meat eater, these meatballs impressed me with both their size and their flavor. The dish was served simply, a pair of softball-sized meatballs perched in tandem in a pool of simple tomato sauce, and we split them easily among five plates. They gave way effortlessly to the pressure of our forks, moist and tender, causing me to wonder how they retained their shape in the sauce so easily. I am no meatball connoisseur to be certain. However, these meatballs, likely consisting of some combination of beef, veal, pork, bread and eggs, tasted exactly as I would expect really, really good meatballs to taste.

For our American palates, perhaps the most adventurous dish on the table was this one: salsiccie, cotiche, e fagioli, or sausage, pork rind and beans. When we ordered it, we had no idea what cotiche was, but the rest of the dish sounded so good that we ordered it anyway. Sizeable links of fennel-filled sausage, firm borlotti beans, chopped celery and chunks of pork rind, laying in folds, were enveloped in a rich tomato sauce. Putting my fears of foreign meats aside, I pushed myself to try what I thought was likely tripa. I found it to be tender and flavorful, but overall underwhelming, which is a good thing in this case.

side dishes, or contorni.

The carciofi, or artichokes, were also impressive, with their buttery interior. Sitting in a pool of flavorful oil, the outer leaves were a crisp contrast to the soft hearts. I am grateful it is still artichoke season, for I have to learn how to recreate this typical Roman dish.

This mess of green is an unknown vegetable dish, likely rapini, if I were to venture a guess. This plate merited special attention, in my opinion, as I have a deep love of vegetables. They had a hint of pepper and their natural bitterness was so mellow that I would almost call them sweet, especially considering their relatively unadorned state. This is the beauty of proper cooking technique; certainly one that I can appreciate.

dessert, or dolci.

Of course, we had to give their dessert a chance after our impeccable meal. We had scoped out the diminutive cups of tirimisu on our way in and had high expectations for their housemade rendition of a classic. The dessert was given a crown of intense melted fudge sauce just before serving, tempting to ooze off the surface. The rich custard was piled on top of the boozy soaked lady fingers, one layer melting into the next. One dish among five girls was far too few.

As soon as our waiter mentioned this pear and ricotta tart, I knew I had to try it. The outer crusts were formed by sheets of ground hazelnuts, encasing an ethereal filling. The soft pears were right at home with an airy and light ricotta filling, outshining any of the dense and overly sweet cheesecakes I have had in the US with its subtle sweetness and delicate texture. It was the perfect way to end one of the most enjoyable meals I have had in Italy.

As we made the long walk back to our apartment, we were already discussing our return visit and knew that we had to share this gem with others. Ristorante Felice a Testaccio has earned its place on my list of hidden treasures.

when eating is remembering.

When it came to dinner, I was a difficult child. I could only be coerced to eat what I wanted, and nothing else. One could call me picky, but more than that, I was particular. I liked to eat just the right thing, and it needed to be prepared just as I wanted it to be. Growing up, Mom worked a more-than-fulltime job that left her frazzled after a long day at the office, and thinking about what to cook for her family was an added chore. Dealing with my food preferences was not easy. More often than not, dinner was simply of the meat-starch-vegetable variety, depending on what was in the refrigerator. If there were a lot of leftovers and not many groceries, she could produce an impressively delicious casserole out of next to nothing as long as she had a can of soup. A casserole of this variety is a “hotdish” in Minnesota and making them is an invaluable skill to have for church potlucks. For most, these mystery hotdishes are far less desirable than the finely crafted plate of roast pork tenderloin with rhubarb compote or chicken enchiladas with homemade mole that Mom whips up in her recent retirement. However, when I was young, a hotdish was a miraculous invention: a myriad of ingredients that I would spurn the previous night was suddenly an entirely new dish, and it was always delicious.

My discerning palate was easily enticed by the treat layered in the glass Pyrex dishes, releasing waves of intoxicating scent that are impossible to pin down as soon as it is pulled out of the oven. Digging into my meal first requires puncturing the thick layer of cheese on top, where brown spots evenly dot the surface. The cheese gives way to a flood of thick ivory gravy, most often thanks to cream of mushroom soup. Chunks of moist chicken breast peak out from the sauce, mingling with diced celery, carrots, onion, broccoli and other vegetables. Grains of left over long grain white rice lose their firmness in a rebirth from Chinese takeout. The rice is a welcome addition, lending even further creaminess and texture, intermingling with repurposed macaroni to bulk up the meal. Working my way across my plate, I vigilantly avoid the slices of mushrooms and ban them to one side. They simply muddy the flavors, as impossible as they are to pin down. Intensely savory, definitely salty, a bit garlicky, lightly herbed, no single flavor dominates. With painstaking attentiveness, I form perfect bites of meat and vegetable and cheese, and the pile melts away. Going back for more, I eye the slices around the pan’s perimeter where chunks of bubbled cheese have developed as it threatened to burn; they cling to the pan, waiting for my eager fingers to pick them off one by one.

