Dinner For Elvis

2011-09-19T08:37:00.001+02:00

"If  I have learned anything through all this, it is no matter what, to  always leave your heart open to those around you.  There is a lot of  love to be shared if you just let it in."

2011-09-04T18:54:00.007+02:00

Reflections Under a Fig Tree During a Late Summer Shower

Sometimes, nothing is more perfect than a gray, wet weekend.  It gives you an excuse to stay snuggled deep in bed til the late morning, rousing only when the thought of blueberry pancakes tempts you more than the softness and warmth you find there. 

And when nature calls for the little beast, we head up to the hills, where the cover of chestnut trees and pine keeps us dry.  On our way down, we stop under a fig tree, where he snacks on the fallen fruit, lightly fermented remnants of August's heat, and I the ripe ones from the branches overhead.  We stay there, the only two souls out in this late afternoon shower, until I can't reach anymore and it's time to go home.

2011-08-29T21:02:00.004+02:00

I'm living with a doping druggie.

My little man is sick and has been prescribed cortisone, which I had to buy at the normal pharmacy since it's a human drug as well. It doesn't work like that in the US, does it? Don't think so. Anyhow, check out the NO DOPING indication on the back of the box. Hilarious, right?

Elvis is gettin jacked, yo.

2011-08-27T17:39:00.006+02:00

Poor, but sexy. But wait. Before we get into talking about Berlin, let me talk about how Berlin almost didn't happen.

So my flight was out of everyone's favorite Milan Malpensa airport, which meant I needed to take the shuttle bus from Torino. I had reserved my seat online a few days prior to my departure and on the day of, made sure to show up early to the bus stop. I didn't want any drama or hysterics getting to my flight after all. I arrived with a good 25 minutes to spare, studied the posted bus schedules, saw mine was listed, as well as an indication to the cafe over my shoulder where you could buy a ticket if you didn't have one already. I went to said cafe for a quick coffee before the bus arrived and spent the rest of my time twiddling my thumbs.

Finally a bus arrives and everyone starts dumping their luggage into the holding area below. Just to confirm I ask the driver, "This is going to Malpensa, right?"

"No."

BLAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"That bus stop is all the way at the end of this street (very, very long street). What time is it supposed to leave? 5:00? You're never going to make it." It was 4:57.

BLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PANIC.

"Wait. Wait. Let all the other passengers get on and then I can drop you at the second stop. Oh wait. No. You'll never make it."

"What if I take a taxi????" Look of uncertainty. "Well maybe you could make it then."

I dash off for the taxi stand a few hundred yards away. A group of drivers who were gathered around their buddy's cab see me arriving, a frantic gallop as graceful as Big Bird himself, full on panic in my eyes. Everyone scatters.

"IHAVETOGOTOPORTASUSAANDIAMVERYVERYLATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The poor driver begins to panic himself and is tugging on the backseat door which will not open. He yells at me, "GO AROUND TO THE OTHER SIDE AND GET IN!!"

We take off. And manage to hit every red light. Finally as we approach the vicinity of where the second stop is, I ask him if he knows precisely where the buses for Malpensa stop. He isn't sure but we spot a group of people with luggage under a portico.

As we screech to a stop in front of them, he commands me, "Ask them if this is the stop!" I roll down my window and ask in what I perceive to be my yelling voice, "IS THIS THE STOP FOR MALPENSA????!" Everyone ignores me. Except the poor girl who happens to be positioned right in front of me. She studies me for what felt like minutes before she decides to respond, "Yeah. This is it." I must have looked like a crazy person, but I made it. Thank God.

And luckily that was the most harried part of my vacation. Good to get that out of the way.

So, back to being poor but sexy. That is Berlin you know. Its mayor deemed it such a few years back and the slogan has stuck. And I must say, by the end of my time there, I was starting to grasp the sense of it. As Katherine pointed out to me my first day there, no one really seems to work. Everyone is just out and about, enjoying a slow hour of coffee at a cafe, or strolling along, seemingly without a care or destination in mind.

For all you history buffs out there, you would be probably be disappointed that beyond a fantastic personal tour done just for me (thanks again Patrick and Katherine!), I didn't do a lot of touristy stuff. Of course I did see remnants of the Berlin wall as well as the once controversial (is it still or have people gotten over their qualms?) Holocaust memorial.

Beyond this though, my time was spent cozying up to the city, taking long walks along canals, enjoying the charm of Berlin's cute little neighborhoods, laughing, drinking beer (which is cheaper than bottled water !!), snuggling with a little beast, lingering over coffee and extravagantly long breakfasts, eating the world's best kebab (true story), falling in love with flammkuchen, visiting the Turkish market, picnicking at Tempelhof airfield, beer gardening at Tempelhof, and just catching up.

I must say it was both fun and disconcerting to be someplace where I had absolutely no clue what anyone was saying, and where I didn't know how to express even the most basic niceties. One day I was on my own for a few hours and had Katherine teach me how to order a currywurst in German. I butchered my way through the order, "Eine Currywurst mit Darm und Pommes," (One currywurst with casing and french fries.) and felt quite proud for getting the sentence out and being understood. But of course the transaction couldn't be finished with that; there were still the sauces to be selected and drinks. So as the cashier rattled on in German, I just had to shrug, scary smile him and say, "Sorry, that's all I got."

One tradition that makes me think I may have a bit of German blood pumping through my veins is the afternoon cake and coffee break. Hello! Where have you been all my life? There are the cutest little bakeries, just little holes in the wall, that offer an astonishing variety of cakes - chocolate favorites, black forest, fruit offerings, apricot, rhubarb, apple, carrot cake. I am so on board with this afternoon ritual, I can't even tell you.

It was windy that afternoon and sadly the last few bites of chocolate cake blew onto my leg.

All in all a fabulous ol' time. And just look at this little cutie I got to play auntie to.

Auntie Jenn and Baby Juniper

2011-08-22T22:22:00.004+02:00

I'm home, but longing for days with a high of 82 degrees and liverwurst (which are completely unrelated aside from their Berlin connection).  Who would've guessed that spreadable meat in a plastic casing could be so freaking addictive, but it is.  And why didn't I bring one home with me??  Sigh.

At least I got my mustard.  Yum.

Elvis, on the other hand, is missing days where I don't dunk him under a cool shower.  I am not sure if this is effective and/or if he hates it.  I've also tried soaking a towel in water and making a little nest for him, but he isn't too interested.  He also dashes away when I aim the fan at him.  Doesn't he get that I just want to help him be more comfortable??? 

Any other ideas for keeping your furry pup cool in this ridiculous heat?

2011-08-10T22:17:00.004+02:00

So.  Let's begin with the good news.  They miraculously fixed the sinkhole in one day flat.  A couple of weeks ago I left for work and it was still there, and then I got home that evening and it was all patched up.   See.

Pavement.  I was amazed.

But then yesterday evening as I approached my building I saw flashing police lights in the distance.  "Nooooooooo!!!" I thought.  But yesssssssss.  It happened again.

Granted it's much smaller this time around, though in a rather inconvenient location.  That is, in the middle of the road.  Makes driving on my street even more treacherous than usual.

The good ol' local police were quick to get their tape up and the area secured. 

I thought it was pretty hilarious though, how they used this parked car to secure the tape.  What did the poor owner think/do when he needed his vehicle?  Surely they could have used something else?  Like a light post or even a garbage can.

Anyhow, we'll see how long this one is there.  Pretty disconcerting though.  I am suddenly not too keen on available parking spots near my building.

2011-08-08T22:14:00.003+02:00

Blueberries are an American summer.

I think that's why I always feel so giddy when I find them at the market in Italy. Whipped into muffins Sunday morning, I am excited to go to sleep Saturday night, knowing what's waiting for me when I wake up.

2011-08-07T23:07:00.002+02:00

2011-08-04T22:10:00.014+02:00

So. After a good bit of time living without it, I decided last week to get my act together and finally go apply for my tessera sanitaria (healthcare card). Before I was always too intimidated/lazy about plowing through the mountain of Italian bureaucracy that I knew was waiting for me. Figuring out which district and thus which office I needed to report to was difficult enough on its own, much less knowing exactly what paperwork I needed, because God forbid the website provide concise, clear information, the office hours, what color pen to use when filling out said paperwork. Ok, maybe that last one is a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much people. Not by much.

Attempt number one. I admit, I was totally foolish in my first efforts. I showed up last Thursday morning around 9:30 and found about 150 short-tempered, impatient patients ahead of me. As low tech as most of these operations are, there was a surprisingly high tech computerized system dispersing numbers. Mine? 151. And what number were they currently serving? 37. Oh and they opened at 8:00. Not looking so great, but I decided to stick around, because who knew? Maybe a lot of people would drop out...Let me also mention that they had 2, count 'em, 2!! windows open. Now, don't think that I am just the impatient foreigner, not yet accustomed to the Italian way of doing things. Oh no, everyone, especially the more senior members in the waiting room, was going freaking bananas. In fact one lady started a petition that essentially said "We the undersigned are severely pissed off for the lack of service here" for everyone to sign that she went to present to the administration office. After an hour and a half of waiting I decided to call it a day and try again the next morning. My plan? Get there before the office even opens. Aren't I clever? Clearly no one else would ever think to do the same.

Friday morning. 7:00am. I am hurting. An hour and a half less sleep than I normally get. But I pull myself out of bed, manage to find parking and reach the building before it opens. Of course there is a crowd already gathered. I see familiar faces from yesterday. The doors open, but rather than piling in in typical Italian fashion, there is a man there handing out a number to each person as they pass through the door. I take my number and head up to the proper office where there is already another crowd forming around the machine that is supposed to give us our official number. However, said machine is not feeling as high-techy as it was yesterday and won't turn on. The crowd continues to grow, tempers mount, opinions are expressed. Suddenly the 75+ crowd deems themselves techsperts, "Push this button." "It's making noises" Jab at machine. Young guy is totally clueless. Finally someone says, "Why can't we just use the numbers we already have?" Crowd, "Yeah! Why not?? Yeah!" Everyone agrees that that is our best option.

We pile into our waiting room and chaos ensues. Shame that the roll of numbers didn't begin at 1, which would have at least simplified things in part. Rather they started at 85, so everyone was in a panic over who was to go first and would the next person then be cut in line and how would we know because the official numbers are tied to a computerized system, but without that there is no possible way for us humans to self-manage the situation. Finally same young guy from before freaks out "SIT DOWN! SIT DOWN! IF YOU DO NOT SIT DOWN WE CANNOT PROCEED!!" Keep in mind this isn't him losing it to a group of teenagers, this is like Mr. Rogers and his buddies, me and a couple of new mommies.

Things seem to calm down. The first two lucky ducks head up to the two open windows. And then they stay there. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. Babies are starting to cry. People are pacing. And then the announcement. All of the computers are down.

I wait. And debate skipping out to the cafe right across the street for some breakfast. Cause let's be honest here. If the computers miraculously came back to life, I am like 20 numbers in, so I still have a hefty wait ahead of me. Plus the level of agitation in the room is palatable. Time to get away.

While I'm standing at the bar with my cappuccino and brioche a short little man, part of the Mr. Rogers crowd asks, "What number do you have?" "107," I respond, "You?" "87." "Aren't you worried they'll call your number while you're down here?" "Nah, the computers aren't working." How right he is. I finish my breakfast and decide a little quick stroll through the market wouldn't hurt anything. Nothing note worthy could possibly happen in the 10 minutes I've been gone. Find cute pair of sandals that cost 3 Euro. Feeling good about things.

But as I enter the waiting room and hear young man from earlier, "115. 115? 116. 117. 117?" my heart drops. Are you freaking kidding me???? High-tech number dispensing machine is working now and so the sensible thing as it appeared to the staff that day would be to change the number system an hour and a half into the morning. They were exchanging our previous numbers with new ones and of course had already blown past my 107. English expletives flow. I. am. freaking. out. "107!!!?" I say. Young guy looks at me, "I've already passed 107. Where were you??" "I went to have breakfast." (Please don't notice shoe bag in hand.) He notices that I am turning very red and possibly purple. Sighs. Gives me a new number that isn't awful awful, but certainly behind where I was. I slug off. My friend from the cafe rushes up to me, "Where were you?? I looked for you but you weren't here. You should have come right back!" Yeah. I know. Foolish me.

