Impromptu Wine & Appetizers

Impromptu Wine & Appetizers

“Maureen, there are a few of us having some appetizers and wine. Why don’t you come join us?”

It was Mario, the regional director for ONAV, the National Organization of Wine Tasters. We had met a few times at their wine-tasting events: Prosecco-tasting, Barbera- and Barolo-tasting, Champagne-tasting. I’m going to attend their 9 week course in wine-tasting, beginning in February. Any of their gatherings, formal or casual, are opportunities to sample some diverse and very special wines… and meet new people.

I took the Metro across town, walked two blocks and entered the ONAV classroom full of tables and chairs. These four guys – Michele, Vicenzo (giving me a choke-hold), Mario, Carlo – sat at a table cluttered with meats, breads, wine, oil and sweets. (The three are long-time friends of Mario, not with ONAV.) As you can see, it wasn’t a stuffy group.

ONAV-Friends

We sampled a number of wines and also enjoyed a tasting of Extra Virgin Olive Oil from the San Gimignano region.

ONAV-WineSelection

I didn’t realize until afterwards that I should have gotten a photo of Carlo in his striped sweater, with Vicenzo in his striped hat and me in my striped coat. It would have been a highly-visual photo. (Vicenzo asked if I know of any American women I could set him up with.)

ONAV-CarloVicenzo2

ONAV-CrudoThe table bore mortadella, salami and a raw, seasoned meat/fat combo that Mario simply peeled the casing off of and spread on bread. (I know the photo’s out of focus, but at least it gives you an idea of the meat’s appearance.) We ate from a large rustic loaf, a potato loaf, and Sicilian bread sticks and rounds.

There was a bone-white spread of pecorino and ricotta cheeses pureéd together. And a special treat was the “Lardo di Colonnata”, raw, salted, herbed pig lard, aged at least six months and served as thin slices on bread. Mmm, good!

(I’ve become quite fond of eating raw meats and moldy cheeses.)

We drank a sparkling red, a white, a rosé. The most “startling” wine was the deep red Ruché (Roo-kay); I had never tasted anything like it with its very distinct flavor. (I’ll have a better vocabulary to describe it AFTER I take the class.) You could ask for Ruché* at your local specialty wine shop, but its very low production makes it unlikely that you’ll find any.

Our little post meal sweets were dried figs and apricots from Sicily, and almond pastilles that are frequently offered as favors at weddings. (In the States, too.)

ONAV-SalamiOil

ONAV-Pane

The very special end-note to the evening was a wonderful Passito di Pantelleria from the tiny little Island of Pantelleria, Italy, between Sicily and Tunisia. Passito, made from dried and shriveled moscato grapes, is a gorgeous amber color and a drink that requires every sip to be savored. I couldn’t keep my nose out of the glass; the scent was divine.

ONAV-PasitoPanteleriaBottleLO ONAV-PasitoPanteleria

ONAV-PouringPasito

ONAV-Ruche ONAV-FrantoioOlio

ONAV-ConfettiDiCarloLO

Below, on the right, is a bag of the not-fully-dried, shriveled moscato grapes used for making passito. You can eat them much like raisins.

ONAV-ConfettiMandorla ONAV-PasitoGrapes

Ruché (from Wikipedia):

Ruché is a red Italian wine grape variety from the Piedmont region. It is largely used in making Ruché di Castagnole Monferrato, a small production red varietal winewhich was granted Denominazione di Origine Controllata (DOC) status by presidential decree on October 22, 1987. The current DOC recognized area of production for the wine, covers only about 100 acres [[40 hectares) of vines around the villages of Castagnole MonferratoRefrancoreGranaMontemagnoViarigiScurzolengo andPortacomaro.[1] Ruché di Castagnole Monferrato is, therefore, one of the lowest production varietal wines in Italy. The grape is also grown to some extent in the neighboring province of Alessandria.