If flavor could be described as cozy, warm, comforting, that is how this meal tastes, exemplifying my home in every way. Each taste is so familiar; my senses overwhelm me with nostalgia, a single mouthful enough to provoke a flood of images of dinner with my family. For Proust, the humble madeleine enabled him to be transported to his childhood, illuminating his memory of his time at Combray. Like The Madeleine, the food that elicits such intense reaction for me is not one meant to impress and is not particularly indulgent. However, despite these foods’ humble nature, it enables one to feel “all-powerful joy” (Proust 294). Counihan’s subjects had a comparable experience, the sensory qualities of food facilitating remembering (25). Hotdish is food that enriches my soul, but the act of eating it is not the memory; it simply unlocks the door to memories locked securely with me, awakening a part of my consciousness long asleep. This is as it was for Proust, dipping his cookie into his tea: “the object of my quest… lies not in the cup but in myself” (294). A series of otherwise obscure details about my prior everyday life flood my mind, all triggered by a singular meager plate of casserole.

The feeling hotdish creates transcends the taste of cheese, chicken and miscellaneous leftovers, becoming a full-fledged experience that is uniquely mine. If others were to eat the same meal, it’s likely they would get caught up on the gloppy texture, the haphazard components and flavor vaguely reminiscent of tinned mushroom soup. This is lost on me, memories of Mom cooking and siblings fighting overshadowing any mediocre flavor. Hotdish represents more than just my childhood; it is a symbol of where I come from in Minnesota, a uniquely Midwestern invention. In Seremetakis’ case, The Breast of Aphrodite peach is at work in her identity in the same way. The memory of the fruit binds her with others that share her same background. The sentiment linked to this specific peach transcends its value as food; when it is gone “it only goes externally, for its body persists within persons.” (Seremetakis 298) The peach lingers as a fundamental part of the author’s self. Similarly, Tommasa, one of Counihan’s subjects, described her food as being “in her head,” implying that “her identity was wrapped up in her cooking” (82). This is much like Mom’s hotdish, which, by helping me to forge bonds with fellow Midwesterners over a reverence for a singular regional favorite, plays a far deeper role in my identity.

This is an essay I wrote for my Anthropology course. It is referencing two chapters out of The Taste Culture Reader: Experiencing Food and Drink, edited by Carol Korsmeyer as well as Around the Tuscan Table: Food, Family, and Gender in Twentieth Century Florence by Carole Counihan.

the roommates and i, after discovering a nearby church.

a sidenote: I am having an unbelievable time here, and getting to participate in some very special events. Yesterday I had the incredible opportunity to attend World Food Day 2009 at the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations. Today and tomorrow is the Biodiversity Film Festival, which I plan to attend. Next weekend, my roommates and I are making a trip to Naples with the goal of eating a lot of really good pizza. I hope to do a full recap of all these very exciting events, as soon as I get some freetime!

Naples, 30Sept2009

and here’s an interesting piece on Serious Eats: Ten Reasons Why I love Shopping in Italy. I whole heartedly agree.

the soup is on.

The Tuscans are nicknamed mangiafagioli, or bean-eaters. My kind of people. After my experience with Nicoletta, I was inspired to purchase fresh borlotti beans, which I had never seen before in their raw state in the US. I found them pre-shelled, their jackets removed to reveal the shiny, pink-dotted inner portion.

Cooking here is an entirely different experience that cooking in the US, and a lot of that is because the process of shopping for food is so different. Here, you go to the market, buy what looks good (and what looks good is inevitably what is in season) and go from there. You don’t go to the supermarket with a shopping list of ingredients for a recipe torn from a magazine. There’s nothing wrong with that; I simply find it refreshing to see an entirely different creative process. As you may have been able to tell from my previous post, recipes are a rarity here and dishes morph depending on what is available. Take this soup, which I made entirely recipe-free and was just what I wanted, despite being rather unphotogenic.