I wait. And wait. The computers start working and slowly but surely we are making progress. As my number approaches I am feeling more and more anxious. What if I don't have all the paperwork I need to have? I brought what the website told me to, but, well, that could easily be old or erroneous info. Finally at 11:00 my number comes up. I bounce up to the window, announce why I am there and shove my papers through the tiny hole to the attendant. Ok. She needs my Permit of Stay. Got it! And my tax code. Look through wallet, don't have it, but shouldn't be a problem because it's written on my Permit of Stay. She continues to ask for it and I continue to point to the number on my Permit of Stay. This exchange happens 4 times before she says, "No. You need the piece of paper you received when you registered for the tax code." Me, "Um, yes, but don't you see? There is the code printed on my Permit of Stay." "Yes but we need to have the actual piece of paper." "OK, but why? There is the code there and it's all of the same information you find on my Permit of Stay - my name, citizenship and date of birth." Finally the blow. "Lady I cannot process your request without that piece of paper." I think I start slightly shaking. "Can you get it and be back here by noon?" I nod. "OK, then come right back to my window without getting a new number."

I am hauling it. Race through midday traffic, find a parking spot and run, yes run, past the ever-growing mess of construction on the sinkhole in front of my apartment. Elvis is overjoyed when I bust through the front door. "Oh YAY! She is already home!!" "hielivs!sorrywecan'tgooutgottafindthispieceofpaperohmygodohmygodohmygodfoundit!bysweetieseeyoutonightbegood!"

I make it back to the office at 11:40. It is smelly and completely unpleasant. Try to subtly saunter up to my original window and wait for the lady ahead of me to finish. Do not make eye contact with anyone who is waiting behind me. Meanwhile at the other window, a woman who was there with me earlier in the morning is pulling a similar no-ticket move. Voices behind us declare, "Who do you think you are cutting everyone without a ticket???!!" Woman at window explodes. "EXCUSE ME!!! I GOT HERE AT 7 THIS MORNING WHILE YOUR ASS WAS STILL IN BED SLEEPING!!!!" Verbal war ensues. Thinking to myself, "Do not turn around Jenn. Do not turn around. Look straight ahead." Feeling awful for explosive woman's 11 year old daughter standing by her side.

And then the window clears and I rush up before the attendant can hit the button to call up the next number. She processes me. I pick a doctor from a list she hands me, based on his address and proximity to my home. I did it. Feeling good. I can get sick now. I'm covered.

2011-08-01T16:40:00.005+02:00

Recently someone who met Elvis for the first time remarked, "That isn't a dog!  He's a cartoon.  He's a caricature of a dog!"

Even though he was making fun of my little guy, I thought it was the cutest, most spot-on description of him.  In fact, I've always thought Elvis would make an adorable cartoon, with his little skip, wagging tail and floppy ears.

2011-07-24T22:55:00.016+02:00

While Torino was being washed away a few weeks ago to never-never land, the sun was out and shining down in Tuscany.  Lucky for us.

Also lucky for us that we booked one of the cutest agriturismos ever right outside Siena!  We'd found it through a simple Google search, so I can't say that I wasn't slightly holding my breath as we lumbered down the ever so bumpy, cypress lined dirt drive.  But boy oh boy were we in for a treat.  Bees a bustlin' here and there between overgrown lavender bushes, petunias smiling out of window boxes, a little succulents garden, olive groves, and in the distance the duomo of Siena.  Weeeee!!!  Never mind the occasional winged invader who may visit during the night, bedroom windows were meant to be left open to allow breezy mornings to gently rouse you from your slumber.  That or also what was either a two year old screaming, "ciao! ciao! ciao! ciao!" or a cat in heat.  I wasn't sure in my sleepy daze.

Anyhow, Tuscany, as always, delivers.  I love Italy and I know the country pretty well, but I gotta say, as cliche as it may be, Tuscany seriously never fails to leave me feeling renewed and just so in love with its beauty.  Thousands have commented and written on this very subject, so I'm just gonna leave it at that.  It's awesome.

Made the requisite trip into Siena and check out the most brilliant thing I saw there.

I didn't know that they actually existed!  I thought it was a total joke, but that dog does seem pretty content, right?  Of course, she probably also weighs 6 pounds.

Our agriturismo, in addition to growing olives, had a delectable little kitchen garden as well.  We had dinner there one night and feasted on all sorts of good stuff, plucked from the dirt hours before.  And lots of their wine.  Lots of it.  Dinner was served family style so the ten of us guests all sat together around a long table, all convivial and lovely.  Though the owners are Italian, everyone that night at dinner happened to be American and so we enjoyed one of those rare, memorable evenings that happens when a group of compatriots are brought together while abroad.  Lots of tale-swapping of travel adventures, genuine interest in where everyone was from, what they do.

Included in our dinner group were middle-aged honeymooners.  Both writers, both southern, both super enthusiastic about everything!, they were a hoot.  He may have been just a tad bit full of himself, or maybe I'm just a tad bit uncultured, but on several occasions throughout the hours-long dinner I had mental moments that can only be described as cultural retardation.  First example, male honeymooner is proudly (rightly so) telling us about his 17 year old daughter who just graduated from high school and is off to college this fall.  Evidently even at her ripe young age, she already knows what career path is calling, and as such narrowed down her college choices based on their pre-neurosurgeon programs (whereas I just had to Google that to find out if it was one word or two).  As he's going through all this with us, I'm nodding, while thinking, "Ok.  Neurosurgeon.  Like Derek Shepherd.  He's a neurosurgeon!   Got it!"

Or later when he was telling us about the novel he'd written, or rather the series of novels he's been writing, whose plots are centered around voodoo practices.  At one point my ears perked up at his mention of a James Bond film.  "I don't know if you all have seen it, but there is a James Bond film set in New Orleans, that gets into a lot of the voodoo practices down in Louisiana.  My novels delve into these practices and my genius post-modern plots, weave this, that....."  "Yes I know it!" I blurted out, "It's with Roger Moore."  I then stopped myself short of going on about the hilarious car chase scene and the idiotic sheriff character.  Cause you know, when I hear Live and Let Die, that's just where my mind goes.

All in all a fantastic vacation!  Pics also from Cinque Terre, which was, as always, magical.  Highlight, besides the absurd beauty of it all - farinata.  Love. it.

p.s.  The sinkhole's status remains unchanged.  There have been many people prodding, poking and gawking, but nothing done to close that sucker up.

2011-07-13T23:28:00.008+02:00

I was shocked to return home from vacation to find that some action going on in front of my building was the talk of the neighborhood.

I asked the city worker guy, half jokingly, if there'd been an earthquake.  He laughed, said no, but that last night it had rained.  A lot apparently.  Dude, sorry, but that explanation does not cut it.

When I ran into my super old-school, proper Torinese neighbor, she was h.o.r.r.i.f.i.e.d.  "Have you seen what has happened??!  These things happen in Napoli, but not in Torino!  NOT IN TORINO!!"

Evidently someone in Torino did not get the memo.

A room with a view

Thinking I should probably be more concerned than I am.  Are those gas lines?  Sewer lines??  Thinking how glad I am that my car wasn't parked where what is now the sinkhole.  Thinking also how shitty it would be to be the owner of one of the cars parked in the courtyard, which is only accessed by the driveway that is now 10 feet under.

Something tells me this mess is going nowhere fast.

In other news, vacation was fantastic! Good food, ridiculous vistas, a little tanning, lovely people. Photos to follow.

2011-07-07T10:51:00.002+02:00

Often the excitement you feel for a week of vacation is diminished by the sadness you feel for leaving your little boy behind. 

2011-07-05T23:35:00.000+02:00

2011-06-29T21:48:00.005+02:00

I was in Milan over the past weekend, and despite the beautiful weather after a month of rain and hail, the highlight was most definitely brunch at the California Bakery.

!!!!

I'd been wanting to go since I learned about it a few months ago - an American bakery in Italy, with all of our favorite cakes and sweets. Plus Sunday brunch, complete with American drip coffee. Are you kidding me?? I almost died!

Even though I was stuffed after my scrambled egg, bacon bagel sandwich, I couldn't leave without getting a brownie for the road.

And if all of that weren't great enough on its own, they do off-site catering in their little ape truck. Ape in Italian means "bee" and so it is justly named the California Bee. Almost can't stand the cuteness, right? Talk about engines of ingenuity.

2011-06-26T19:57:00.004+02:00

Lake Como, Part II
Evidently I just can't get enough

All sorts of gorgeousness. Oh, and I managed to get a tannish burn in 15 minutes flat at the pool.

He was pretty happy to be back too.

2011-06-24T19:17:00.007+02:00

"How is it that in France Nicolas Sarkozy is spearheading the efforts to oust Qaddafi, in Germany Angela Merkel is sorting out the European Union's debt crisis, and in Italy Berlusconi is not just bedding young women left and right but flaunting it publicly and giving them high-profile government posts?"

I really do not know.

Just read Vanity Fair's article on Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, and even though the media and countrymen have discussed his scandals and antics ad nauseum, reading about them, all lined up in such a concise and un-spun format, just makes me realize all the more what a cancer he is to the country.

source

Italy, I hurt for you.

2011-06-23T13:22:00.007+02:00

I know I should be much more horrified by this than I am, but to be honest, ever since I was 14 years old in high school biology class, I've thought how awesome it would be to have a miniature pet elephant. You know, one that wouldn't grow over 30 pounds. How fun would that be?

Evidently I'm not the only person to have such dreams. Check out what China is up to now.

source

Dyeing pets to resemble exotic animals...

I should also admit that I've always thought Elvis would make a very cute baby panda.

source

2011-06-16T22:27:00.007+02:00

Sadly it has finally happened.

I met a cheese that I just don't like.

Pannerone lodigiano
Do you know it?

I put a big piece of it in my mouth and literally said, "ugh". It has a rather astringent, bitter flavor at first, then gets slightly sweet. Totally insipid. Totally unappetizing.

p.s. Turns out it's a Slow Food presidia product (a traditional food product that SF is trying to save from extinction). Generally I think these are great projects, but every now and then you find that maybe there's a reason that no one is eating these foods anymore. Maybe it's time to let it go.

Torino June

2011-06-16T00:08:00.005+02:00

Here it comes...

Weather!

Storm!

Hail!

Daily at 6pm.

2011-06-10T17:18:00.011+02:00

source

The first few years out of college were for me extremely formative in making me into the person I am today. It was my first time living alone, building a home of my own and developing interests and hobbies. I visited the library regularly, watched minimal tv, cooked, got into container gardening, starting my veggies from seed, nurturing them with cleverly rigged-up light contraptions. I volunteered in after-school cooking and gardening programs, and overall just felt content and balanced. It was also during this time that my knowledge and love for the natural world blossomed.

During my days as Ranger Jennifer, I was lucky enough to work with Ranger Amy. Over the years Amy (she has since dropped the "Ranger" as well) has become a close friend and one of the people I most admire. She and her husband Shaun decided to leave city life behind several years ago and became true Texas farmers. I know it hasn't been easy for them, but whenever life becomes too frenetic for me, I look to them and find peace in their example - they have such a loving and respectful relationship, both amongst themselves, as well as their natural environment, and have created such a beautiful world in their new community. Literally - she was a fashion design student in college and Shaun is a graphic designer. Even though they may be out on the prairie, they effortlessly surround themselves with style and beauty.

This month, Edible Austin has a fantastic article all about them and their life on the farm. Check it out here.

And to learn more about A&S, visit their website http://goingtothecountry.com/

200/140 or "Logistica dei casini e le balle"

2011-06-07T13:23:00.006+02:00

I am sure that one day I will have a stroke at the post office. Inevitably every single time I go, my blood pressure goes sky high as I waiver between bursting into cries of frustration or insane laughter at the absurd inefficiency of this oh-so Italian system.

I received, not for the first time, a bill 2 days before it was due. Now it is a week over-due, no fault of my own. Evidently the post office's central system software has been out of commission for several days now. Happy to learn this, as I was thinking that I was just extremely unlucky to always find a chaotic mess the past three times I've attempted to pay this bill. Oh, and if you aren't versed in the Italian ways you pay your bills at the post office. And collect social security payments. And mail stuff. This glitch in the system is pretty much crippling the country.

My favorite post office story though happened one morning when I popped in to mail a letter before heading to work. There was only one woman ahead of me in line, so it should have been a get in get out affair. Oh yes, how foolish of me. Jenn, don't you know better by now? This woman was mailing a letter to Rome, but didn't have the zip code. The lady working the desk, kind as she was, offered to look it up for the customer. What service! Imagine my shock and awe when rather than punching in the street address on her trusty computer, she pulled out a 10 pound book to look it up. Because why would it be unreasonable for us to be in 2011 and Italy to be publishing books the size of anvils with every single street in the country listed? And so, for the next 15 minutes we stood there as she went down, row by row, looking for this ellusive Roman street. Finally after confirming that it definitely was not listed, she flipped the book closed, slapped her forehead and exclaimed, "But this was published in 2008!" Silly you!