There is some debate about the origins of the Ruché grape. One theory is that the varietal is indigenous to the hills northeast of the town of Asti. Another theory is that the grape is a local variation on a French import. It has been grown in the area for at least one hundred years but has only recently been marketed and consumed outside of the immediate vicinity of its production. Ruché di Castagnole Monferrato tends to be medium bodied with notes of pepper and wild berries and floral aromason the nose.[2] The wine is often characterized by moderate acidity and soft tannins. In the Piedmont region it is often paired with slow-cooked beef, northern Italian cheeses and mushrooms.

Fast Food, Parisian-Style

Fast Food, Parisian-Style

Hungry in Paris? Good food is never far away. I like that the stores are specialized and are clustered near each other. Hop from one to the next and gather enough for a very good meal. Here’s the selection of food stores at my metro stop, Maubert-Mutualité, on St. Germain.

The boucherie (butcher) and charcuterie (cooked meats and other delicacies):

BoucherieCharcuterie

The boulangerie (bakery):

BoulangerieMoisan

The fromagerie (cheese shop) and wine shop:

FromagerieVins

And here are some of their goodies:

CharcuterieFish

CharcuterieFoieGras

CharcuterieLobster

Escargot

CharcuterieFlansLegumes

FromagerieMoldyCheeses

CharcuteriePoireAuVin

Christmas Eve Dinner

Christmas Eve Dinner

What was for dinner on Christmas Eve in Paris? Fast food, Parisian-style!

From my journal yesterday:

5:30 P.M. Christmas Eve, Paris.
I’m eating in my hotel room, after spending all afternoon at Musée D’Orsay absorbing the impressionists and Art Nouveau and before heading to Notre Dame for Midnight Mass. At the Maubert-Mutualité exit for the metro, there’s a charcuterie, fromagerie, boulangerie and wine shop that I stopped at to buy dinner. The ultimate “fast food”! On tonight’s menu, (eaten in my room with Christmas music on “shuffle” on iTunes on my laptop):

– Escargots in puff pastry with garlic herb butter. 3 pieces for 3,00 €
– Foie gras roll with pistachios. 1 slice for 3,40 €
– A sort of Chevre cheese, donut-shaped and very moldy. 6,80 €
– Flan de Legumes (with broccoli). 3,80 €
– Puff pastry rounds, (eggy and moist). 4 small pieces 1,30 €
– Bordeaux. (1/2 bottle remaining from before). 4,50 €

TOTAL COST OF CHRISTMAS EVE DINNER 22,80 €
(With today’s exchange rate, that’s about $33.00, but I figured that was fine for my Christmas dinner.)

…and it was delicious.

ChristmasEveDinner

FromagerieDonutChevre2

CharcuterieFoieGras

French Onion Soup in Paris

French Onion Soup in Paris

After walking in a cold rain for several hours on my first evening in Paris, I wanted something HOT in my belly. I wanted a hearty soup or stew. I walked into the Brasserie Balzar, about 3 blocks from my hotel. Quite brightly lit and full of people. When greeted at the door, I said to the man, “do you speak English?” “No.” “Italian?” “No.” “Spanish?” “Mexican!” “Great. We’ll speak ‘Mexican’!” (Even though my “Mexican” is out the door since I’ve been speaking Italian.)

He showed me to a tiny little table in the corner next to the window. Perfect. I told him I wanted a nice hot meal and his menu suggestion seemed to have been some combination of Spanish and French and I really didn’t understand much of it at all. I told him it sounded great, got out my journal and waited.

My actual, “designated” waiter came to the table and HE spoke English. He recommended the French Onion Soup, to be followed by pepper steak with some sparkling mineral water and a nice red wine. (Chateau de Brague 2006, Grand Vin de Bordeaux, Bordeaux Superieur).

BalzarFrenchOnionSoup

BalzarPepperSteakBefore

BalzarPepperSteakAfter

He and I ended up chatting here and there in between his serving the other patrons on a busy night. I had the perfect, cozy spot tucked away from the bustle and could just eat, drink, write, eat, drink, write for three hours. Ahh. Bliss on all counts.

