Showing posts with label learned. Show all posts
Showing posts with label learned. Show all posts
What I Learned About Food in Italy
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Sweet readers! I ain’t got no recipe for you today, and I apologize. I’ve barely had time to go to the bathroom since arriving home, so cooking has been moved to the backburner. (Not literally speaking, because that would imply that I’ve cooked something. You see, here at CHG we try to use “literally” correctly, or we risk being severely pummeled by our mother.)
Anyway, our Italian honeymoon! It was great. Lots of art. And traffic circles. And domes. Boy, do they like domes over there.
The food, of course, was out of this world. Between myself and That Guy That I Married, we scarfed a silo’s worth of pasta, along with every known salami, prosciutto, capicola, and sopressata on the planet. This is to say nothing of the wine, which was plentiful and universally excellent.
Also? We ate horse. More on that in a minute.
First, a few observations, should you embark on your own journey:
1) Meats (cured and cooked), cheeses, pastas, wines, fruits, veggies, desserts, pastries, and sauces are absolutely, completely everything they’re cracked up to be. I gained almost six pounds, 90% of it in Pasta Carbonara.
2) These are three of the best pasta dishes I’ve ever had the pleasure of shoving down my gaping maw:
3) At home, we eat 90% vegetarian. Abroad we ate: octopus, boar, horse, donkey, chicken, pork, beef, sardines, anchovies, swordfish, rabbit, shrimp, and all kinds of fish. Regarding the horse and donkey, they’re both traditional meats of the Veneto region. (No, really.) We were a little hesitant at first, but figured it had already been cooked, so what the heck? With apologies to Secretariat, the results were surprisingly delicious.
4) Italian breakfasts are five-minute affairs consisting of espresso, some kind of sweet bread (meaning “chocolate croissant,” not “turkey pancreas”), and the worst fruit juice you’ve ever had in your life. I don’t understand how the same country that created Valpolicella wine could not master a halfway decent OJ. Get on it, Berlusconi!
5) Lunches are 30-to-60-minute affairs consisting of a sandwich, pizza, or some combination of meat, cheese, and bread. Not a bad way to live.
6) Dinners are two-hour affairs consisting of several courses: antipasti (usually cured meat and cheese), primi (some kind of amazing pasta), secondi (some kind of amazing meat), verdure (side veggies), dolci (dessert), and espresso and/or an aperitif to top it all off. At home, we’re pretty good at taking our time during meals. Even so, it took a few days to get used to the long, leisurely Italian suppers.
7) Speaking of those aperitifs, meals are generally ended by one of two beverages: limoncello (pictured) or grappa. We did not partake of the former, but did attempt the latter, which contained enough pure alcohol to strip a car.
8) More on the alcohol: While Italians offer a plethora of excellent regional wines, ordering a beer means you’re getting Peroni, or the occasional Moretti. While both are pretty good, we were craving good ol’ stouts and hefeweizens by Week 3. (In related news, we should be punched.)
9) This is Florence’s Central Market, a.k.a. Kris’ Personal EuroDisney. Picture this stall, multiply it by 100, and fill each with a different kind of food – cheese, tripe, fruit, vegetables, spices, chickens, rabbits, pig skulls, etc. I would have happily stayed there instead of our B&B, even though the owners offered free Nutella.
10) Did you know walnuts are found in the middle of squishy tree fruits? Me neither! We discovered this when we locked ourselves out of our mountaintop B&B for 8-1/2 hours and were forced to forage for dinner.
11) During those same 8-1/2 hours, this magnificent chicken took a very real liking to me.
12) His girlfriends retaliated by pecking at our rental car.
13) Italians do not use ice in their drinks. Ever. Hmph.
14) The greatest French fries/roasted potatoes in the world are located at a family-run Osteria in a miniscule town called Villa D’Aiano. It takes about 40 hours to reach, and no one speaks much English, but they must make their tubers with magic and unicorns. It’s the only way to explain them.
15) It is not a myth: Italian people are very fashionable, super tan, and extremely hot. Seriously, it’s like a whole country filled with Monica Belluccis. I have no idea how they are able to shove themselves into Armani pants when so much fresh pasta is available.
That’s all I can think of right now. Expect to see a few Italy-inspired recipes in the coming weeks, though. I promise, if I can find that Marscapone and Macaroni dish, it’ll go up a.s.a.p.
In the meantime, thanks for tolerating this, sweet readers! And if you have any memories of wonderful vacation food, please add ‘em in the comment section. It’s good to be back!
The food, of course, was out of this world. Between myself and That Guy That I Married, we scarfed a silo’s worth of pasta, along with every known salami, prosciutto, capicola, and sopressata on the planet. This is to say nothing of the wine, which was plentiful and universally excellent.