Recently a very important Italian claimed that Italy is a world leader in six sectors: Tourism (ok), Food and Beverage (most definitely), Culture and Cultural Heritage (yeah), Design and Fashion (sure, sure), Precision Manufacturing (whatever that is) and Logistics.

Logistics? Please. Logistics of serving donuts on another planet. That's all I'm giving you Italy.

2011-06-06T17:47:00.008+02:00

I love mornings, opening the kitchen terrace doors, letting in the gentle breeze and the sunlight as it rises over the hill behind me. The other morning as I cut into one of summer's first cantaloupes, the melon's perfume, mixed with the brewing coffee, filled me to the tip of my head with a longing for my childhood summers. Closing my eyes, I was here.

source

2011-06-03T22:22:00.004+02:00

2011-05-24T21:34:00.015+02:00

This is a story about a little boy and his adventures.

The little boy had not seen much of the world. He had never seen the ocean, or even a lake.

So he was very excited to discover all the smells on the beach of the big lake.

And decided that this was a much better way to start his morning than in the city.

Here he could dig in the pebbles and search for buried treasures.

And take care of business, of course.

And he even got to go on a boat!

He spotted it arriving from far away.

And waited patiently.

And then he got to stand at the very front of the boat and felt very important.

But since this was his first time to go on a boat on a big lake, his tummy felt a little sick.

And because he had traveled very far from home, he drank a big bowl of water to get ready for his trip home.

And when he got home he said, "I am happy to be home, but can't wait for my next adventure."

Reflections of One's Self

2011-05-18T21:36:00.002+02:00

I don’t understand what’s going on.

But something is not right.

I discovered her tonight. Just stopped and sat and stared. And when I tried to move closer, she was gone.

I looked in the closet. Nothing. In the kitchen too. And my heart grows eager with anticipation and hope.

And I can see you.
But cannot touch you,
Smell you.

Childish pastimes of yesterday, the red, the blue….who cares.

I beat with delight and she returns the invitation. Mine stops with a question and if we were one, hers does too.

Start.
Stop.
Repeat.

She is beautiful. Botero’s muse. And she looks at me as if she has known me from the womb, sees right into the depths of my longing.

I resume my position.
sitting
watching

waiting

Birds of a feather

2011-05-14T22:57:00.005+02:00

This morning as I was enjoying breakfast and the morning sun out on my balcony, I noticed that one of my more senior neighbors was down in the courtyard, feather dusting her car. The exterior of her car.

My first thought was a passing moment of shame, imagining what she must think of cars like mine that welcome these spring rains as a sort of annual cleansing.

Then I giggled at how entirely Italian the scene was, but yet at the same time the universal continuity of it. How I could easily imagine my grandma, back in Tennessee, giving her already shining Grand Marquis a once or twice over with her long fluffy duster. And taking an immense amount of satisfaction from it.

My daily work...(once upon a time)

2011-05-09T12:24:00.005+02:00

Why didn't we write a book when these were all fresh?

As told by DHS.

"I was driving a golf cart on an extremely hot and humid Houston day to the old Children's Zoo. It was the heat of the day as I recall. On a bench between capybaras and rhinos was an East Texas redneck woman (if memory serves, she had on a NASCAR tshirt) and her super-skinny early teenage son. He had his head in his hands and she was smoking a cigarette. I stopped to ask her to extinguish her smoke and upon closer examination, realized the kid was about to fall out from heat stroke.

I sent out the cry for help on the radio and you rolled up on your tricycle. Then the famous words.

DHS - M'am, it seems your boy is suffering from heat exhaustion. Has he been drinking water today?
Lady - He ain't been drinkin' nothin' but Coca Cola all day. They's ice in it.

Wide-eyed glance of disbelief between DHS and JT that idiots such as these are able to exist/function in the world. Then immediately back on task.

JT - M'am, we need to get him some water. Son, put these ice packs under your arms and this one on the back of your neck.

Patient rallies, mom and son go on their way, DHS and JT enjoy countless laughs related to the incident for their remaining tenure at HZI."

40°47'0"N/73°57'58"W

2011-05-04T22:08:00.001+02:00

You made me want to paint my virgin toenails, deny them the air they breathed purely for more than four years.
An unexpected red to walk hand in hand with the woman I became.
The woman you made me feel, that like a sprouting seed gasping for Spring’s warmth and light, found life again.

A single stephanotis in a deliberately deconstructed bouquet. And yet, the most beautiful.

I woke each morning for you and eagerly gave you my nights. Without question - take them, they’re yours.

Energy shared, released and reabsorbed, from day one to our last.

Thank you.

I know you’ll always be there. Ready.

An Open Heart

2011-05-03T22:28:00.002+02:00

Love to the mechanics who never charge me for their time and who wave as we walk by each evening. Even though maybe they were actually waving to the woman walking behind me, but now they’ll remember since I so enthusiastically returned the cheer.

To the pet store lady, who though seemingly closed and only slightly thawed cheerfully exclaims, “Bravo, fatto la pipi!” You need to learn that she is a friend and where mommy buys all your tasty yum yum. Stop barking at her when you’re agitated and she’s waiting for the bus.

To the pizza guys and the Shell guy who gave me the little fuzzy chick for Easter. I keep it on my desk and rub it against my cheek and it makes me feel giddy and like I’m four again. Soft.

To the nonna who took my arm to cross the hurried street this evening. Her big green eyes, staring up at me and telling me how sometimes she and her granddaughter buy pizza from the pizzeria and take it home to eat. Want to be so enchantingly loving today, not 50 years from now.

To Antonio who always makes my macchiato with real whipped cream and not just foamed milk and on days when we’re really lucky, with a glaze of chocolate inside the cup.

To those Tuscans who make that damn good olive oil and only slightly raised my blood pressure through their disorganization and lack of bar codes. An invitation to visit them, to someone they’ve only spoken with by email and phone.

To Massimo and his offer of home.

To everyone who reminds me when I forget, to leave it open. It’s better that way.

The Vineyards' Roses

2010-07-24T22:52:00.009+02:00

Between starting a new job, finding an apartment and getting settled, I have not been on top of this writing business lately. Plus my mom was in town for a couple of weeks and we were busy every evening after work going here and there to make our new apartment a home. Mission accomplished.

Of course her visit was not all household projects and trips to IKEA (just 3 or 4 in the span of 12 days). This was her first time to visit the Piemonte region, and so there was much to be seen, eaten and drunk. I lived in the Piemonte town of Bra two years ago when I worked for my former university and Slow Food, and so had a list of special places I wanted to share with her.

Top of the list? Serralunga D'Alba. The name just sounds rather romantic and magical, don't you think? Now the key thing to understand about this part of Italy is that this is where some of the country's top wines come from; Barolos and Barbarescos find their roots here, and that of course means mile after mile of rolling, take your breath away hillsides.

Whenever I visit the medieval village of Serralunga, I wind my way up through the few narrow streets, tiptoe past the open windows if it is a quiet hour, and make my way to the castle, perched on the top of the hill in the center of this tiny town. It's the perfect spot to just stop and stare out over the vineyards, and there there is a little apartment tucked away in this centuries' old building, where I like to imagine, just for a moment, that it is my home. Thick ivy climbs along the brick wall, up to the old wooden balcony, where cheery geraniums give a splash of color. Antique, dainty lace curtains peak through the windows, and I think with each visit that I could be very happy living there.

But generally it's about at this point that my stomach begins to grumble, as it often does, and I make my way down the winding road a mile or two to La Rosa dei Vini. I always wonder how the family who owns it got their hands on the property; if it was passed down through their own family or one day they happened upon the land for sale and thought, "oh boy, oh boy have we hit the jackpot."

The view alone is enough to write home about, especially at sundown. The outdoor terrace faces west, so as you linger over your aperitivo, the sun gently begins its descent, finally ducking out behind the castles of medieval villages a hill or two away.

But as I mentioned La Rosa dei Vini is much more than just what nature handed it - the food is also worth a letter or two. All the classic Piemonte dishes make an appearance on the menu, and they are all rightly done with enough simplicity and goodness that even though a restaurant in this setting makes you feel like it should be a special occasion spot, the food begs otherwise.

We all opted for an ample tasting menu during mom's visit, including her first plate of carne cruda - hand chopped raw beef - which she bravely opened her palate to, as well as stuffed zucchini blossoms, traditional tajarin pasta, and veal slow cooked in local wine. Plus dessert and of course a very bold Barolo from a vineyard just over the way.

La Rosa dei Vini
Loc. Parafada, 4
12050 Serralunga D'Alba
+39 0173 613219

Fit for a prince and The King

2010-06-30T19:58:00.008+02:00

I did a stupid thing the week Elvis came to live with us. I left a package of Culatello di Zibello in my purse, and when I stepped away for a second to take a phone call, he dove in and quickly made it his dinner (side note: his foster parents chose his name. What are the odds that a girl from Tennessee would adopt a dog named Elvis in Italy?). Lucky guy that Elvis, since Culatello di Zibello is arguably the king of all cured meats, and he just so happened to get his greedy paws on some from one of the top producers, Massimo Spigaroli.

Chances are you have never heard of Culatello di Zibello since it is not sold in the United States and only produced in eight villages of Italy, but if you have ever tasted prosciutto, then you can begin to understand culatello. The word culatello actually means “little rump”, and that is exactly where the meat comes from – the pig’s bottom. Butchers begin with the entire hind leg, cut out the bone and carefully carve out the best cut of the meat that is then massaged with salt, garlic, pepper and red wine, tucked carefully into the pig’s well-washed bladder and snugly stitched up with cord. Unlike prosciutto which is generally industrially produced, Culatello di Zibello is produced entirely by hand, a process well worth the effort when you taste the buttery earthiness of the paper-thin slices. The culatelli are transferred to cellars where they’ll age from sixteen to thirty-six months, and this is what brought me to Massimo Spigaroli’s famous cantina at Antica Corte Pallavicina where I worked for the last year.

What makes Massimo’s cantina so renowned, apart from its being the oldest in the world – it dates back to 1320 – is that it is home to 6,000 culatelli. Enter and you find yourself enveloped in their intoxicating aroma, a literal maze of hand-perfected creations, reaching their pinnacle of excellence thanks to the effects of time and the heavy fog of the Po River basin. Massimo’s family has been in the business of culatello for hundreds of years, and the experience shows. In fact, Prince Charles of England received one of his culatelli as a gift a few years ago, and so impressed was he that he sought out Massimo himself and asked him to produce cured meats with his English pigs. And so with just a bit more time he too will have culatelli fit for a prince.

I can plug freely now that I no longer work there, right? There is also a 6-room relais in the castle as well as two delish restaurants right on the estate. You know, if you ever find yourself out in the Parma countryside.

Have passport, will travel

2010-06-25T17:46:00.007+02:00

The other day I was speaking with a Japanese colleague and mentioned how much I love Japanese food. This naturally prompted him to ask what my favorite dishes were, which shamefully left me hmming and hawing and finally offering up, "Sushi. ?" Poor guy. I imagine this is a bit like the equivalent of a foreigner telling an American how much they love sandwiches or something rather non-specific.

But it's true. I do love Japanese food and by that I mean sushi, of course, and seaweed salad and miso soup and gyoza. When he asked me, though, it suddenly occured to me that maybe I have never had "real" Japanese food, which then led me to the thought I often have, which is if I could go on a gastro-tour anywhere in the world, and money, time - all those logistcial worries - weren't conerns where would I go? Easy. Definitely eastern Asia and while they are neck in neck, I am pretty sure I would go for Japan over Taiwan and/or Hong Kong (ha. Like how I say "easy" and then I offer three options?). Whenver I go out for Japanese food, I always think how I wish the meal would never end and I could spend with abandon. A trip dedicated to learning and eating would definitely inspire minor heart palpitations, at the very least.

And you? What destination piques your appetite?

Food Love + Italy = Eataly

2010-06-09T20:58:00.010+02:00

So as I mentioned in my last post, I have recently started a new job in Torino, (thus the frequent Torino postings). I am excited about this because I have loved the city ever since the first time I visited over three years ago, and because my new job is pretty much located at my idea of heaven. Eataly.

Oh you clever Italians.

Describing Eataly is never an easy task because there is nothing to compare it to. Grocery store? Yes, but not like you know. Restaurant? Oh yes, that too. Perhaps it is easier just to take you on a tour.