ParisJournalWineWater

Here’s a note from my journal: “The French Onion Soup was perfect after hours walking through rainy and cold Paris. That, and the lovely Bordeaux, have added a rose tint to my cheeks. The Pepper Steak, with its lovely sauce was fabulous and cooked ’til divine. I mopped up the sauce with the steak fries.”

The sauce on the Pepper Steak (after asking the waiter): Juice from the steak, pepper, cream, mustard, tomato (hardly a hint) and cognac.

I finished my first dinner in Paris with Creme Caramel. (Why not?) I was full and sated.

BalzarCremeCarmel

Brasserie Balzar (Ask for Jean)
49 Rue des Ecoles
75005 Paris, Latin Quarter
www.BrasserieBalzar.com
Tel: 01-43-54-13-67

BrasserieBalzarMenu

While nestled in eating and writing, I also noted this: “I’ve been eating bread in Milan for 6 months and haven’t found any I like (except the Austrian-influenced bread from Trentino-Aldo Adige). I’ve been in France half a day and I already think the French make better bread than the Italians! (What I’ve found here in Paris) is dense, moist, varied, full of texture and flavor. THAT is bread that makes itself worth eating.” (I don’t mean to insult my Italian friends, but…)

Lunch with “The Girls”

Lunch with “The Girls”

After 5 months here in Milano, I’ve finally had people over for a meal! I invited Evelina, Glenda and Lydia, from the office at NABA, to come join me for lunch. We all see each other whenever I’m on campus and we get along well.

LydiaEvelinaGlenda

Just before they arrived, I baked a fresh loaf of Irish Soda Bread (which was devoured with a creamy cheese on top), marinated and then grilled some chicken breasts (red orange juice, olive oil, mustard, red onion, garlic, herbs, salt, pepper), grilled some peeled beets and served a rucola/songino salad. We sipped some prosecco and laughed through lunch. It was all topped off with coffee, both Italian-style and American-style, and a few pastries from the infamous and fabulous Spezia Pasticceria.

I love to cook for people. It was great fun to have them over!

LydiaEvelinaGlenda2

GlendaEvelina

GlendaEvelinaMaureen

DessertTray

Out for a Grocery Stroll

Out for a Grocery Stroll

After a little afternoon nap, I booted myself out the door for a stroll. It was just after 3:00, the quiet time of the day in the city. A mostly gray sky with a little chill in the air. Nice to head out and wander.

Just two blocks from home, I saw my Fashion Design instructor, Lee, from a year and a half ago. I hadn’t seen her since this summer session and it was nice to chat a bit. As it turns out, she recently moved to just around the corner for me, so we may meet for coffee sometime.

StrollGroceries

I needed a few groceries, but not much. The Saturday market was likely over, but I headed in that direction anyway, and am glad that I did. There was a stillness, an ease that is certainly not there in the height of the market selling. Many vendors had already left, but the others were slowly putting away their vegetables and fruits, their cheeses, meats and household sundries. They were still just as happy to make one last sale and end the day with a few extra euro in their pockets.

The fennel looked good, and I wanted to take one home with me. No. The minimum was three. “Oh, really? OK fine. Give me three. I’ll take some cherry tomatoes, too.” And of course, he THREW them into a bag. At another stall, the green beans looked fabulous and I wanted one of the two baskets full. He heaped a “fruta e verdura” paper bag with the beans from BOTH baskets, more than I could eat in a month. Fine. I love beans. I’ll eat them every day this week. (I guess they just didn’t want to pack up anything they could possibly send down the road.)

The man that had sold me bresaola the last time I went to this market was there again. I asked for “cento grammi“, 100 grams which he sliced right then, plus some brie. Then I saw a curious, smoked something-or-other, and asked for two. It’s cheese wrapped around prosciutto and olives, with some sort of creamy sauce inside, then smoked. (Front edge of the plate in the photo.)