Also? We ate horse. More on that in a minute.
First, a few observations, should you embark on your own journey:
1) Meats (cured and cooked), cheeses, pastas, wines, fruits, veggies, desserts, pastries, and sauces are absolutely, completely everything they’re cracked up to be. I gained almost six pounds, 90% of it in Pasta Carbonara.
2) These are three of the best pasta dishes I’ve ever had the pleasure of shoving down my gaping maw:
 |
| Rigatoni Carbonara at Dino & Tonys in Rome |
 |
| Pappardelle with Wild Boar Ragu in Montepulciano |
 |
| Macaroni, Marscapone Cheese, and Some Kind of Mystery Meat at Al Duomo in Verona |
4) Italian breakfasts are five-minute affairs consisting of espresso, some kind of sweet bread (meaning “chocolate croissant,” not “turkey pancreas”), and the worst fruit juice you’ve ever had in your life. I don’t understand how the same country that created Valpolicella wine could not master a halfway decent OJ. Get on it, Berlusconi!
5) Lunches are 30-to-60-minute affairs consisting of a sandwich, pizza, or some combination of meat, cheese, and bread. Not a bad way to live.
6) Dinners are two-hour affairs consisting of several courses: antipasti (usually cured meat and cheese), primi (some kind of amazing pasta), secondi (some kind of amazing meat), verdure (side veggies), dolci (dessert), and espresso and/or an aperitif to top it all off. At home, we’re pretty good at taking our time during meals. Even so, it took a few days to get used to the long, leisurely Italian suppers.
7) Speaking of those aperitifs, meals are generally ended by one of two beverages: limoncello (pictured) or grappa. We did not partake of the former, but did attempt the latter, which contained enough pure alcohol to strip a car.8) More on the alcohol: While Italians offer a plethora of excellent regional wines, ordering a beer means you’re getting Peroni, or the occasional Moretti. While both are pretty good, we were craving good ol’ stouts and hefeweizens by Week 3. (In related news, we should be punched.)
9) This is Florence’s Central Market, a.k.a. Kris’ Personal EuroDisney. Picture this stall, multiply it by 100, and fill each with a different kind of food – cheese, tripe, fruit, vegetables, spices, chickens, rabbits, pig skulls, etc. I would have happily stayed there instead of our B&B, even though the owners offered free Nutella.
 |
| What heaven looks like in my head |
11) During those same 8-1/2 hours, this magnificent chicken took a very real liking to me.
 |
| Mah Italian boyfriend |
 |
| Not pictured: a Mercedes Benz with hen dents |
14) The greatest French fries/roasted potatoes in the world are located at a family-run Osteria in a miniscule town called Villa D’Aiano. It takes about 40 hours to reach, and no one speaks much English, but they must make their tubers with magic and unicorns. It’s the only way to explain them.
15) It is not a myth: Italian people are very fashionable, super tan, and extremely hot. Seriously, it’s like a whole country filled with Monica Belluccis. I have no idea how they are able to shove themselves into Armani pants when so much fresh pasta is available.
That’s all I can think of right now. Expect to see a few Italy-inspired recipes in the coming weeks, though. I promise, if I can find that Marscapone and Macaroni dish, it’ll go up a.s.a.p.
In the meantime, thanks for tolerating this, sweet readers! And if you have any memories of wonderful vacation food, please add ‘em in the comment section. It’s good to be back!
The Most Annoying Person I have Learned to Love
Saturday, February 15, 2014
The day I lost my car... I became an avid pedestrian. Every local place became THE place to go for any goods and services. I really didnt want to lose my car, but the many months of being sick and at home, on leave from work and with no paycheck, left me struggling to make ends meet -- and well, car payments were not a priority. I let the car go.
Then shortly thereafter, I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. November 17th, 2009.
I thus began to get acquainted with a certain place a lot more often than I would have liked. A certain pharmacy. God, I hate pharmacies. I hate their smell, I hate their lights, I hate the waiting... and the lectures you get every time you get your prescription illed as if you hadnt heard them before for like the billionth time. Ive also never cared for the chit-chat. You know, the chit-chat cashiers always give you when youre ready to go. Im sort of this anti-social who just wants to grab the crap she needs, and be on her way. No eye contact, no talking... bah humbug.
But, alas, there was Sally. (Sally is not her real name.)
Sally loves and loves to talk. Sally is very social. Sally always has something to say, and engages well with customers. Sally loves talking a little too much with her customers. I think she may have even gotten a bit in trouble for it before. Its not easy to leave Sallys side, by the register. Heck, she sometimes even comes over to you while youre in the isle to talk to you while you shop! Shes always full of stories -- about the weather, about how things used to be in Ames, about her cat, about how things used to be in her hometown, about whats on sale, about what the best and most addicting snacks are, about her younger years when she used to have a career in social work, etc. Needless to say, Sally is very annoying.