The first thing you will notice as you enter is that Eataly is nothing like any grocery store you have visited before. The typical set-up of entering into the fruits and veggies, finding your dairy and meats along the periphery, and processed foods down the aisles doesn't exist here. There is no prescribed flow of traffic, silently herding you up and down, in and out. A Wendell Berry quote, proposing that, "eating is an agricultural act," greets you at the entrance and a huge fruit and vegetable wheel guides you in selecting your seasonal favorites. The concept of aisles is minimally applied here; rather the old vermouth factory has been converted into a sunny store, with an open, spacious design, complete with a vermouth museum on its top floor.

Besides the physical set up of the store, what sets it apart from any other grocery is what you are filling your basket with. The products here, as you probably guessed from its title, are Italian products, mainly produced by small artisan producers. The story goes that Eataly's founder and owner, Oscar Farinetti, was strolling through Salone del Gusto (Slow Food's food and wine fair) and thought to himself how great it would be if someone opened a store to sell all the amazing foods featured there. Then he realized that that someone could be him, and so we find ourselves some years later with stores popping up like weeds (the good ones, of course). The mother-ship is in Torino, but you can also find smaller shops in Milan, Bologna, Asti, and Pinerolo. Head east from Italy, you'll find several stores in Tokyo, head west and you will soon find one in New York City.

Rather than aisles, the store is laid out in sections: fruits and veggies, seafood, meat, cheese and cured meats, pastas, olive oils, preserved condiments, a bakery and an entire floor dedicated to wine and artisan beers. Each section has its own little restaurant featuring dishes made by the exact products you are buying. Genius.

Pick a bottle and fill it with your choice of good red or white wine for about 3 Euros

While Eataly could have easily become another specialty delicatessen with a limited elite market, the owners strategically prevented that by locating the store in a more industrial part of the city and keeping their prices competitive. Sure you will pay a bit more for your hand rolled pasta here than you would for a box of industrial stuff elsewhere, but with your tastier dinner comes a story of the producer you are supporting. That's what Eataly is all about: eating and drinking well, learning and supporting.

The more you know, the better it tastes.

Morning Warmth

2010-05-23T21:48:00.003+02:00

Yesterday as I was waking up over my cappuccino and brioche I watched a fairly typical scene go down between the barista and a member of his older clientele. Little Italian Grandma paid her 85cents for her morning espresso and as she carefully pocketed her change, shuffled over to a display of chewing gum. She picked up a pack and studied it carefully. “Yesterday I bought this exact same gum. Not for me. For my son. I bought this exact same one at a store and paid 40 cents more for it. FORTY CENTS! That’s not nothing, you know!” “I know,” replied the barista, “and did you know that in the city center you can easily pay 3 Euros for a cappuccino and brioche.” Both sigh and shake their heads.

I have just started working at one of Italy’s top food and wine stores, which includes eight restaurants and a café designed after the gorgeous historical Turin cafes: dark wood floors and walls, creamy counters, vintage Vermouth posters and perhaps some of Italy’s best pastries to boot. Even though, I still prefer to have breakfast at the shabbier, but perhaps more neighborly cafe across the street. I like how the barista tells me to hold on a sec for the pastries that are in the oven if he sees that the type I had yesterday is already gone. Or how the milk man calmly double parks out front on the busy city street to bring in the day’s order and then proceeds to leisurely enjoy his espresso. No problem. Meanwhile a young lady plays her luck and part of her weekly salary on the video games over my shoulder and an older man and a younger North African immigrant have coffee together and I wonder what their relation is.

When I am home in the U.S. and people ask me about my favorite things in Italy, I think they are often surprised when I answer the cafes. Most mornings I just eat my oats at home, but on the occasions when P and I go out for our coffee and pastry, well I just feel an extra little boost getting out of bed, like a kid on her birthday. Sure I appreciate the elegant or edgy cafes where the foam in your cappuccino is frothy enough to build a dream on, but it’s the cafe just out the door down on the street corner that really makes me happy to be waking up in Italy. And that’s not nothing, you know.

You Make Me So Very Happy...

2010-05-11T18:44:00.012+02:00

Have you ever played that game where you have to pick three foods that you would want as your final meal? The first two picks are pretty easy for me: a grilled cheese sandwich - Comte cheese and Dijon mustard please - and a hot brownie sundae with melting vanilla ice cream on top. Yum. For my third choice I have the basic idea down; it's just the geography I can't commit to. Dumplings in all their forms, but specifically either Chinese dumplings or the Italian version ravioli, or in my very specific current geography, tortelli.

Here in the area around Parma, you find in most every restaurant two types of tortelli: di erbetta featuring a ricotta cheese and bitter green stuffing or zucca, pumpkin. To say that I am a fan would be like saying that God is smart. Always on the search for the best out there, I could not wait to try Ai Due Platani, where many locals claim to find the tortelli to end all tortelli. For real?

Given the fact that we have been trying to get a table at the humble trattoria for over a year, I figured something really good must be going on there. So you can imagine my glee when I mentioned in passing to my friend Isa that I wanted to eat there, only to have her respond that she is close friends with the owner.

Diving into the menu we all quickly zoomed by the cured meat appetizers since 5 out of the 6 of us work within that field (yes, cured meat is a professional field. Didn't you know?). Rather we all went for fois gras, either in its entirety or, as I chose, as a pate' served with brioche and sweet balsamic onions. Insane. Seriously. The richness of the smooth pate, tempered with the mild acidity of the onions, all of it toppling off the buttery bread...I honestly debated ordering it for dessert. It was that good and I was sad to swallow the last bite. But despair not, because what was up next? The tortelli that I came for.

So, the criteria on which I judge tortelli are: pasta texture and then of course the filling. The dough should never be too thick, or in the event it is on the thicker side of the spectrum, it must have a lot of filling so I am getting some of it in each bite and not just a mouthful of pasta. When talking about the zucca filling, I prefer mine not to be too sweet (some nearby areas add amaretti cookies to theirs), for the ricotta I like a good bit of tang from the Parmigiano that has been grated in. Since it is May, regardless of what the thermometer might read, there was just tortelli di erbetta on the menu since pumpkin is not in season.

How was it? Well I think I just might have found it. The best, I mean. The eggy pasta was rolled so beautifully thin and in between its silky layers blanketed the creamy, slightly tangy filling. It was the tortelli of my dreams.

Perfection in a bite

Dessert was fun. A made-to-order helping of frothy zabaglione. Gorgeous in its presentation, perhaps a grain or two too sweet for my palate.

Zabaglione arrives whipped up just for you in a gorgeous copper pot. Served table-side.

Next time I'll go for a second helping of the fois or torelli. Deciding won't be easy though.

Oh, what's a girl to do?

Ai Due Platani
Strada Budellungo 104/a
43100 Coloreto (Pr)
0521 645626

What Satisfaction Canst Thou Have Tonight?

2010-05-02T21:38:00.007+02:00

My sweet just made me a dessert that left my oft-neglected sweet tooth happily satisfied. This got me to thinking about how although I enjoy dining out in Italy, one of the things I miss most about the food scene back home is all the wonderful cafes, diners, restaurants and whatnots where you can go specifically for dessert. Going out for dessert (besides gelato) is just not done here.

One of my favorite spots "just for dessert" was right down the road from my apartment in Houston. And while everything shone brightly on the Ruggles menu, I always ordered my entree with dessert on my mind. As is often the case with me, choosing was never a one-two closed door. How could it be with choices like molten chocolate cake, carrot cake, Reese's pie, crossiant bread budding, red velvet cake, brownie a la mode, German chocolate cake, tiramisu..... about 40 tasty treats, brilliantly displayed in all their frosted, whipped glory just beckoning you from the moment you walk in.

Hello peanut butter crunch pie

Besides the quality of the little gems, what always put Ruggles head and shoulders above the rest for me was the care that went into plating up your selection. Always a sprig, swirl, or chocolate trellis that made going out just for dessert a little celebration each time.

Ruggles Cafe Bakery
2365 Rice Blvd.
Houston, TX 77005
713-520-6662

A Terrace with a View

2010-04-22T18:25:00.006+02:00

So it seems that it is finally starting to warm up after our incredibly long, long winter. The first day when I can walk ol' Elvis without wearing a jacket has me already dreaming of day trips to the beach and serene seafood dinners.

How lucky are we that the closest beach is the Cinque Terre at a very do-able hour and a half car ride? Chances are if you have visited Italy before, the Cinque Terre were on your "Must Visit" list and for good reason. Check out how insanely beautiful this coastal area is.

Sigh

My first visit was three years ago when my family flew over for a little Italian holiday. Turns out that my aunt's colleague was friends with Franco the owner of Ristorante La Torre, and sent her armed with a letter of introduction. Thank goodness for that because otherwise I doubt I would have ever found La Torre, now my regular dinner spot for days at the beach.

Cinque Terre means "five lands" in Italian, and that's exactly what this natural reserve is: five villages built into the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean. They are connected either by train or by hiking paths that vary in difficulty. La Torre is located at the top of Vernazza and unless you are hiking the trail between Vernazza and Corniglia (one of the most difficult), you would never have reason to pass it.

The Mediterranean before you, embraced by vineyards

The menu is typical for the Ligurian coast: spaghetti with plump muscles and clams, lasagna with beautifully perfumed pesto (pesto comes from this part of Italy), anchovies from the nearby village Monterosso bathed in local olive oil and lemon juice, and a simple, but gorgeously prepared tomato bruschetta. Choose a crisp white wine made from the grapes that come from the vineyards right over your shoulder. Since seating is limited to less than 10 tables outside on the terrace, you are guaranteed a panorama of cheery Vernazza and the deep blue Mediterranean.

Not bad

Now for those of you who know me well, you know I am not exactly the most athletic chick in the barnyard, but for dinner and the view, I will gladly hike the hundreds of steps to get up to the restaurant. Wouldn't you too?

Ristorante La Torre
Via Carattino, 64
Vernazza Italy
0187 821082

This We Eat

2010-04-11T22:11:00.009+02:00

"Yes, you can give him a message. You do take shorthand, don't you? Good, we take it in the South too. Anyway, just tell him that I have been a Southerner all my life, and I can vouch for the fact the we do eat a lot of things down here... and we've certainly all had our share of grits and biscuits and gravy, and I myself have probably eaten enough fried chicken to feed a third world country - not to mention barbecue, cornbread, watermelon, fried pies, okra, and... yes... if I were being perfectly candid, I would have to admit we have also eaten our share of crow, and for all I know - during the darkest, leanest years of the Civil War, some of us may have had a Yankee or two for breakfast. But... speaking for myself and hundreds of thousands of my Southern ancestors who have evolved through many decades of poverty, strife, and turmoil, I would like for Mr. Weaks to know that we have surely eaten many things in the past, and we will surely eat many things in the future, but - God as my witness - we have never, I repeat, never eaten dirt!"
- Ms. Julia Sugarbaker

The thing about Southern favorites is that most of the time we find them in Mom or Grandma's kitchen, so don't usually go out to enjoy them. But every so often there is nothing better to top off an evening outing of shopping than a good ol' meat and three, and in such cases we head straight to Swett's.

The cafeteria serving style makes it dangerous to come here when you're starving since your eyes will inevitably overestimate the capacity of your stomach. But there they are, all your home favorites, lined up, steamin' and just waitin' to be piled up on your plate. Fried chicken, meatloaf, chicken fried steak, BBQ or fried fish for your meat,

macaroni and cheese, turnip greens, squash casserole, candied yams, sweet potatoes, green beans, fried okra and fried apples for your three (for those not familiar with the system, "three" as in you pick three veggies to go with your meat choice). And then of course there is your bread choice - dinner roll, baked cornbread or fried cornbread.

Dessert at Swett's, of course, cannot be passed up. Even if all you manage is a single bite at the end of your dinner, take the rest home with you for a snack later. Peach cobbler, blackberry cobbler, fudge pie, pecan pie, sweet potato pie - these are the things that make my heart sing.

Thanks for the class and the sass Ms. Sugarbaker.

Swett's
2725 Clifton Ave.
Nashville, TN 37209
615-329-4418

Le Vitel Ettone'

2010-04-08T17:29:00.008+02:00

How cute is their mascot of sorts? Here he is in his detective incarnation.

Another favorite in Turin (odd, the frequency that Turin keeps coming up, hmmm?). The last time I was in the city for the day by myself, I used all my Detective Holmes tricks and tracked down Le Vitel Ettone', where I had not been in over three years. As I nestled into my cozy little spot and savored my plate of plump little stuffed pastas, I thought if I were to have my own restaurant one day, I would take a lot of inspiration from Ettone.