The flower stall still had a few options, so I bought four colors of fragrant freesia to bring home.

I left the street market and went to the main street. As I approached the grocery store, there was a vendor out front roasting chestnuts. Yes, please! I added a big handful of those to my shopping bag. A few feet away, I spotted Justin, the woman from Kenya that works behind the meat counter at the grocery. She and I have chatted a number of times, and is the biggest reason for me to shop there. Her pleasant manner and conversation make me smile. Inside, I bought a package of cheese crackers that I had discovered when I first arrived four months ago, and some chicken thighs (for which I had big plans).

Next came the Bakery. There was a pizza square with mushrooms, prosciutto, artichoke hearts, sauce and cheese that clamored to come home with me. Plus, I bought a little bun with chunks of green olives. Basta! Plenty! That was enough for one shopping spree.

Along the way home, an elderly woman in a purple jacket stopped me to ask where I had bought the freesia. Unfortunately for her, the market was long over, but we chatted about freesia and tulips and springtime and I was pleased that we could have such a conversation.

And those chicken thighs? I cooked them just like Mom used to when we were kids (60s Americana): dredged in flour with salt and pepper. Browned in (olive) oil, then drowned in water and left to simmer for almost two hours ’til they were falling-off-the-bones tender. The chicken produced the classic gravy I was looking for and was ladled over (brown) rice, served with a few of those many green beans.

It was a simple afternoon, really. Just buying a few groceries. But the fact that I see familiar faces while out-and-about-town, and can just chat with people means the world to me. These are first steps toward being IN this community even if only in a small way.

I Bought a Branzino!

I Bought a Branzino!

Nope. It’s not a Vespa-type scooter or a little car. It’s a little fish.

BranzinoRaw

A couple of months ago, while at the Saturday market, I was overwhelmed by the seafood choices I had no familiarity with. No halibut, salmon or rock cod here. There was fish I knew nothing about except for a couple I had ordered from menus: orata and branzino. “But what do I do with it?” Besides. I had neither a filet knife nor knife sharpener, so I was ill-prepared.

Having just returned from a visit to Seattle this week, (filet knife and EZE-Lap sharpener in hand), hankerin’ for fish*, and doing a “fast stroll” near the Naviglio Grande (the big canal) I found a street-side fish market in my path. “Uno branzino”, I said to the guy. He wrapped it up. I paid 4 Euro, 6 bucks. I threw it in my bag and went on to shop for fabric. (Fabric and fish in the same bag? Hmm.)

(*By the way, can one ” have a hankerin’ ” in Italy. I’m not sure the translation works.)

Saturday evening. Canal-side. The place was lively with people strolling at a slow pace. Here I was, trying to keep my usual 4.5 mile-per-hour Indian Trail pace. (Fat chance, Maureen. Take it easy! Relax for once.) Maybe that’s something Italy will teach me: how to stroll properly, without being “on a mission”.

At 7:00, I stepped into the little fabric store NOT like those in the U.S.! Dark, jammed floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall, and much of it had probably been there a long time. I was looking for, and found, fabric for a baby quilt. (Just try buying quilting supplies in Italian!) I left moments before they closed at 7:30.

It was the first time in 4 months I had gone out in public wearing blue jeans (!) and tennis shoes (not quite blinding white). I had been cleaning all day and felt like being comfy. At 8:00 in the evening, sleeveless, it was muggy enough that I was working up a sticky sweat. (All the more reason to slow down.) Most everyone else was either paired up or on-the-make, so blue jeans and tennis shoes never entered their minds, I’m sure!

Meanwhile, I had a scantily-wrapped branzino in my bag with baby quilt fabric, so I figured I’d better hustle to the grocery store, buy whatever else I needed, and get home and cook!

I hadn’t noticed at the fish stall that the fish had not been gutted. No problem. I’ve gutted many a fish in my day. And I found out that branzino, (which is actually a European Seabass), has a pretty wicked, spiny dorsal fin! A pair of scissors made short work of those half dozen thorns.