Some days, when Rod and I used to go into the pharmacy together, wed find ways to try and avoid Sally -- especially if we were in a hurry. Sometimes, wed just want to shop in peace. Sometimes, we might have even gone to a different place altogether. But... in Iowa, politeness reigns. If we failed avoiding her, wed still listen to Sally. Conversation began to get so involved... that now wed be telling Sally our own woes.
Sally knew when I had no job or when I was underemployed with few hours, or when we were sick; when we had many, many struggles. Sally has often given us career advice, and even advocated for us.
In 2010, a devastating flood of epic proportions (the last of its kind seen 500 years ago), hit Iowa. It affected the resources and properties of many folk. Our town lost a lot of water mains and pipes, and the water supply became contaminated. The advice was: purchase water, and if youre poor, please go to these local water dispensing sites weve set up. The problem was the water dispensing sites were SO far away, we couldnt get to them. Buses werent going by certain areas either, because of flooding. Rod and I bought what little water we could, but then had no money left over for actual food. (And you know, with type 2 diabetes thats being treated with only diet, thats a rough ride... you have to seriously mind your carbohydrate consumption and you just cant survive on ramen noodles like someone else with a working pancreas could.)
I dont recall why we were at the pharmacy that day... but Sally asked about our day, and how we were faring with the floods, and well... we told her our woes, as had become usual. Sally, as it turns out, had been worried about us. Sally took us to the Red Cross -- Sally got us more water, and Sally took us to the supermarket and bought us food. Sally had endeared herself to us. Her quirky little self got into our hearts. She still, would sometimes, annoy the crap out of us... but our appreciation for her glossed over all that stuff. The stuff of being ourselves, squeaky wheels and all.
I dont believe in a god... and I dont believe that god is love. I believe that LOVE is God. I believe WE are God to one another, when we are in need, and our humanity calls... and we respond with love. And that day, when we needed her most, Sally WAS God. Sally helped us see another healthy tomorrow... and not struggle for today. Sally was also... our advocate. Sally KNEW we had type 2 diabetes... Sally RESPONDED to those needs. (WE can be patient advocates to ANYONE with a chronic illness, with their needs, ANY given day of the week. The opportunities are everywhere. Look for them. THIS is also part of advocacy. Being the glue that connects everything... when all else has failed.)
Now... about a few weeks ago, I started noticing something wrong in my daily trips to the pharmacy. I really didnt see Sally as often, anymore, and she didnt seem as chatty as her usual self, anymore either. She seemed tired, and I thought to myself, "She looks like shes aging pretty fast; she looks a lot older than she was a month ago." (I didnt say anything.) I really had begun to MISS my daily encounters with Sally, and that daily inconvenience of having to stop and talk to her... while in a hurry to God knows where. "Maybe shes just cut back on hours," I had wondered... or maybe shes got a second job... or maybe she was spending more time with visiting family. (She always spoke fondly of family far away -- or with annoyance -- depending on who the family member was. lol)
But today, walking home from work, I heard a voice yelling at me from a block behind "Why are you walking in such a hurry?! I cant catch up with you!" I stopped, and turned around. I saw it was Sally... and I got a little annoyed that I had to stop, and wait for her... It had been a pretty tiring day for me, and my carpal tunnel was worse for the wear. Sally lives a block from where I live, and she wanted to chat while we walked. Fine, I could entertain this.
She asked me about ME, first. How I was doing... how Rod was doing. How we were coping along with life. She pointed to her new hair cut... and how she wanted it shorter, for its getting so fine these days, its harder to style. I dont really care, but I politely listen anyway... (Ever the eternal Oscar the Grouch.) Then she gently eases into the topic... The chemotherapy has been really hard... and Sally cant manage it anymore. I am one of the special, chosen people in her world, that she has decided to tell... and no one else. Sally only has 4 months left to live.
I politely listen... offer my company... offer to spend time with her when shes stir-crazy at home, if anything. Sally cant drive anymore, which is just the same... because honestly, I still dont have a car. We can ride the bus together, she says. Itll be good. Itll be fun.
I offer to walk her all the way to her place, but she declines. I give her my cell phone number. We say our goodbyes, and I go home. I reach the bathroom, and undress. I break down and cry, and cry... and cry...
I dont know Sallys real name. Ive never asked.
Then shortly thereafter, I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. November 17th, 2009.