Cheers to the manageable size of it, the chalkboard announcing your lunch choices, the assortment of antique tables, the attention to detail like with the complimentary smellies in the bathroom. It is the sort of place where you feel the love, devotion and involvement of the owner.

The compact kitchen is tucked away in one corner of the rather small dining room and the menu is smartly designed to feature just a few antipasti, primi and secondi to make working in such a limited space do-able. Remember in my last Turin post how I mentioned that there is not tons of variety when it comes to the local specialties? Well the theme continues here, but with an occasional update or twist to the classics. The wines of the region are rightly highlighted with a good selection by the glass or entire bottles.

All in all a darling place for a quick, but thoughtfully prepared lunch on your own or a long lingering repose with a dear friend and a bottle of the local finest.

Le Vitel Ettone'
Via Francesco da Paola, 4
Turin, Italy 10123
011 8124621

Easter treats - no peeps here

2010-04-04T11:03:00.003+02:00

Meet a typcial Italian Easter treat, the Colomba Pasquale.

Colomba means dove and I suppose I sort of see the shape in the cake form. Sort of.

If you have ever eaten a Christmas Panettone then you can imagine the flavor of a Colomba - yeasty, eggy, studded with candied fruit peels, and topped with pearl surgar and almonds.

Delish on its own, extra special when briefly caramelized in a bit of butter.

Oh why are you so good?

2010-03-31T18:45:00.007+02:00

The perfect meal. I'm not sure such a thing really does exist, since perfection when it comes to food is such a fleeting concept, dependent on cravings and temptations at any given moment. But that being said, every so often we are lucky enough to savor a meal in which given the opportunity, we would not change a single thing about it. How lucky am I that my favorite restaurant serving up dishes just of that caliber is right down the street?

The first time I went to Trattoria Campanini was right about the time P and I started dating. He, a longtime fan, kept saying how he wanted to take me there, but was quick to squash any lovey-dovey ideas that were swimming through my head. "Jenn," he would say, "it is the least romantic place ever." Fine. And he was right, with its harsh overhead lighting, yellow walls and matching, rather dated, tablecloths. But this is the type of place where you come to eat, and eat we did, and do since moving out to the country, and becoming neighbors with said sacred place.

The cuisine, as one would expect, is strictly Emiliana, so lots of pork, stuffed pastas and long cooked meats. Every time we go, we have such genuine intentions of ordering one or two dishes and leaving comfortably satisfied, and yet we always end up indulging well beyond what is necessary.

Brother, sister and Mom with their famous cured meats

Let me just give you a quick rundown on what you will eat when you come to visit us.

Antipasto

This region of Italy is known for its cured meats and the family who owns Campanini is proud producers of some of the best. Thus it's only fitting that you would choose a mixed serving of the meats (and honestly that is the only option on the menu) - prosciutto, Culatello di Zibello (a handmade, specialty cured ham produced in only 8 villages here along the Po River), salami, and one of my favorites spalla cotta, or cooked ham. As if the meats weren't stellar on their own, some genius upped the ante by deciding they needed to be enjoyed with torta fritta - essentially a savory beignet - and cold rings of butter. I'll let you process that for a moment.

Primi

No spaghetti, risotto or lasagna here, the seven or so pasta options are all gorgeous stuffed pastas, filled to the seams with sweet pumpkin, or goat cheese in a leek sauce, ground walnuts, radicchio or pureed potatoes, covered in porcini mushrooms. Intense and so happily gluttonous.

Secondi

Now to be honest with you, very rarely do we manage to get through the first two courses and actually order a meat course (excluding the antipasto obviously), but in the rare occasions when we do, we almost always opt for the guanciale cooked in creamy rosemary sauce. Don't freak out, the beef jowls are one of the most tender, flavorful cuts of meat out there and I really do not understand why they haven't taken off back in the US. I also love the tripe.

Dolci

The dessert we get at Campanini is the rare exception to everything I have ever said about Italian desserts. The zabaione ranks up there with one of the best. Anywhere. The simple Italian dessert is made with just eggs, sugar and Marsala wine, but what you get here is head and shoulders above most, and I don't really know what they are doing back there in the kitchen, beyond the balsamic you pick up in the flavor. It is amazing and served with large chunks of Parmigiano cheese to be heavy-handily dipped in.

And at this point, after draining the bottle of wine and downing our espresso in hopes that it really does aid in digestion, we pull ourselves to our feet and say, "Next time, let's just order one or two things."

Right.

Trattoria Campanini
Madonna Dei Prati (outside of Busseto, Province of Parma)
0524 92569

2010-03-27T23:48:00.004+01:00

Post-Op Diet

I'm bacckkkk!

After 5 days of a horribly depriving pre-op diet, 3 grim days of NOTHING, and 2 sorrowful days of the worst imaginable hospital food ever I am home and back to eating whatever I fancy.

And I fancy somethin' sweet.

Following my doctors' advice of slowly getting back to my normal diet, I am keeping it light with some of Libby's homemade chocolate chip and hazlenut cookies and some good ol' traditional peanut butter cookies, complete with fork marks. "American medicine", she wrote on the card.

Then for dessert tonight - SUNDAES! featuring warm peanut butter and chocolate sauce.

There really is something to be said against depriving yourself.

(Don't worry. I am taking good care of myself and not just gorging on enough sweets to send me into a diabetic coma. Plus my stomach has shrunk so much that a couple bites do the trick.)

2010-03-20T11:34:00.004+01:00

Pre-Op Diet

PROHIBITED FOODS:
VEGETABLES, FRUITS, OIL, BUTTER, MILK, FATTY FISH, ANYTHING TASTY

Too deprived to even think about writing about my favorites, so instead some photos of what I would eat, if I could.

A big salad, full of delicious roughage

Brownie sundae with peanut butter sauce

Eggplant!

Gorgeous roasted chicken

BLT, mmmmmm

Perfection under the Mole

2010-03-15T16:28:00.016+01:00

The restaurant's name means "Under the Mole"; the Mole is the gorgeous dome seen here.

I was in Turin the other day with a good friend and she brilliantly summed up one of my favorite Italian cities with, "It's like Paris but a bit grungier." True story. For me the city is equally defined by its sweeping, noble piazzas, decked out in their Baroque and Neo-Classic palazzos, as it is by its thriving immigrant communities, which inevitably add a much welcomed zest to the local culture. You can start your day with a brioche and bicerin at one of the numerous grand cafes then head off to the ethnic markets to take home some rare Chinese veggies to cook up for lunch. The mark of a great city if you ask me.

You know another mark of a great city? Great food (duh). Since B and I both lived in Piemonte (the Italian region where you find Turin) we were eager to eat some of the classic dishes we so miss, and luckily for us, we didn't have to look beyond the Slow Food Osteria guide to find a real winner in Sotto la Mole.

Now the thing about eating in Italy is that when considering the country as a whole, the cuisine possibilities are seemingly infinite, but when discussing typical dishes for a given province, well things don't change so much from one restaurant to the next. I could pretty much count on my two hands the dishes (and I do mean, antipasto, pastas, rice, meats and desserts) to be found on any menu in and around Turin. Understandably this gets to be a bit monotonous, especially if you don't live in the city where you have access to different types of food, but for us simple day-trippers, this was perfect since it was the classics we longed for.

Before we even arrived, I knew exactly what I wanted to start with: carne cruda. Now for those of us not accustomed to eating raw meat, it may sound pretty nasty, but it is really gorgeous and satisfying and not to be found out here in Parma (unless we're talking about horse meat, which is another story). Sotto la Mole presents the dish with a flourish: three small cylinders of hand chopped raw beef, each topped with a small green leafy garnish and delicatley sprinkled with sea salt and olive oil. Heaven. B and P enjoyed an artichoke flan, nestled in a warm bath of bagna cauda - another Piemontese specialty of warm olive oil, garlic and anchovies.

For our primi we went back to basics. Gnocchi for me in a rich sauce of local Castelmagno cheese, tajarin (a very thinly cut, eggy pasta) with veal sausage and rosemary for B, and a fantastic risotto with sausage and Barolo wine for P. Love all around.

Speaking of wine, you really cannot talk about Piemonte without talking about wine since some of Italy's top bottles come from the local vineyards. Living here we were really quite spoiled with what we drank, and were delighted to have our pick of Barberas, Barolos and Dolcettos. In the end we picked a fruity Barbera from Elio Grasso, that just as the food, not surprisingly, did not disappoint.

Ristorante Sotto la Mole
Via Montebello, 9
Turin, Italy
011 8179398

Best Little Wine Bars

2010-03-14T14:17:00.012+01:00

Nevermind that Parma is home to some of Italy's best cuisine,

sometimes all you really want

for dinner

is a glass of wine

and

a savory sandwich.

And it's times like these,

that you can do no better

than to head to

Enoteca Fontana.

A wine list to keep you company through the evening

and some of my favorite panini.

Roast beef and arugla,

goat cheese with sundried tomatoes,

pork tenderloin with a spicy olive sauce,

and if for some reason,

those don't do it for you,

there are sixty or so others that

most definitely will.

A Parma institution.

Enoteca Fontana
Strada Farini, 24
Parma, Italy
0521 286037

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Gelato!

2010-03-05T23:10:00.006+01:00

I know this isn't necessarily the right season to write about mind-numbingly cold foods (Spring. I thought you had arrived at long last, but then it SNOWED for two hours today. Where are you??), but let's be honest here, is there really a right and wrong season for ice cream? I mean gelato?? Absolutely not. Oh and for all those Italians who boast that their gelato is much better than ours in the U.S., well ice cream and gelato are not the same thing, so let's set the record straight. Ice cream has more dairy fat in it than gelato, which accounts for the harder, less creamy factor (thus more cream ≠ creamier ice cream), while gelato has more sugar in it than ice cream. And today my dears we are talking about gelato.

I have eaten a good deal of gelato over the past three years and my taste ranges from high quality chocolate shop specialty flavors to "kiddie" flavors like an ultra smooth Nutella gelato. Yum. But in narrowing down my choices for best Italian gelato I come up with Giolitti in Rome and Grom which is, well, everywhere.

For anyone who is up on Italian gelato, Giolitti might seem like a boring, obvious choice, but I have to say that the first time I went there I knew nothing about it the place and it really was one of those, "AhHAH!" moments. I was blown away and in fact have subsequently planned overnight stays in Rome on my way through that area of Italy just for their gelato. Hands down, every time pistacchio with whipped cream on top. The pistacchio is mind-boggingly good: the perfect combination of the sweetness one expects in gelato with the slightly savory flavor of the toasted nuts. And the cream is of course the real, fluffy, light as a feather stuff. Sigh. Love.

Then there is Grom which has become a gelato chain of sorts. Unlike the quality you expect from a chain of anything, Grom really takes great care to only put the best ingredients into their gelato: lemons and pistachios from Sicily, vanilla from Madagascar, hazelnuts from Piedmont. You get the idea. Plus they use several Slow Food presidia ingredients, like coffee from a Central American project as well as the vanilla.

Once I was with a friend who was enjoying his Grom gelato when an overly zealous lick tipped the guy right off its cone onto the rather nasty Turin street. Without hesitation he scooped it right off the pavement, karate chopped off the dirtied part and went on his happy way. That's the kind of unwavering devotion this gelato inspires.

Love all the creamy flavors, love how they have a special flavor of the month and love, love, love how the sorbets can really save a melting soul come mid-July.

They started off in Turin and have since expanded throughout Italy, Europe and oh yes, that is a New York City taxi cab in the photo. I've been told that it is just as good in the Big Apple as it is in Turin's mother Grom, though apparently you do pay a pretty American penny for it.

Giolitti
Via Uffici del Vicario, 40
Rome, Italy
+39 06 699 1243

Grom
www.grom.it

Lai Lai Love

2010-02-28T21:55:00.012+01:00

As I wrote last week from Milan, in addition to taking advantage of the shoe sales, I also took myself out for a Chinese dinner. And since it'd been a year since I had Chinese food ('torture' - watching Eat, Drink, Man, Woman while living out in the middle of nowhere Italy) , I certainly won't complain; it satisfingly filled the void. But when I long for a hearty Chinese meal, there is only one place I really want to be. Well, two really, but the other is for date night with Mom and Grandma.

Lai Lai Dumpling House out in Chinatown Houston. Now I have had several New Yorkers smugly inform me that the only real Chinese food in the U.S. is found on their streets. Whatever. Houston, like many other U.S. cities has a totally thriving Chinese community and with that of course, many amazing restaurants.

