Postcards from Italy

HELLO MY LOVELIES!!

I HAVE MOVED BLOGS.  I am now at http://food4good.tumblr.com/.

SEE YOU THERE

kthxluvubai

Oh how long its been. i dont know where I left you all last. I am in NYC, working at babycakes, a vegan, allergen-free bakery.  This, everyone, is my boss:

http://www.vimeo.com/3963229

Its a really fun place to work. i adore it. it get crazy as all hell, but thats fun in its own way.  I had been frustrated for a while as to how to keep baking with my busy schedule, how to get myself out of the funk and into the kitchen, when the most perfect opportunity arose (see, all ya gotta do is ask for one).  i’ve been commissioned to make christmas presents for a company, that it, to BAKE a hundred million pieces of biscotti, and oh what a dream.

SO, i ran with that opportunity, and have decided to start up a christmas biscotti business. One day i was messing around with a martha stewart recipe and fiddled with it til i got the consistency i wanted, played around with flavors, and came up with my very own brownie biscotti bars. no im making it for this company, for another company, and personal gifts for 10 people or so. i will do my very best to keep y’all up to date with the journey, complete with pictures, and, eventually, the recipes. 

i love you even if i dont know you. hows that for trust.

SO, after my tears upon leaving Florence, scaring every human on the TrenItalia with me to Rome then the airport, making my peace with leaving that wonderous motherland, it was time for a reconvening of good friends.  Off to Cannes for the film festival with Sophie and Rach.  Though between assistant’s quitting and last minute hostels, stories we have told again and again, the trip turned out less chic…and more realistic.  Which I loved.  We stayed in the woods (really, the woods), and while we saw celebrities, our days consisted of going to hotels, talking to people, hanging out on the beach, and eating everywhere we saw.  None of us were so prepared, emotionally, til the last day, to make it rain business cards and chat up those we were hoping to work with in the future.  Of course….I lied and said I was a stuntwoman.  Naturally.

In the end though, we had a fantastic time, as we always seem to.

And then, Paris.

Eight girls, one apartment, ten days, no bitch fights, and lots of lebanese food.   It was like dreamland, Lil Wayne, Champagne filled dreamland.  But the catcalls….oooooh the catcalls.  Just a thought, while walking down the Champs-Elysees and being a female, please speak french or have a good yell.  When walking down with eight females, have a good right hook. 

The most miraculous thing about Paris, I thought, was everywhere you looked it was absolutely beautiful.  The eiffel tower.  The Seine.  The Notre Dame.  Even Pigalle, where the slightly nervous businessmen coming out of a club called “Pussy’s” (I kid you not) had its own beauty. You are always in a black and white film, lulled by Edith Piaf.  It’s quite magical.  And the French ain’t half bad.

Hey guys.  Sorry im a bit behind.  Time to tell you about Morocco.

So at the advice of Rocco, our (quirky) fantastic italian friend who owns a tea shop and created his own sexual tarot cards (true), we picked up for Marrakech, morocco, with matching outfits, prepared to bazaar-hop, tan, while scrambling to remember how to yell “stop” and “help” in French.  We were shown a completely different world than we expected.

We had our days of tanning, sure, west-coasters at heart, but the reason we came there began to be revealed once we hit place jemaa el fna, the main shopping square.  It was incredible, filled with snake charmers (who draped us in snakes for coins and laughs at the white girls) henna artists (who got the best of us…and weeks later im still feeling the shame…all over my hands) and old women and toddlers alike selling coconut macaroons for the equivalent of a penny, which, by the by, were fucking incredible.  Prayers blasted through the town, ringing out like town hall announcements, a booming voice hollering something in a language i couldnt comprehend, causing those, whoever wanted to, wherever they were, to drop to the ground and pray.  It wasnt intrusive. No one minded who didnt take part. Everything was a bargain: how much will you pay for a taxi, how much will you pay for these shoes, this meal, this moroccan wedding blanket, a kiss (real proposition), etc.  It was tiring after a while, to fight with people constantly, but when it worked well, it worked well, and making that hustler laugh was one of the most rewarding things you could ever imagine.

 Humor, what i always believed to be so based in language, in fact transcends language.

When we bargained, they would say to us “oh, you are a strong woman??” and our firm reply gained their respect, and our understanding.  It is a muslim country, after all, and we had to readjust to. To approach Marrakech with an open heart is the only way one MUST approach it, though you will be faced with challenges that makes your heart hurt quite.  Despite the various hotels and cinematic horse-drawn-carriages, its a poverty stricken place.  The people you meet and speak with often are scraping to get by.  It weighs quite heavy on you if you let it.