BranzinoGuts

Based on it’s size, roughly 11″ stem-to-stern, I figured I could cook a branzino much like a nice-sized rainbow trout. Flour, salt, pepper, mixed herbs…and since I had just been in Seattle, I threw in some of Chef Tom Douglas’ Salmon Rub (Brown Sugar, Paprika and thyme). A little extra virgin in my new grill pan, crank up the heat and throw on the fish. Veggies searing in the pan next door promised a lovely dinner.

(By the way, note the pan in the upper left. I’ve boiled water for coffee twice and that’s the amount of white, calcium build-up that occurs! I have to scrub the pan hard every day.)

BranzinoGrillin

Ahh. The smell of fish cooking with oil. One would think it’s a good time to open the windows, especially on a muggy night! No way! I wouldn’t sleep all night; the mosquitos would eat me alive. I opted for the fishy smell and a good night’s sleep.

“Mr. Branzino” cooked for about 20 minutes or so. Perfection. A glass of Grillo from Sicilia, a couple slices of cornmeal bread and at 9:30 I was ready to eat. Note that the branzino is served up right alongside my Mac, my updated to-do list, the utility bill from the landlady, a job ticket, trip receipts and hardware warranty info.

BranzinoServed

BranzinoSucculent

Delicately flavored. White. Moist. Cooked perfectly. Mmm. In trout fashion, I lifted the tail and peeled the spine and upper half away from the lower. I didn’t eat the skin because trying to scale the fish earlier had been making more of a mess than necessary, so I simply lifted the fish flakes away from the skin and gobbled them. Then I flipped the other half, easily lifted the skeleton and enjoyed the rest of the fish. What a delicious meal!

BranzinoFinito

FROM WIKIPEDIA:
The European seabassDicentrarchus labrax, also known as Morone labrax, is a primarily ocean-going fish that sometimes enters brackish and fresh water. It is also known as the sea dace. As a food fish, it is often marketed as mediterranean seabassbronzini or branzini(“branzino” is the name of the fish in Northern Italy; in other parts of the country it is called “spigola” or “ragno”). In Spain, it is called “lubina”. It has silver sides and a white belly. Juvenile fish maintain black spots on the back and sides, a feature that can create confusion with Dicentrarchus punctatus. This fish’s operculum is serrated and spined. It can grow to a total length of over 1 m (3.3 ft) and 15 kg of weight.

Its habitats include estuaries, lagoons, coastal waters and rivers. It is found in the waters in and around Europe, including the eastern Atlantic Ocean (from Norway to Senegal), the Mediterranean Sea and the Black Sea.

It is mostly a night hunter, feeding on small fish, polychaetes, cephalopods and crustaceans.

The fish has come under increasing pressure from commercial fishing and has recently become the focus in the United Kingdom of a conservation effort by recreational anglers. In Italy the seabass is subject of intensive breeding in salt waters.

The Stress of Grocery Shopping

The Stress of Grocery Shopping

I’m not joking when I say that one of my consistent sources of stress here is in grocery shopping. It’s easy to take for granted the comfort of knowing WHAT I’m shopping for and HOW to shop for it. And when I don’t know those two things there’s an absolute and certain anxiety aroused. That may sound ridiculous, but it’s true.

SaturdayMarketProduce

It’s one thing to shop at the grocery store. I’ve greatly improved in that realm. At least there are labels and I can pick up the items to read and figure out what I’m looking at, what to do with it and whether I want it. I’ve gotten better at discerning ingredients listed in Italian, and labels these days often feature a photo which gives a hint of ingredients and serving suggestions.

Someone finally told me how to order my favorite, bresaola. It’s not ordered from the meat counter by the slice, it’s ordered by the gram. OK. Fine. But how many grams do I need? I was raised with ounces and pounds. How big of a pile of paper thin bresaola would 100 grams amount to? As it turns out, 80 to 100 grams is about right for me to order, and I now know what it amounts to. I can order bresaola and prosciutto with the rest of them and not sound completely like I’m from outer space.