As its name would suggest, the place is rightly known for its dumplings and they are hands down my absolute favorite. The photo here is no joke; they really are that plump and filled with goodness. Go for the assorted steam choice - vegetable, beef and pork - and happily dunk away in the ginger-spiked soy dipping sauce that comes alongside. Dividing an order with a friend is almost enough for a solid meal on its own, but since parsimony is not my strong point when it comes to ordering, I tend to top off the meal with a huge bowl of shredded pork cold noodles in peanut sauce (and now I know what to do with the huge jar of peanut butter that just arrived in the mail). Just as the dumplings win my vote for best dumpling, these noodles are definitely at the tiptop of my list for favorite Asian noodles: slightly sweet and tangy from the creamy sauce, crisp from the bean sprouts thrown on top.

Sure the interior might raise an eyebrow or two for first time visitors, but after your first bite you quickly get that they are just investing their time and energy in the magic happening in the kitchen. And isn't that as it should be?

Lai Lai Dumpling House

9262 Bellaire Blvd.

Houston, TX 77036

713-271-0080

Best Little Bars

2010-02-24T16:45:00.007+01:00

I forget how much I love Spanish food when I am not there, but really those Spaniards are such underrated geniuses. Who doesn't love the idea of tapas? Brilliant! Especially for people like me who can never decide what to order, because I just want to try it all. The tapas culture keeps you grazing for hours on end, and plus what a convivial atmosphere it lends itself to.

Food in Barcelona. Sigh of delight. Where to begin? From the gorgeous markets to of course Mr. Adria's El Bulli (one day my dear Catalan), there is just so much to explore and sample, and that my friends is my kind of city. And so it comes as no coincidence that one of my favorite tapas bar in all of Spain is found in Barcelona.

Enter Quimet & Quimet. These people do not mess around.

Now take a look. Obviously if you are hoping for a romantic, intimate evening, this isn't your best bet, but if what you are looking for are some of the tastiest, most creative tapas that the peninsula has to offer (excluding of course, the Basques. That is for another post/book.), then you have come to the right place. Mr. Quimet seriously puts together some killer combos, like my absolute favorite:

Looks a bit like a bagel with lox, but what is really going on here is a light yogurt cheese, with smoked salmon and truffle honey. Weep!! They do a lot with Iberian cheeses, pates and the fantastic offerings of Spanish canned/preserved seafood.

I know that the whole idea of tapas is to graze your way through the evening, from one bar to the next, but I would be none the happier stepping a toe outside their door. Really now, what is the point?

Quimet & Quimet
Poeta Cabanyes, 25
Barcelona, Spain
93 442 31 42

Best Little Cafes

2010-02-18T22:18:00.006+01:00

I'm in Milan for work over the next few days and happily booked myself into the same, humble 2 star hotel from last year (think bathroom that doubles as a shower. All in one.) just because it is right down the street from one of my favorite cafes in all of Italy. Now anyone who knows me, knows how strongly I believe that French croissants are far superior to Italian brioche. Sure they look strikingly similar, but one taste and there is no comparison. Apologies to my Italian readers. BUT, I was so happily surprised when I bit into my first brioche at Pasticceria Moriondo last year. Sure it isn't a croissant, but it holds its own and even more. Plus they serve up a beautiful cappuccino and after one visit know your order the second you walk in. What more could you ask for? I cannot wait to wake up for breakfast tomorrow!

On a side note, I'm taking advantage of the big city life and just treated myself to a Chinese dinner and a brownie for dessert. Wheee!!!

Pasticceria Moriondo
Via Marghera, 10
20149 Milan
02 48005643

XOXO

2010-02-14T11:38:00.005+01:00

Rose Religieuse from Laduree. Ooh La La!

Grandma's Grocery

2010-02-10T17:07:00.010+01:00

Living in Houston, few things could tempt me out of my inner-loop life, onto the interstate to brave the endless, bumper to bumper traffic. And when I say few, well only one really comes to mind: Sandy's! Which apparently has changed its name to Georgia's. So, what I mean is Georgia's!

Imagine, if you will, a big grocery store like Krogers. You know, warehouse building, produce, frozen foods, and in one corner a salad bar buffet, maybe a hot food line too and some gnarly plastic chairs to sit and eat, if you so choose. Kind of depressing, right? Well then imagine that you could substitute all the items for sale into local, organic produce. Getting better, but doesn't sound too different than Whole Foods. What launches Georgia's onto another plain is that it is just like that, except it's like a team of grandmas and grandpas joined forces to not only operate the business, but decorate it and cook up all the delish food offered in the buffet. Love it!

The buffet takes up the center of the store. Antique furniture is arranged throughout, so even though you are in this huge warehouse, your dining experience still manages to feel charmingly homey and cozy. And the food seriously does not disappoint. It's what you would hope for if you could stand over most grocery's buffets and wave a magic wand: totally fresh, local organic produce, gorgeous lettuces, tons of herbs, homemade, creative dressings, fun salad toppings like jicama, all types of seeds, even ginger. The hot buffet delivers more of this quality with beautiful homemade soup options, breads, casseroles, briskets (this is Texas after all), lasagnas, lots of vegeterian and vegan options. Fantastic!

Georgia's has one of the most extensive bulk tea collections I have ever seen and one of the most charming parts of dining there is when a staff member pushes the tea cart up to your table. Let her know what kind you like and she'll whip up an individual pot for you. If you are feeling under the weather or have any health ailments, she can mix a special brew just for you.

This is the type of place where you leave feeling totally satisifed, not only because you just ate a delicious meal but also because you put such good things into your body. Oh and I do want to mention that this buffet of "grass-fed, free range and local produce" will only set you back $11.00. Too bad every neighborhood doesn't have a Georgia's.

So the next time you are at a standstill on Katy Freeway, don't let the exterior of another ubiquitous strip mall throw you off. By all means, stop, enjoy, shop and linger. I know I wish I could.

Georgia's Farm to Market
12171 Katy Freeway
Houston, TX 77079
281-940-0990
www.georgiasmarket.com

'Tis the season

2010-02-06T17:04:00.021+01:00

In honor of both tomorrow's Super Bowl and carnival season that is upon us, it only seemed fitting to write about one of the best food cities in the U.S. - New Orleans! I had the pleasure of calling NOLA home during college and credit the city for really developing and nurturing my love for food. It's been almost 7 years since those fun days, but I have verified that my picks today are still open and kicking. I expected nothing less.

If I had 24 hours in New Orleans, this is where I'd head.

Be honest. Just looking at that photo, don't you wish you were there? Such a convivial, warm, typically New Orleans scene. I love, love, love Jacques-Imo's Cafe. Chef Jacques Leonardi is such a spunky little guy, romping around the joint, offering up shots to guests. And the food? Incredible. Local favorites, heavy on fish and traditional ingredients, like alligator, red beans, corn bread. Don't expect a light meal, but come hungry, do expect a wait, a super fun time and food to write home about. My absolute favorite, speaking of alligator, is the savory alligator and shrimp cheesecake. !! I am having a hard time concentrating on writing, just thinking about it.

Clearly the man is a genius.

If I only had one day, then I would have to plan accordingly to be in NOLA on a Monday, which is when you can get red beans and rice.

Traditionally Monday was wash day and the women would put on a big pot of beans to cook while they did their work. That tradition has held and restaurants today still honor it. In fact, my dining hall in college served up what I consider to be some of the best RB&Rice in the city. I still dream about those. But since I don't have a meal plan, instead of heading to Bruff (why do all university dining halls have such unfortunate names? Riddle me that.), I would make a beeline for Guy's Po' Boys, where I would proceed to cry myself a bucket of happy tears over a steaming plate of RB&Rice with cornbread, of course.

Now, this place isn't called Guy's Red Beans and Rice, so yeah, it goes without saying that their po' boys are equally life changing. For those of you who haven't a clue as to what a po' boy is, it's one of NOLA's most famous sandwiches: generally some sort of seafood (oysters please!) is deep fried until crispy and golden, piled into a split loaf of french bread and dressed with lettuce, tomato and mayo.

Pre-dinner drinks would be at The Columns.

A 19th century mansion that has been restored into a hotel right on the St. Charles streetcar line, this is the perfect spot to perch on a warm spring evening and watch the city unwind and get ready for its big night. It's the sort of place where you want to drink whiskey sours (or maybe that's just because what I was drinking in college).

For all of the classic, casual NOLA favorites at dinner, I would head to Franky and Johnny's. Imagine this: a bit of a dive bar when you first walk in, jukebox along one wall, red and white checked oil cloths on the tables, a black and white, not necessarily immaculate tiled floor, huge glasses of iced tea, or Abita beer. You get the picture. Go for the po' boys, fried chicken, boudin or pies - you can't go wrong. When the season's right, I would opt for some boiled crawfish, one of the New Orleans traditions I miss most.

Breakfast. Since you are obviously going to be starving the next morning, head over to Camellia Grill, another New Orleans institution. I heard that it had closed after Katrina, with plans to re-open under a new owner. I don't know what its fate has been, but I cannot imagine a New Orleans without a Camellia Grill. Diner food as it should be, heavy, unforgivingly greasy, in short, wonderful. I would pick one of their huge omelets and finish breakfast with a piece of pecan pie (don't judge. I do only have 24 hours.), which they brilliantly "warm up" for you over a nice sizzling slab of butter.

And if I were lucky enough to plan my 24 hours on a Monday and during Mardi Gras season, well then I would surely stop by Igor's for a bloody mary (to go, of course) to enjoy with my Popeye's fried chicken during the parades. I really don't think life gets much better than that.

Jacques-Imo's Cafe
8324 Oak Street
New Orleans, LA 70118
504-861-0886

Franky and Johnny's
321 Arabella Street
New Orleans, LA 70115
504-899-9146

Guy's Po' Boys
5259 Magazine Street
New Orleans, LA 70195
504-891-5025

The Columns
3811 St. Charles Ave.
New Orleans, LA 70115
504-899-9308

Camellia Grill
626 South Carrollton
New Orleans, LA 70118
504-866-9573

I love dough, II

2010-01-31T14:34:00.012+01:00

You know what I could really go for?

Y'all just try and tell me that Krispy Kreme isn't the best doughnut ever.

Köstlich!

2010-01-27T21:44:00.013+01:00

Still enjoying my 10 day vacation, we spent the last few days in one of my favorite parts of Italy - Alto Adige. What a cool region! It was part of Austria up until World War I and German is still spoken there today, as well as some madly accented Italian (I know I am not one to speak. No pun intended). I love visiting because you feel like you are in a different country, yet it is conveniently close to home.

Most of the Alpine-style hotels offer guests a half board option since there aren't many other restaurants along the snowy mountain roads. Ours was no different. And most of the food you get in these hotels is acceptable, but generally what you'd expect from a kitchen churning out meals for lots of people. Imagine cruise food, although usually it isn't even that fancy. Ours, in this case, was very different! It was amazingly amazing, and quite honestly the first night at dinner, left us worried we had misunderstood the price quote (see: weird Italian accent).

Pulling into the Hotel Ganischgerhof's parking lot you pass by a hand painted sign, advertising to passers-by the restaurant's hours:

No hint to the Michelin quality food that awaits

Glancing at that humble declaration, you would never expect dishes like sea bass served over a bed of dill risotto with saffron foam and the most delicious fennel gratin ever, rabbit with an artichoke salad and white tomato mousse, or squid carpaccio with avocado and crispy bean sprouts.

Squid carpaccio - check out the dried fennel chip on top - sweet like candy

Sweet pepper soup with shrimp

Rabbit with white tomato mousse

I loved Chef Arnold Paris' use of spices and herbs, something I don't get much of here in my part of Italy: turmeric, cinnamon, fennel, saffron, dill, lemongrass and mint to name a few.

And you know how I typically feel about Italian desserts. Clearly the pastry chef has spent some time abroad to come up with such gorgeous pairings like an ever-so-light ricotta souffle served with cinnamon semifreddo. Genius!

Stuffed chocolate crepes with mint sorbet

Poppyseed souffle with persimmon gelato

Never mind the prices. For half board we paid just 28Euros per day. True story.

And like any good tourist "abroad" we stopped by the local grocery store to stock up on goodies we can't find on this side of Italy: oats, flaxseed, sauerkraut and seed breads.

Hotel Ganischgerhof
Rio Nero 22
39050 Nova Ponente
+39 0471 61 6504

I love fried dough.