I thus began to get acquainted with a certain place a lot more often than I would have liked. A certain pharmacy. God, I hate pharmacies. I hate their smell, I hate their lights, I hate the waiting... and the lectures you get every time you get your prescription illed as if you hadnt heard them before for like the billionth time. Ive also never cared for the chit-chat. You know, the chit-chat cashiers always give you when youre ready to go. Im sort of this anti-social who just wants to grab the crap she needs, and be on her way. No eye contact, no talking... bah humbug.
But, alas, there was Sally. (Sally is not her real name.)
Some days, when Rod and I used to go into the pharmacy together, wed find ways to try and avoid Sally -- especially if we were in a hurry. Sometimes, wed just want to shop in peace. Sometimes, we might have even gone to a different place altogether. But... in Iowa, politeness reigns. If we failed avoiding her, wed still listen to Sally. Conversation began to get so involved... that now wed be telling Sally our own woes.
Sally knew when I had no job or when I was underemployed with few hours, or when we were sick; when we had many, many struggles. Sally has often given us career advice, and even advocated for us.
In 2010, a devastating flood of epic proportions (the last of its kind seen 500 years ago), hit Iowa. It affected the resources and properties of many folk. Our town lost a lot of water mains and pipes, and the water supply became contaminated. The advice was: purchase water, and if youre poor, please go to these local water dispensing sites weve set up. The problem was the water dispensing sites were SO far away, we couldnt get to them. Buses werent going by certain areas either, because of flooding. Rod and I bought what little water we could, but then had no money left over for actual food. (And you know, with type 2 diabetes thats being treated with only diet, thats a rough ride... you have to seriously mind your carbohydrate consumption and you just cant survive on ramen noodles like someone else with a working pancreas could.)
 |
| Local Target stores parking lot, during the floods of 2010 |
I dont recall why we were at the pharmacy that day... but Sally asked about our day, and how we were faring with the floods, and well... we told her our woes, as had become usual. Sally, as it turns out, had been worried about us. Sally took us to the Red Cross -- Sally got us more water, and Sally took us to the supermarket and bought us food. Sally had endeared herself to us. Her quirky little self got into our hearts. She still, would sometimes, annoy the crap out of us... but our appreciation for her glossed over all that stuff. The stuff of being ourselves, squeaky wheels and all.
I dont believe in a god... and I dont believe that god is love. I believe that LOVE is God. I believe WE are God to one another, when we are in need, and our humanity calls... and we respond with love. And that day, when we needed her most, Sally WAS God. Sally helped us see another healthy tomorrow... and not struggle for today. Sally was also... our advocate. Sally KNEW we had type 2 diabetes... Sally RESPONDED to those needs. (WE can be patient advocates to ANYONE with a chronic illness, with their needs, ANY given day of the week. The opportunities are everywhere. Look for them. THIS is also part of advocacy. Being the glue that connects everything... when all else has failed.)
Now... about a few weeks ago, I started noticing something wrong in my daily trips to the pharmacy. I really didnt see Sally as often, anymore, and she didnt seem as chatty as her usual self, anymore either. She seemed tired, and I thought to myself, "She looks like shes aging pretty fast; she looks a lot older than she was a month ago." (I didnt say anything.) I really had begun to MISS my daily encounters with Sally, and that daily inconvenience of having to stop and talk to her... while in a hurry to God knows where. "Maybe shes just cut back on hours," I had wondered... or maybe shes got a second job... or maybe she was spending more time with visiting family. (She always spoke fondly of family far away -- or with annoyance -- depending on who the family member was. lol)
But today, walking home from work, I heard a voice yelling at me from a block behind "Why are you walking in such a hurry?! I cant catch up with you!" I stopped, and turned around. I saw it was Sally... and I got a little annoyed that I had to stop, and wait for her... It had been a pretty tiring day for me, and my carpal tunnel was worse for the wear. Sally lives a block from where I live, and she wanted to chat while we walked. Fine, I could entertain this.
She asked me about ME, first. How I was doing... how Rod was doing. How we were coping along with life. She pointed to her new hair cut... and how she wanted it shorter, for its getting so fine these days, its harder to style. I dont really care, but I politely listen anyway... (Ever the eternal Oscar the Grouch.) Then she gently eases into the topic... The chemotherapy has been really hard... and Sally cant manage it anymore. I am one of the special, chosen people in her world, that she has decided to tell... and no one else. Sally only has 4 months left to live.
I politely listen... offer my company... offer to spend time with her when shes stir-crazy at home, if anything. Sally cant drive anymore, which is just the same... because honestly, I still dont have a car. We can ride the bus together, she says. Itll be good. Itll be fun.
I offer to walk her all the way to her place, but she declines. I give her my cell phone number. We say our goodbyes, and I go home. I reach the bathroom, and undress. I break down and cry, and cry... and cry...
I dont know Sallys real name. Ive never asked.
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