In the produce department, it’s absolutely forbidden to handle the fruit and veggies with bare hands. There’s a ritual in buying produce and I had to learn that first thing! I go to the little stand to get my wispy thin plastic gloves. THEN I select my fruit and put it in a plastic bag. THEN I make note of the code number for my item and take it to the scale. I punch in the code and the machine spits out a UPC label. Very simple. But if someone hadn’t told me about that, or if I forget and get up to the checkout stand with unmarked produce, heaven help me!

There are handy tote-along plastic bins on wheels at the entrance to the store. Pretty handy because I usually don’t need a big cart. They have a compact “footprint” and are pretty deep. Therein lies the problem. The produce is at the entrance to the store. I go in, get my tomatoes, peaches, plums, rucola and other delicate, soft fruits and vegetables and put them in my bin. As I continue shopping for yogurt, milk, cheese, wine, bottled water, the heavy things either get piled on top of the fragile things, or I have to constantly shuffle the contents in my cart to put the heaviest at the bottom. I could get my cart, walk immediately to the end of the store, shop in reverse, end in the produce department, then walk back to the cashier at the opposite side of the store. I suppose I could try that and see how it goes.

Then there’s the checkout! This is when I need heaven to help me. I think the checkout stand at the grocery store is the epitome example of Italian speed-demon impatience. I walk up and stand in line with “all the other Italians” (ha ha ha). When it’s my turn, I empty my cart onto the conveyor belt trying to get the heaviest items out from the bottom of the pile and put them on the belt first. The cashier asks me if I want a bag and if I do its extra cost gets added to the tab. (Take note, Seattle.) Well-trained, I always have my own bags, so I say “no”. While I’m still unloading my little cart, my grocery items are flying out the other end and rolling down on top of each other into a big pile. Believe me, I unload as fast as I can so I can immediately start loading up my bags as fast as I can. Invariably, the cashier finishes the race before I do, there’s a line of people waiting, my total is rattled quickly in Italian (I’m getting better all the time at hearing and understanding euro totals), I don’t have my reading glasses on, I can’t see the still-unfamiliar coins to know their denominations, and I haven’t even finished loading up my groceries! It would almost be funny if it weren’t so anxiety-producing!

I’m always glad to get out of the grocery store.

Ahh. Then there’s the Saturday Market I discovered for the first time today. Open air. Lovely, end-of-summer weather. Picture-perfect produce, meats, seafood, cheeses, breads and sundries. This market makes Seattle’s Pike Place Market look like nothing. (Really. Sorry, but it’s true.) Everything is arrayed so beautifully, all so artful. I shot photos for the first hour or so. All so gorgeous.Idyllic, right?

FioriZucchi

RadicchioMelanzane

Then it was time to shop. Uh oh. Trouble. New rules here. No labels. No handling the products to investigate. And it wasn’t clear what the buying process was. Who do I talk to and when is it my turn?

After wandering around dazed and afraid for a while, I got bold. What I wanted was simple and recognizable: tomatoes on the vine, fresh figs, prunes, green beans, onions. I told the guy at the front, but then he told me I had to go off to the side to pay for it first. OK. But when standing in line, I watched them fill bags with other people’s orders. They take this beautifully displayed fruit and THROW it into a paper bag! There go those nice tomatoes, those ripe peaches, those soft, fresh figs. After watching this for a couple of minutes, I walked away, telling the guy I decided not to buy any. After having been a farmer for so many years, I just can’t bring myself to buy fruit and veggies from someone that is throwing my food. And I don’t get to select it myself, so don’t know until I get home that the figs are overripe and smashed open, the tomatoes punctured and the prunes bruised. Let alone not yet having the vocabulary to tell them I want just one vine of tomatoes, not a whole basket, etc. When they don’t allow us to pick up the food, I don’t have the opportunity to select 4 nice tomatoes and gently place them in a bag to be coddled during my walk home.