But then….theres Mohammed.  After two hours of searching in jemaa el fna for this mysterious man Rocco insisted we met, considering that yelling Mohammed in morocco is similar to the times people ask me if because I went to NYU once I know Sarah-whats-her-name-i-dont-know-what-year, after receiving dozens of directions leading us astray each time without fail but somehow only using the words “a right, then a left”, we walked into a hallway of a new courtyard, reeking of piss and filled with moroccan men.  A young one asks us if we are there for Mohammed and we practically throw our arms around him in relief.  He leads us upstairs to his brother, Mohammed, a sun worn man sleeping on the ground of a pottery shop the size of a closet in alphabet city.  He leaps up to greet us, and stumbles in broken english to say “you are friend of Rocco, now we are family.  I am your family.”

Pots and pots of tea later, Lizzie and I speak to this Tuareg man, wrapped in a blue scarf, for hours.  In his arabic, our italian, the french-i took-that-one-summer, and his splatter of english, we spoke of religion, of the absurdity of war over religion, of love, of women, of home. Four languages fused to have a discussion about something us strangers cared enough about to discuss, to find harmony in, to learn from the other about.  We had a brief laugh, Lizzie and I, once he had left the shop to make more tea, of how our parents would react if we told them where we were at the moment.  But id like my kid to be doing exactly that, too.  We spent the rest of the day running after him through the bazaars, aware not to follow too close or the police would see, though his stride doubled ours and his casual walk led to us booking through alleys after him. 

Oh! by the way.  This man, who lives in a pottery closet, keeps all his clothes in a plastic bag and all his belongings inside a small trunk, never ever eats a damned thing i swear to you and wonders why he has chronic stomach aches……has an email address. So casual.

Go to marrakech.  Ride a camel-hilarious and fantastic.  I named mine Jay-z because he was smooth and large.  Lizzies was named T-pain because he had a stank walk and was a bit rough around the edges.  Go through a village, a slum. Smile at them.  And come back dirty and henna’d with a suitcase full of moroccan ashtrays and vases and hundreds of Hands of Fatima.  Its so worth it.

Rome for a week with a family I believed to be related to me until this year.  Italians use the term “cousin” rather lightly.

I stayed with Maria, the matriarch: a small but feisty sixty-something italian woman who is in better shape then me but continually talks about when she will die, favors her children openly for who is smarter and who is prettier, and named her espresso maker George Clooney.

Roma vs Inter soccer game-check.

Vattican, colluseum, St peters-check.

Venus Williams live- check.

THINGS TO REMEMBER:

Best pizza is at “forno” in campo dei fiori. And romans make puns about religious figures on the daily and laugh out loud at them.

I now must say goodbye to Florence. 

I didnt anticipate this very well.

This place gave me a new way to look at cooking, on celebrating for no reason at all, on being brave…even if nuns stare you down.  This place has taught me how to treat friends, when it is appropriate to dance on tables, and no gelato is ever too much gelato.  This place has held my head as I cried in its lap, carried my drunken legs safely home (one foot oh-so-cautiously in front of the other), tolerated my tantrums, my confusion, both of which seem to be ongoing, but most of all always kept me as I learned from its rusty roots.  I have grown exponentially here.  I have been seasoned.  I have had quite a ride.  So thank you, to this city, for keeping me safe in your ancient walls and allowing me to play, to figure out what’s right, what isn’t, and what tastes damned good.

I know I’ll be back.

After all, arrivederci literally translates to “until we see each other again.”

So Vittoria, pictures to come, has been the most influential person here.

She is a lady of the best old Florentine wisdom: use only the ingredients that are the most beautiful, never take the garlic out of a recipe, and “look yourselves in the eyes and ask…how hungry are you?”  She also believes in food’s healing powers.  This pasta, she says, “you give to your sad friends.  Its the happy pasta.”  Its also damned delicious.

PENNE GIALLE

Serves 4 hungry people

Ingredients:

500 grams yellow bell pepper

1 onion, chopped

100 grams cubed pancetta

1 celery rib, chopped

1 carrot, chopped

1 bunch fresh parsley

veggie stock

4 tbsp olive oil

4 tbsp grated pecorino

some butter

Blanch the pepper in boiling water and then peel, and cut into long, thin strips. Heat oil in a pan. Add chopped onion, carrot, celery, and pancetta to the pan and saute.  Once sauteed (in this case, soft), add the pepper strips.  Leave this to cook slowly, adding broth every now and then to keep moist.  Boil a pot of water for the pasta, adding salt, and cook the penne until its sliiiightly al dente. Drain it, and toss it in the saucepan with the veggie medley to finish the cooking. Mix in the grated cheese, and serve!  Guaranteed to bring happiness.