2010-01-22T21:11:00.021+01:00

This girl has been in desperate need of some new boots for a while now and since I am on vacation this week, I thought it would be a great time to get out of the country and head to Milan for a little winter-sale shopping.

Now, I've never lived in Milan and haven't spent tons of time there as a tourist/shopper, so any Milanese out there who take issue with what I am about to say, Speak Up! By all means, I would love to be proven wrong. Generally though, I gotta say Milan has never blown my shoes off when it comes to food....and I think most Italians would agree with me on that point.*

That being said, there is one place that has been on my list of places to try for a while now that somehow always manages to be closed whenever I am in Milan. Until today that is.

Luini Panzerotti.

Have you heard of it? Amazing!! Imagine this: dough generously stuffed with mozzarella or ricotta cheese, meat or veggies and then fried. Or if you can't imagine it, just check it out below.

It's essentially a savory donut and what's not to love about that?

Now for a quick little history, panzerotti is not traditionally from Milan, but rather from the Puglia region of Italy (i.e. the heel of the boot, since we are talking about boots here). It ended up in Milan in the 1940s when like so many other southern Italians, the Luini family emigrated to the north and got into the bakery business. Just to give credit where it's due - in this case to those brilliant Pugliese.

Luini's is conveniently located a few steps from Milan's glorious duomo. If you have any doubts, just follow the stream of people walking down the streets, happily devouring their fried pockets.

*Obviously if we are talking about high end restaurants, sure you can eat very well in Milan. But for traditional Italian favorites, generally speaking, Milan does not beckon.

Luini Panzerotti
Via Santa Radegonda, 16
20121 Milan
02 8646 1917

Best Little Cafes

2010-01-20T12:10:00.007+01:00

When this is happening outside....

cozy up to a little table here...

and warm yourself, inside and out with one of these.

In a city known for its sprawling piazzas and noble cafes, Caffe' Bicerin is found humbly tucked away in a small corner of Turin. Run only by women, (historically women weren't welcomed in cafes. Decent women, that is. As a result, this cafe was a haven for them.) the cafe serves up the finest version of the coffee drink by the same name.

This isn't a snack people, so don't even think of downing one an hour or two before your next big meal. These pack enough punch to keep you going all day long. Starbucks ain't got nothin' on the bicerin.

Espresso
Bitter, dark chocolate

Fresh cream

P.S. The zabaione is pretty life-changing too!

Caffe' al Bicerin
Piazza della Consolata, 5
Turin, Italy
+39 011 4369325

Tacos A Go-Go!

2010-01-13T17:49:00.015+01:00

It goes without saying that there is no shortage of great Mexican food in Houston. But sometimes you don't necessarily want a full-on restaurant meal, but at the same time you're looking for a bit more than Taco Cabana or God forbid Taco Bell eeks!.

And it's times likes these that you can overlook the traffic and the heat and the humidity and the, ok, that's enough, and just be happy that such a city gave birth to such a place as Tacos A Go-Go.

You know you are in for a good time with a greeting like this.

How fun! It has such a mom and pop feel to it, like the guy behind the counter ran to the local Fiesta that morning to buy the ingredients for your breakfast taco (which maybe he actually did). The food holds all the charm of a whipped up, homecooked meal - generous, honest and delicious.

The made-to-order breakfast tacos were always calling to me as I placed my order (bacon, eggs and cheese please!) but rave reviews go to all the other tacos, burritos, and tamales. Dress yours up as you like with fresh, not overly hot salsas and sauces from the extensive condiment bar. And besides the ridiculously delish food, the decor is totally lovable with its retro Mexican cinema posters and kitschy vintage flair.

Love it! Virgin Guadalupe with chili pepper lights!

Go, go go go, GO!

Tacos A GoGo
3704 South Main Street
Houston, TX 77002
713-807-8226

The Spanish 'Stache

2010-01-08T20:40:00.009+01:00

When my honey suggested vacationing in Ibiza my eyes rolled up in disgust, immediately imagining, well, pretty much what Ibiza is known for. But after some hearty research, I quickly gathered that the Spanish island is much more than an ecstasy-laced, club hotspot. If you steer clear of that scene, which is very easy to do, you will be rewarded with some of the most beautiful, and secluded, Mediterranean beaches. Exactly what we came for. Oh, and to eat.

Do you all know about defensive dining? It's what happens when you're at, let's say a buffet, or any situation where there is potentially limited food to be shared among a large group of people and everyone loads up really early on because they're afraid it'll run out and they'll be left high and dry. Or if you are at a restaurant that doesn't take reservations and get yourself all worked up in a tizzy, aggressively defending your place in line. This is me at my absolute worst. I become such a maniac. That fairly describes the scene that went down getting reservations at El Bigote.

I had read about this place and put it at the top of my Ibiza dining list with three imperative stars next to it. It could be out of a film - located right on a secluded, crystal bay, no menu, but rather it serves seafood caught that day, you must reserve in advance, oh and they don't have a phone, which means you gotta go there in person to get your name down. Que estrés! As you make your way there through the winding, bumpy mountain roads you can't help but think, "This better be freaking worth it." Getting there is no easy feat.

And luckily it is SO worth it! This is casual, beach dining at its absolute pinnacle. Everyone sits outside under a covered patio, hoovering over write-home-about sparkling water. A huge pot sits over an open fire, cooking up everyone's lunch. When we were there we stuffed ourselves on fish (who knows what kind...whatever was fished out that morning) cooked simply with rice and saffron. Nothing as fancy or involved as a traditional paella, but filling in every sense of the word, just as you hoped it to be. It's all very communal, generous seconds if you'd like are passed around and at the end the staff comes by offering a special, sort of syrupy coffee, also ladeled out from a huge pot.

Lazy afternoons are built around meals like this and somehow all the stress of finding El Bigote and getting our reservation was miraculously erased from memory. A satisfied stomach, and soul, will do that to you, you know.

El Bigote
Cala Mastella
07850 Santa Eulalia
Ibiza, Spain

The Perfect Meal for January 1st

2010-01-02T21:23:00.007+01:00

Oh why do you have to be so far away?

Everyone,
ok, let me start again.
Every American
has their
pick of
best burger ever.

For me, hands down, it's the burger from
Diner
in Brooklyn.

Much anticipated, long overdue, it lived up to every expectation.

Perfectly cooked, happy grass fed beef,
oozy goozy cheese,
pickeled red onions,
homemade mayo
and crunchy fries

Gorgeous.

And just lovingly recreated in my little Italian kitchen.

Diner
85 Broadway
Brooklyn, NY 11211
718-486-3077

2009-12-31T16:24:00.006+01:00

Bottoms Up!

Happy 2010!

Tanti Auguri!

Pesce a Parma

2009-12-31T15:52:00.016+01:00

Since I am spending this New Year's Eve at work (no comment) we decided to celebrate the new year together last night at a fancy shmancy dinner. Now generally when you think of Parma, probably two things come immediately to mind: Parmigiano Reggiano cheese and Parma ham. And rightly so, after all those two products are really what put this area on the worldwide food map, but every now and then we "locals" have a hankerin for some really good seafood. And luckily for us smack dab in the center of Parma, Ristorante La Fata Bema beckons.

How to pick?? Ordering was no easy task as everything on the menu sounded fantastic and such a change from the normal fare. In the end I settled on ravioli stuffed with shrimp and artichokes, served with oysters and lentils, which I deemed fitting since tradition here has you eating lentils for the new year. Delish. And such a fun change of pace from the standard Parma offering of ravioli, called tortelli, stuffed with either ricotta and chard or squash (of course my heart will always belong to these two, but a change every now and then never hurt anyone).

Isn't that just lovely?

As much as I enjoyed my pasta, P's antipasto of raw fish really knocked me off my feet! By far the best plate of raw fish I have ever enjoyed in Italy, and I know that is near blasphemy since we are several hours from the closest sea. Sorry. It was just so brilliantly executed, simple, as it should be, to allow the perfection, freshness, sweetness of the fish take center stage. Loved, loved, loved the prawns, tuna and swordfish! A note to anyone in the neighborhood who would like a sushi fix: skip any so-called Japanese restaurant and just come here and order this. It comes with a little dish of soy sauce if you'd like, and this is all by far better than any sushi I have had in Italy. Eeks!

Wheee!!!!!

For my second courses I went with the orata, sea bass, cooked to perfection and served with fennel and plump slices of oranges. What a lovely contrast up against the buttery fish. P instead ordered a variation on gnocchi, those lovely pillows of potato turned dumpling, served with small sea scallops in a buttery homemade pesto.

What a lovely meal to show out 2009 and welcome in 2010. Cheers!

Ristorante La Fata Bema - moderately expensive
Via Turchi, 4
43100 Parma
0521 208798

2009-12-24T14:22:00.001+01:00

Merry Christmas

Here's to lots of love, peace and happily full tummies.

Le Meilleur, II

2009-12-16T21:59:00.037+01:00

But of course! What trip to Paris would be complete without a fill-up at a classic bistro or two? I woke up 8 hours early to prepare (including a train, plane and bus ride) for my lunch date at Hier & Aujourd'hui. Chef Franck Dervin worked under Guy Savoy, so coming here you know you are in for a treat. The setting is typically Parisian chic - old wooden tables, a zinc bar and a large blackboard featuring the day's offerings. Stars to the terrines, lamb, scallops, braised meat and my brandade. These are straightforward classics done as you dream of them being done - perfectly.

mmmm brandade and spinach and how cute is the bread sack??

Coffee came with little bites of pain d'epices

Paul Bert was such a fun experience. Our dinner reservation was for 10:30 and the place was a hustlin' and bustlin' over our Champagne when we arrived, well til the final drop of coffee a few hours later. Again, another fantastic bistro offering brilliantly prepared classics spelled out for you in nearly decipherable French on old blackboards. Sweetbread pastry and scallops for me - they came with a tiny pot wheee!!! of mashed potatoes - entrecot with a very generous helping of bone marrow for B and K. How good is that stuff, especially when enjoyed with a big bite of mashed potatoes?? And it is supposedly very good for you. Nina Planck said so.

The crowing glory of this meal for me was the Grand Marnier souffle for dessert. When it arrived the thing looked huge, all puffed up and golden as it was. But one spoonful of the deliciously light custardy interior and I was almost sure I could eat it entirely on my own. Which I didn't, but still. Desserts like this one fill the ever lingering sweet spot void in my life and make me ask myself what in the hell the Italians are doing down here and how they just continue to get it so so wrong? (Example, my boss is a great chef, but the other day I took a bite of a cake he appeared to have left sitting in everclear over night. How is this possible?)

And then there is L'Ami Jean. Ever since I read Ruth Reichl's glowing write-up of the place in last year's Paris Gourmet issue (R.I.P. Gourmet, not Ruth Reichl) I had been itching to go. After all, Paris + Basque bistrot = true love forever, and let's just say that my love for both of those shines even brighter now. Who knew that was possible?

Prepare to cozy up to your friends and strangers in this small restaurant. Wait staff buzzes by at lightning speed and an open kitchen along the back wall keeps you abreast of what your neighbors have ordered. Though choosing was no easy task, absolutely everything we ate was gorgeous. K's root veggie starter was such a tribute to the winter crops, and all that they are and all that they can be. And B's escargot soup would make anyone who claims to not like the little critters reconsider their stance on that point. On that note, the same can be said of my sweetbreads, which were so sublimely smooth, rich and satisfying that it makes you wonder why people get so squeamish about eating them. I mean why should any part of an animal be considered grosser than another? We happily chow down on ribs, so why not the thymus and pancreas? Just look how delicious they are.

Apart from pretty much everything else going on on the menu, L'Ami Jean's big claim to fame is its rice pudding. Don't turn up your nose; this stuff is practically life changing. By far the best rice pudding I have ever had, and after living in Spain, I have eaten my fair share of it. To begin with, the rice pudding itself is eat-it-with-a-fork thick and creamy, the rice so plump. On its own it deserves a gold medal, but then when you add a sprinkling of homemade crunch (what is this? nuts? granola? totally amazing goodness? yes.) with a spoonful of thick caramel, well it just goes right on over the top and you easily eat enough to make yourself sick. You know you should stop but there the spoon goes again, right back to your mouth.

See what I mean?

***

And then it was over just as quickly as it had begun. Paris I mean, not the rice pudding. Well, yes that too. Of course I did bring home a half suitcase full of goodies, just to get me through Paris withdraw in these coming days, weeks....months.

Comte, Epoisses, butter, pumpkin seed oil, 2 pounds of mustard, brioche and 12 croissants from Poilane, macarons from Pierre Herme

Jusqu'a' la prochaine fois, manger heureux!
(Or something like that.)