SaturdayFruit

Yearning for good seafood, I found the fish booths down at the very end of the street. (Maybe other vendors don’t like the smell at the end of a hot day so the fish vendors are ostracized.) But I don’t recognize any of the fish, (only the shrimp, octopus and squid). I don’t have a good filet knife in the apartment and I don’t know the flavors of what’s in front of me. (Is it strong and “fishy”?) By this time I was feeling paralysis rather than excitement, so I ordered what the little old lady in front of me ordered: fresh shrimp. I can deal with that for now. I guess that, next time, I’ll just buy myself a fish, drag it home, throw it on the fire and see what it tastes like. (And maybe I should pick up a good filet knife in the meantime!)

FishStall

FormaggiSalumi

I must say that the cheese displays were beyond belief and I finally stopped at one on the side street, not the main drag of the market. This little shop was extensive and more personable and homey. I asked the cheesemonger “which one should I try?” He replied “all of them!”, and we both laughed. He gave me a little sliver of a soft cheese, but it was more mild than I had in mind. He had a huge round of pecorino with several bands of black peppercorns through its middle. He gave me a sliver of that one, and it had power to it. I bought the small wedge that had been sitting waiting for me. He weighed it and said it was 2,40. “2,40?”, I asked, wanting to make sure I heard correctly. “Yes, dear” he said in Italian, and he waited patiently while I squinted at my coins to count out change. I decided, then, to have him slice some bresaola, too.

SaturdayCheesemonger

Things I Found Today

Things I Found Today

BREAD: I went 3 metro subway stops north and took off walking east trying to find a bakery that Viola Restaurant had told me about. I don’t think I found it, but I did find a small loaf of dark, multi-grain bread and some green-olive-bread-sticks.

HEALTH FOOD STORE:  Continuing my quest for bread, I asked at a little produce shop. The guy pointed across and down the street to quite a large place that sells organic foods, produce, packaged goods, clothing, yoga items, books, etc. They had a fantastic display of breads!!! It was hard to choose one, but I selected a large round loaf that turned out to be kind of a sourdough whole wheat. Great! I also bought some organic orange marmalade to go on top of it for my breakfast.

SMOKED TOFU: The health food store sells smoked tofu: “tofu affumicato“. Hmm. Do you think it’ll satisfy my yen for my new favorite cheese, scamorza affumicato? Not likely! But, I thought I’d give it a whirl.

PORTA TICINESE: I had always stopped, when walking north, where Corso San Gottardo becomes Corso di Porta Ticinese. Today, I walked home southward, all the way from the 3 metro stops north. Wow. I had no idea what awaited me along that strip!

CILANTRO: Damnit. I wanted some “Mexican-style” beans and rice! But I haven’t been able to find cilantro, either dried or fresh. So I stopped in at a little cluster of street-side stalls today, heard music in Spanish, and stepped into the 8×8′ stall. Yes! I saw the familiar Goya brand and asked the woman where she’s from: Peru. I said, “great, we can speak in Spanish instead of Italian!” She’s been here for two years. Her coworker is from Guatemala. Funny how I felt at home. I bought black beans and fresh cilantro and will cook up something that answers my flavor craving. And I’ll be back at her stall when I need the Spanish side answered while here in Italy.

(That’s a long way to go for bread! There’s GOT to be something close to home!)

milanomap

Land of White Flour

Land of White Flour

Forgive me, but… with pasta, white bread, pizza, focaccia, etc. it’s all WHITE FLOUR! I’m searching the city for a bakery nearby that sells a dense, moist, multi-grain bread. This is the closest I’ve found in a store, but it’s still too light and fluffy. (The really light breads dry up in a day and don’t last long.)

One restaurant nearby offers a multi-grain bread to nibble on before dinner, so I asked them where they get it! The baker is more than a mile away, but I’ll have to go look for it.

I hate to say it, but here I am in Italy and I miss Trader Joe’s Mille Grane bread round! Much more flavor, nutrition and fiber. 

paneintegrale