Upon seeing the piles of beans, I instantly felt like soup was in order. Working without a recipe, I grabbed onions, carrots, fennel, tomatoes and zucchini. I asked the older woman that runs the stall if she had any cavolo nero, or my favorite black dinosaur kale. I was immediately yelled at that it was not kale season; of course she didn’t have it! So, the soup was made sans kale. Walking back to my apartment, I stopped by the salumeria to pick up something else for the soup, the overly-friendly son of the shop owners complicating an otherwise quick task. Despite my broken Italian, I managed to slip out without a 9 pm date for an apertif but with one euro worth of peppered panchetta for my soup.

The soup was thrown together, Nicoletta-style, and it was delicious. That’s about as much of a recipe as I can provide, but I think it is worthwhile to try cooking this way. Go to the market. Talk to the people selling your food. Buy what looks the best and let your imagination guide you. Make what you are craving, what is going to soothe your soul and fill your stomach, even if it’s not what is featured on the cover of a food magazine.

The seasons have seemingly turned overnight, leaving summer behind in a whirl of cold winds, rain and clouds. Summer is gone in a flash, and I can feel the cold penetrating as winter approaches. This humble soup proved to be the perfect way to warm my chilled bones.

cucina povera.

We are learning about traditional Tuscan cooking in preparation for our stay at Spannocchia (an organic agricultural estate in Tuscany where we will be for the fifth week of the program. More about that forthcoming.) and to get more perspective on how significantly the Italian way of cooking has changed.

Nicoletta Macchiavelli grew up in Tuscany but now teaches cooking and language classes in Seattle. Fortuitously, she was visiting Rome this week and was able to join our class to answer questions about the cuisine she encountered as a child in Florence. She then taught us how to make several dishes typical of cucina povera, or the cooking of poverty, which is characterized by making meals out of very little. It takes very humble ingredients and turns them into something surprisingly satisfying: “it’s very healthy… not rich… but it fills you up, sits in your stomach after working in the fields.” She dictated the recipes (I use that term loosely) to us and I hastily copied them down as she buzzed about the kitchen. My notes are in parentheses.

dante’s sweet mess. Chop up a lot of onion and add to a large pan with olive oil (a lot of it!). Then, slice a mix of bell peppers, whatever color. Add them to the pan (gradually, don’t let it get crowded) to wilt down. You want to sauté them almost to the point of burning. Then you add some pepper (crushed red pepper) and some anchovy for saltiness. Right before serving, add some capers with a bit of the liquid. Serve it as bruschetta before the rest of the meal.

cauliflower soup. To create your broth, boil the stalk and leaves in water for a half hour or so (and then remove them.) Cut up the heads into florets and blanch in the broth to al dente. Place slices of toasted old bread in a bowl, drizzle with olive oil, salt and pepper to taste. Ladle broth and florets over the top and eat.

minestrone. You start with a battuto (chopped onion, celery and carrot) and sauté it in your pot with olive oil. When it looks good, add the rest of your vegetables (we used carrot, potato, spinach, chard, parsley and broccoli) and cover, allowing the moisture from the vegetables to create your broth. You have to cook it over low heat. If you rush it, your will have to add extra water and that’s not good. To serve, ladle over toasted old bread with olive oil, salt and pepper just like the cauliflower soup.

chickpea flour “bread.” Take as much chickpea flour as you want and add water, salt and chopped rosemary until it looks like (uncooked) polenta. Leave it for a while to absorb everything. Put it in an oiled pan and stick it in the oven at a pretty hot temperature (around 200 degrees Celsius) for around 20 minutes. Cut into wedges and eat. (She first called this bread, and then corrected me that it’s NOT bread. Call it what you like. It has no leavening and so is very dense and flat.)

dolce firenze. Use stale bread, toast it and butter each slice. Place in a dish so there are no gaps and cover with lemon rind (zest) and currants (what we used were actually raisins). Beat 3-4 eggs with sugar and 1 to 1.5 cups (whole) milk and pour over. Bake in the oven at around 185 degrees (Celsius) until it’s solid. Always eat it hot.

It should be noted that Italian cooking is famous for the phrase quanta basta, meaning literally “as much as it needs.” Nicoletta uses no recipes and instead recommends that you make things often so you know what it is supposed to look like. Obviously. This inexactness would drive the average American cook crazy, but these types of recipes are really more techniques than anything else. It is also helpful to have watched your Italian mamma cook from childhood. For me, one day with Nicoletta will have to suffice.