Hier & Aujourd'hui

145 Rue de Saussure
75017 Paris
01 42 27 35 55

Le Bistro Paul Bert
18 Rue Paul Bert
75011 Paris
01 43 72 24 01

L'Ami Jean
27 Rue Malar
Paris
01 47 05 86 89

Le Meilleur, I

2009-12-15T22:29:00.062+01:00

First days back to work after a little Parisian getaway and all my co-workers have been asking if I visited the Eiffel Tower or the Louvre. "No," I reply, "this trip was all about eating!" (ok, maybe a whee bit of shopping too.)

Not ones to mess around when it comes to meals, especially when time is limited, we ladies did our research and arrived hungry and armed with this itinerary:

I know, I know, seems a bit rigid for vacation, but there were just so many places to visit and so little time! And I must say that our planning really paid off. Not a single meal was disappointing, and in recounting the trip, I find myself saying more than may be acceptable for a 4 day vacation, "And then we had the best _______!"

So, if you are off to Paris and in search of the following treats, may you look no further.

Oysters

Wheee!! So French, so fun! I happened upon Huitrerie Regis two years ago when I was in Paris and instantly fell in love with the little hole in the wall. In fact I meandered by, staring longingly into the window so many times that I definitely started getting some sideways glances thrown my way. But just look at it! How could you not love it?

The crisp white interior smells rightly of the sea and seats a maximum of 14 people, so either arrive early or knock back a glass or two of Champagne at the cafe across the way and wait for a table to free up. Once seated, snuggled up to the stranger at your elbow, your dinner choices are...you guessed it, oysters! Ok, so there are clams and steamed shrimp on the menu too, but this is an oyster place people. We ordered a dozen each, (six of two varieties) and the guys come with some delish bread and butter. Once we finished off our Sancerre and coffee (there is a popular apple tart on the menu too) we left more than satisfied and poised to take on the ever-so-rich foods that awaited us further down our itinerary.

Well done Jenn.

Falafel

The next time you're in Paris, I definitely suggest heading over to the Marais for some lunch and a stroll. Located in the heart of the district, Rue Des Rosiers is a Jewish street lined with bakeries, shops and koscher restaurants (a real treat and change from country Italian life for B and me). Our mission here? L'As du Falafel.

You can either buy your falafel at the curbside window (it seems that there is always a line at lunch, but it moves quickly - don't get discouraged!) or eat inside the modest restaurant. Whatever you do, you are guaranteed what is in my book the best falafel out there. The fried chickpea fritters are smaller than usual, slightly sweet and deliciously crunchy on the outside. What puts L'As head and shoulders above the competition is what comes stuffed inside your pita - pickled red cabbage, yogurt sauce, cucumber swords, big ol' pieces of lightly fried eggplant and perfectly heated harissa on the side. Don't be afraid to slather it on, it is mild enough that you won't regret it later.

How gorgeous is that?

Stamp of approval

Crepes

One of the strongest food memories I have is when I ate my first crepe in Paris. I was 20 years old, it was my first night in Paris, and my dear friend Colleen and I had bought them from a street vendor next to the Sacre Coeur. Biting into the warm Nutella-filled blanket on that cold winter's night, with the glowing city spread out below us, it was one of those perfect moments that stays with you and continues to warm you from within, years later. Even now when I visit Paris I like to buy one from the street vendors, and for a moment revisit what will always be one of the happiest times in my life.

But, if we are going to talk about crepes, then we must speak of Breizh Cafe where we had the crepes to end all crepes.

Yes!!

The focus here is on the quality of the ingredients - organic buckwheat flour and one of my favorite butters, Bordier. The galettes are gorgeous and beg you to stick to the traditional offerings - ham, Gruyere, and a fried egg. Or as B had, a sublime Breton galette with mushrooms, bacon and creme fraiche.

As awe-inspiring as lunch was, it was dessert that left me speechless. A simple butter and sugar crepe = perfection. I know it sounds easy enough and maybe even a bit boring, but again, the quality of the ingredients shines here, as well as the artful hand of the chef. I am sure if I tried to recreate this at home, it would fall embarrassingly short and probably end up overly buttered (if such a problem does exist) or crunchy from a heavy shower of sugar.

The Cafe of My Dreams

Laduree. Few things in Paris make me happier than breakfast here. I love everything about it, from the jewel-like pastries displayed just-so, to the elegant, yet whimsical dining room. And of course the croissants.

Huitrerie Regis
3 rue de Montfaucon
Paris, 75006
01-44-41-10-07

L'As du Falafel
34, rue des Rosiers
Paris
01-48-87-63-60

Breizh Cafe

109 Rue Vieille du Temple

Paris, 75003
01-42-72-13-77

Laduree
Several locations

I just might cry.

2009-12-08T14:10:00.007+01:00

Paris, December 10 - 13, 2009

Hier et Aujourd'hui

Pierre Hermé

L'As du Fallafel
L'Ami Jean

Breizh Cafe

Ladurée

Huitrerie Régis

Les Papilles

Poilane

More croissants than a girl could ever hope for

Don't hate.

Best Little Wine Bars

2009-12-02T22:16:00.002+01:00

If ever you find yourself in Parma, Italy
and are looking for a place to
wet your whistle
and watch
the ever-chic locals
cycle by,
you must stop by
Tabarro.

Tabarro
Strada Farini 5/b
Parma, Italy
0521 200223

Mussels to Write Home About

2009-11-29T18:34:00.003+01:00

Mussels. A brilliantly prepared bowl of mussels can almost make me cry (in fact I am having a difficult time focusing on writing this; now I want one so bad).

A few months ago we were in Sicily for vacation and ate our way from Catania, down to Noto, through Modica, Agrigento, up to Trapani and out of Palermo. I could happily gobble down any of the island's star players - cannolo, bottarga, granita, caponata, heaping helpings of pasta with clams - but it is the mussels we were lovingly led to in our final days that come to me now when I dream of Sicily.

It would be fair to say that we were a bit resistant to take our lovely B&B owner's advice on where to dine. Other owners had more times than not suggested places that were good, but always missing a note or two. After a highly disappointing dinner at a restaurant that the owners had specifically told us to avoid (tsk! tsk!), we came home with our tails between our legs and agreed to try out their favorite.

Even if you had the good fortune to just happen upon it, La Piazzetta is not the sort of place you'd be inspired to try out without a previous recommendation. It's located on a dark street in the suburbs of Trapani (i.e. seemingly a bit sketchy) and at first glance just seems to be another neighborhood pizzeria. But if you take a second to look around, you will quickly notice that the place is filled to the gills even on week nights.

We came the first night for the mussels. And the second. And had we not had a flight home on the third, we would have come back for them again. Never mind that the 9 Euro antipasto is more than enough to fill two hollow, expectant tummies beyond satisfaction, but these seriously were the best mussels I had ever eaten. First the efficient waiters plunk down two loaves of gorgeous bread, which in and of itself is somewhat shocking given that gorgeous (or even good if we're being honest) bread is hard to come by in Italy. Then comes the overflowing pot of deliciousness, and when it arrives your conscious self wants to go slowly and savor the little guys, but somehow you dive in and what seems like minutes later (and probably is) you emerge to an empty pot, practically wiped clean of any broth, thanks to the two, now gone, loaves of bread.

We never succeeded in saving room for other dishes, but if the mussels are a measure of La Piazzetta's power, then the huge platters of pasta and the wood oven pizzas are sure to inspire longingly hungry remembrances of Trapani.

La Piazzetta
Piazza Salinagrande
Trapani, Sicily
923 867161

* Blame the mussels. I didn't take a photo, so instead offer up views of nearby Favignana to tempt more than just your palate.

A Turkey Offering

2009-11-24T16:30:00.001+01:00

What happens when your boss feels guilty (and rightly so) for your 65 hour work week? He surprises you with a ~~Thanksgiving turkey~~ massive beast of a bird that doesn't fit in your oven. No matter that we are in Italy.

Gobble gobble gobble

How do you like your gravy?

2009-11-18T14:47:00.002+01:00

One of my favorite things to do when I am home in Nashville is to wake up Saturday mornings, drive down the Natchez Trace to the Franklin farmers market with my mom and stock up on whatever produce is looking good. As much as I love the market, it's what comes after that also gets me out of bed those early mornings.

For me a trip down to historic Franklin would not be complete without a stop at Dotson's for breakfast. As evidenced by the dilapidated building in which it is located, Dotson's has been around far before Franklin became the hip and trendy place it is today, but you would be hard pressed to find better offerings of traditional southern fare. Yum!

Dotson's is the type of place where I wish I could eat and eat and never get full. Or where you wish it would not be socially taboo, not to mention disgusting, to have a Roman emperor moment. Point is, there is so much to pick from and as hard as I try I never succeed in venturing outside of my standard breakfast - coffee, scrambled eggs, enough crispy bacon to sink a ship and of course biscuits with white gravy that would win the approval of both Mammy and my grandma.

But aside from breakfast choices, you can find all the Southern dishes one could hope for in their tried and true meat and three style. Huge plates of meatloaf, greens, mac and cheese, and fried chicken like mom makes. And the pies! - so gorgeous with their 7 inch high meringues!

I can't wait to take my Italian honey here when he comes to Nashville. It's the type of place that shows you A.) just how freaking good southern food is! and B.) that we are more than deserving of our friendly reputation.

One of my favorite conversations that I overheard the last time I was there was the booth behind us asking the waitress what red-eye gravy was (clearly they were out-of-towners). "Honnnney, it's just the grease from the ham that we booll with some coffee." They didn't order it, but I promise you that it's real good.

Dotson's Restaurant - inexpensive
99 E Main St.
Franklin, TN 37064-2249
(615) 794-2805

Cibreo Caffe'

2009-11-11T22:16:00.001+01:00

I recently spent a couple days down in Tuscany visiting a good friend who works at this wonderful place. On my way home we stopped in Florence for lunch. Now it's been 3 years since I've been in Florence and call me stony of heart or whatever, but in the past it hasn't really done it for me - mobs of tourists, packed piazzas and disgruntled shopkeepers. Plus I am spoiled living where I am pretty much guaranteed at least a good meal wherever I pop in. The last time I was in Florence I went on a mad rush that lasted into ridiculous hours of the night to find a restaurant that I deemed beyond tourist quality. Let's just say I wasn't in the know.

But today Florence gained some points in my rather closed book thanks to B's local insight and the charming brilliance of Chef Fabio Picchi's Cibreo Caffe'. The caffe's big sister restaurant, Cibreo, is right across the narrow street (in fact waiters run hot dishes from their kitchen to caffe' guests), but was out of our modest lunch budget - we are, after all, tightening strings for the mother of all trips to Paris in less than a month.

First thoughts on entering - "SO charming!" Plush red velvet theater chairs cozy up to small cafe tables dressed in crisp white cloths and wine bottles sanded down to glasses hold cheery yellow flowers. The menu is an abbreviated offering of the restaurant's goods, and I particularly enjoyed the variations on standard primi; no pasta here but rather creamy soups, savory flans and fish carpaccio. B started off with a steaming terrine of gorgeous thick cream of fish soup, based on a stock that shames lesser contenders into a corner. I went for the gelatina di pomodoro, essentially a cold tomato flan (yeah, yeah, not in season). How refreshing, how elegant, perfectly complemented with subtle herbs and a drizzle of olive oil. Secondi followed up with a perfect autumn day's stewed rabbit in a tomato sauce so thick and "mop it up with your bread" good for me, and a chicken salad for B, which she happily described as a chicken salad sandwich on a plate. The highlight of this dish was the generous helping of homemade mayonnaise: lemony with a peppery, slightly bitter finish - no doubt made with Tuscan olive oil.

Lunch for us finished with coffee - espresso cups come with lids to keep them hot if you have them outside - more cuteness! - but there was a long list of dessert options that probably would do the country proud, and given Italy's general record with sweets, that is saying a lot.

Cibreo Caffe' - moderately priced
Via del Verrocchio 5/r
Florence
055-234-5853

This is sort of scary.

2009-11-04T18:56:00.000+01:00

Sometimes things just make sense. Moods, weather, degree of hunger, whatever, it all just lines up and suddenly something like starting a blog seems like a very sensible idea.

I have spent the last ten years of my life traveling and eating a good bit, and along the way have come up with quite a list of my favorites; places that for one reason or another filled more than just a place in my stomach. So from an Excel document of names and addresses comes this blog and hopefully for you and for me many more delicious meals.