So….Meet Andrea Bianchini.  Hes in the Dumbledore’s Army of Dessertists in Italy- A secret society (i kid you not) of the most elite pastry chefs in the country, of which there are about 10.  Hes also my chocolate teacher.  He gave me some of his secrets, and Ill give one away…

Chocolate souffle! Makes 4 servings   INGREDIENTS 3 eggs 70 grams (about 3/4 cup) sugar 125 grams dark chocolate   Directions 1. preheat oven to 375 F 2. Chop chocolate pretty finely and place in a metal bowl. 3. Separate the eggs into two separate bowls, the egg whites into a metal bowl.  This makes whipping them infinitely easier. In the other bowl, mix the sugar into the egg yolks until it gives a nice light yellow color. 4. Whip the egg whites in the metal bowl until they form semi stiff peaks.  5. Boil a pot of water.  Once it is boiling, remove it from heat, let steam exit, and THEN put the bowl of chocolate on top like a double boiler.  This is VERY important because if the water is still on the heat, steam will rise and the condensation will drop onto the chocolate which is no good.
6. Stir chocolate until it is melted, and pour into the egg yolk mixture. Mix well.
7. Fold in the egg whites. 8. Butter and flour 4 ramacans.  Pour mixture into pastry bag (keeps it clean and presentable) and pipe into ramacans, filling almost all the way up 9. Bake for about 12 minutes and enjoy!  
Now chocolate rocks on its own, but please please make it with the sauce…
Best sauce ever 9 egg yolks 2/3 cup sugar 1/2 L Heavy cream 1/2 a vanilla bean   1. Boil a pot of water for a double boiler 2. In a separate pot, boil cream and vanilla bean
3. Mix eggs and sugar really, really well in a  metal bowl.  Once the cream has boiled, strain it into the egg mixture. 4. Place bowl with egg mixture over pot of boiling water, and mix constantly with a spatula.  After about 4 or 5 minutes (if you have a thermometer, wait til the sauce is 185 degrees F) remove and refirdgerate for a few minutes.   Ladle a little bit of the sauce over the chocolate souffle and enjoy as such.  Or heres the kicker…ladle on top, take a bite, and ladle inside the molton center as well.  Amazing.  My broken italian figured out how to say “this should be llegal.”
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/photo.php?pid=30944279&id=1063350021&fbid=1345722997478

Okay, secret recipe. For a cake that my teacher coined “Feel the Difference Cake,” bake souffle in aluminium so the inside cooks a little bit more, and has the consistency of a very soft cake he whole way through.  Place on a plate over a small pool of the sauce.  Then, and I swear,  drop a few drops of extra virgin olive oil around the cake in the sauce, and a few on top of the cake, and top with a few pieces of sea salt.  I looked at him like he was insane.  But oh how wrong I was. It will blow you away!!

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/photo.php?pid=30944280&id=1063350021&fbid=1345723037479

-Scoppio means crackling explosion

-it is an italian tradition on easter for a fake dove to shoot into an oriental tower pulled by bulls to set off layers and layers of loud fireworks (i heart the catholics here)

-Old Italians really like me

-Gelato never gets old

-Italian women can miraculously heal things my touching them.  Especially when they are your leg.

-Having a hole in your tights brings MANY MANY nasty looks from nuns.  

Off to an Italian Wedding.  Ill bring my camera.

Yum yum yum yum yum yum yum.

Involtini di pesce spada…or Swordfish on skewers

INGREDIENTS

1 pound of swordfish, finely sliced

3.5 ounces extra swordfish flesh, minced

1 spoon capers, chopped

2 spoons grated Pecorino Romano cheese

1 tablespoon tomato sauce

bay leaves, chopped parsley, oregano

6 tablespoons Olive oil

10 green olives, chopped

a handful of breadcrumbs

salt

lemon juice, olive oil, oregano, salt, and pepper for sauce

1. beat the swordfish slices to tenderize them
2. in a bowl, mix the breadcrumbs, cheese, minced swordfish, chopped capers and olives, parley, tomato sauce, and olive oil (hot chili powder can also be added to this):
3. Place a generous spoon of mixture in the center of each swordfish slice and roll it up:
4. “Kebab” the fish rolls onto skewers, alternating with bay leaves
5. Grill on a barbecue (or bake in an oven if you have no bbq…hey new york city), greasing with the lemon juice/olive oil mixture.  Enjoy!