Farmers Market, Every Tuesday

The Food Network has never made me want “to crawl up to the[] television set and lick the screen,” but the veggies here are so fresh that I will savor pictures of them for years to come.

To the right: Vine-ripened tomatoes, cut into slices, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil, and sprinkled with salt and pepper. (For caprese—layer in fresh mozzarella and basil; For crostini pomodori—place chopped tomatoes on toasted bread, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and drizzle with olive oil.)

Dessert first.

Signora Regoli left a little treat for me in my fridge. Sandwiched between two layers of whipped cream was sponge cake soaked in strawberry liqueur.

Italian hospitality is delicious!

Once upon a time . . .

I am charmed by the castle-like homes sprinkled throughout Europe. Walking around Ambra, I was taking pictures of said homes when I heard a voice.

“Ciao, Ciao, hello! Do you like?” A wiry man with thinning hair walked out of his backyard. I put down my camera apologetically. “Do you speak English? Italian? If you like, you should see the backyard!” he said.

He had built over his backyard a canopy of grape vines. To the left of a stone path was a small pond, with fish. Tables, chairs, and a view of the Tuscan countryside--he had a photogenic backyard, indeed. I walked through the gate.

“I painted my house blue. Everyone here thinks it’s odd, but I like it. It’s like the sky!” He smiled as he raised his arms toward the heavens. “Come into the house. This way!”

(Now, it gets strange.)

“I just came back from Melbourne. I don’t like it here. The people are all too political. Communists.”
(Oh. Why did you leave Melbourne?)
“I’ve just divorced my wife. So now I am back in Italy working on my backyard. She was crazy. Skkkrrrrtttt Skkrrrrttttt. Skkkkkkkkkkrrrrrrrrrttttt”
(Um. Okay.)
“See that shed? My cats live there.”
(Uh. Cats?)
“I have 16.”

I solemnly swear to joke no more about growing into a hypoallergenic cat lady. I also allege that Hansel and Gretel entered the witch's house only to be polite.

During our conversation, I started thinking of ways to fend off a batty man and his army of attack-cats, but in the end, this was unnecessary. As I left, he gave me a jar of homemade grape jam and told me that we should become good friends. Because everyone else here is a communist.

When I told the Italians about it later, they laughed and said he was strange--very strange--but harmless. And the jam? Oh, eat it. E' solo marmellata.

Ethicurious - Sformatino di vedure

A few months ago, there was an article in Salon about raising and killing your own food (cool!). Novella Carpenter on how bad cooking is an ethical issue:

"As I prepared him, I thought about how much higher the stakes are when you raise and kill your own animal. Not only had I spent in excess of $100 for Harold, but if he had tasted bad, I would have wasted his life. The burden was on me. But, while hard to shoulder, that burden was exactly what I had hoped to cultivate. Meat had became sacrifice, precious, not a casual dalliance."

So it was with more care than usual that I rubbed Harold with olive oil and salt, touched every surface of his body like a mom bathing her baby. It wasn't until I put him into a 450 degree oven that the evening was transformed from a funeral into a dinner party."

General Rule: It's a sin to mess up meat.
Implication: Fledgling cooks should play with fruits, grains, and veggies only.

The first dish Marco taught me to make was Sformatino di vedure - Vegetable Flan.

Ingredients: 1 kilo vegetables (we used eggplant); 8 eggs; 1/2 liter of bechamel sauce; Parmigiana cheese; salt, pepper, hot pepper; leeks
Saute leeks in olive oil. Add salt, pepper, and hot peppers. Add basil. After a few minutes, add veggies. When eggplant is starting to cook, add a little bit of water. Let mixture simmer. Remove from heat and mix with hand mixer until chunky. Add eggs and cheese (Do not put back over heat. Otherwise the eggs will cook!). Mix in roux (béchamel). Ladle into greased molds. Put molds into pan filled 1 cm with water.

Bake for 40 minutes at 200 deg C

Bechamel Sauce: Heat 1 liter milk with salt, pepper, and nutmeg. In a separate pan, add 70 g flour to 70 g melted butter and mix into a paste. Warm paste over stove and add to boiling milk. Stir with wooden spoon (metal is too cold). Cook over med-low heat for 8 - 10 minutes.

A Linguistic Point (Cannelloni with salt and pepper)

Italian has two words for boiled—knowing this came in handy when opened my door to find Signora Regoli holding a little treat. She brought it into the kitchen, said something quickly about “…lessati con sale e pepe”, and—after she was sure I was molto contenta—went back down the stairs to feed her family. After she left, I peered into the pot to see cannelloni beans. These I ate while leafing through my dictionary to find out which cooking technique lessato implied.

Bollito – boiled (added to boiling water)
Lessato – boiled (added to cold water, brought to a boil)

For reference: pasta is bollito, potatoes are lessato.

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Cannelloni con sale e pepe:
Ingredients: cannelloni beans, sage, olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic
Soak beans overnight. Discard soaking water. Add olive oil to pan and sauté garlic and sage lightly. Add fresh water until water level is about two inches above beans. Slowly bring water to a boil and simmer until beans are fork-mash-able. Drizzle with extra virgin olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and toss to coat.

Milan to Florence

Arrived in Milan after airport security went through my carry on and threw out my shampoo and conditioner in Dusseldorf. Relived much of last semester in one day--Saw the collegio (everyone's moved out!), went to Chocolat for gelato, and had pizza and really good espresso. Walked around Navigli.

Managed to stay awake on the Eurostar to Florence reading "A Room with a View."

What do you do with a BA in [Econ]. . . .

While studying abroad at Bocconi in last spring, I took a trip to Florence to visit the David. During dinner, my friends and I ate so much food that our Italian friend introduced us to a new idiom--Sono piena come un uovo.

Heh. I spent that semester as full as an egg.

In nine days, I will be going back to Italy to work at a restaurant in a tiny town in Tuscany. (If Italy is a boot, Bucine (population: 9,320) is just above the shin). The hamlet I'll be living in is about an hour away from Florence--a green blob on Google Earth--but it allegedly has an internet point. I will spend the next three months learning to cook, running through vineyards, and pretending that my real life doesn't start in the fall.

My mailing address and cell phone number are on Facebook. Keep in touch!