“Excuse me. Where are the eggs?” On my first grocery shopping trip last June, I searched all over the refrigerator section of the store to find the eggs. Where were they?! I finally asked, and was directed to the shelf across from the cereal, below the scotch tape and coffee maker parts, next to the milk and cookies.
Hmm. Curious. And they’re packaged in twos, fours and sixes. Also curious. Who needs to learn what from whom in this regard?
I harkened back to my German roots today and cooked sausage in a kraut of red cabbage, beets and onions. I could post a photo, but it really is just a mass of purple-brown and doesn’t look like much. But it tasted good. It shouldn’t seem odd for me to cook such a thing. Half of me is German, and Germany is just up and over the hill. And I always cook a wild-and-crazy blend of who-knows-what kind of food origin. Just because I’m in Italy, you think I’m going to cook “Italian” all the time? (What is that, anyway?)
I have enough leftovers for two more meals, sigh. Need to have my appreciative brother close by to eat what I make.
Dinner the night before was followed by a long lunch the next day. Renata and Angelo, who live in a town within walking distance from Sanremo, were having some friends over on Sunday and I was invited to come along. So gracious! It’s a real treasure to have people open their doors and ask me to join them in their homes.
By a little before one o’clock, 8 people had clustered in the kitchen and around the dining table. Renata and Angelo had been cooking all day for us and piled the table high:
The sweets at the end of the meal included:
The food went around. The home-bottled chianti, extra-proof, flowed, as did the conversation. I understood most of it and jumped in when I had something to add. Though I had shot photos of Renata in the kitchen when I first arrived (feeling comfortable since we’d had dinner together the night before), I kept my camera tucked away for the first couple hours of the meal. These people didn’t know me and I didn’t want to be rude.
To lubricate the conversation, we had begun with the chianti, then moved on to champagne, grappa, rum and caffé. Time was passing and everyone was loosening up. I was treated to a display of classic Italian hand gestures, mannerisms and animated speech. So theatrical, you would have thought it had been scripted. Eventually, my camera came back out and I had fun snagging images as the hours ticked by.
The first part of the day had been blue-sky serene, the kind of day that brings the crowds to the Ligurian* seaside. As we passed the afternoon in lively discussion at the table, the sky had darkened, a wind picked up and waves were crashing at Renata and Angelo’s bulkhead. It was time to go home at close to 7:00.
*Liguria is the “Italian Riviera”, that northern region of Italy that includes Cinque Terre at its southeastern end and arcs from there northwesterly to France.
It’s a natural for friends to gather for food and conversation. This is worldwide, but I find that the Italians do it well and do it often.
Last weekend, in Sanremo, seven of us got together for dinner around the table: my landlady, Sandra, and her husband, Mauro, and their friend, Sandro (all of whom I had spent the weekend with two weeks earlier), plus two friends of theirs, Renata and Angelo, and another friend of Sandro’s, Livio. Everyone came with food in hand, and we had a lively time.
Below, left to right: Livio, Angelo, Mauro, Renata, Sandra, Sandro.
We started with some salame that Livio had made. (Yes. Those are chunks of fat.) I had made a loaf of mixed-grain Irish Soda Bread that we ate with it.
Sandro had cooked a fabulous mix of seafood, including mussels, shrimp, squid, pescatrice (that funny, deep-water fish with the “lure” hanging off the front of its head), and tiny 3 inch fillets of a local, sand-versus-mud fish. There was just a tad of hot pepper oil in this dish which added a touch of zing.
Renata had baked a fresh tart, beautiful with apple wedges emerging from the deep gold, dense, pound cake. This was pretty darned good with some of the array of gelato that Sandra and Mauro had picked up at the town’s best Gelateria. We ate and talked for close to three hours. (Yes. All in Italian.)
It’s an old time, secret family recipe and I took an oath not to reveal the ingredients, but I can show a couple of photos and give just a sketchy description.
Essentially, you cut up a rabbit, brown the chunks, simmer them in all the right liquids* with all the right seasonings* ’til the meat is tender*.
In the meantime, you take a big fistful of raw rabbit livers and pureé them with all the appropriate Italian ingredients* until you’ve got a smooth, pink slurry.
When the meat chunks are done just right*, and with the heat OFF, pour the rabbit liver slurry into the pan with the meat and stir it all around. The remaining heat in the pan and in the meat will “cook” the liver “enough”. The liver will actually coagulate rather than remain saucy.
Scoop up some of the thickened “sauce” and serve it over fresh tagliatelle pasta. It’s appropriate to eat the chunks of rabbit with your hands.
If you’re a fan of liver, this is fabulous! If not, well…
I’m grateful to chef Sandro, in Sanremo, for preparing this for me and letting me watch and take notes!
*If you’ve had enough experience in the kitchen, you can use your imagination to figure out what these things MIGHT be.
In reading my blog posts about what I’m eating here, I hope that you’ll realize how much broader the Italian culinary range is than the stereotypical American concept of “Italian Food”. There is SO much more than pizza, spaghetti, lasagna and ravioli. “Fettucine Alfredo” is a figment of the American imagination, and I’ve been told emphatically, “NEVER serve tomato sauce on spaghetti!” Italians have laughed at that idea.
You can travel a mere 100 kilometers and encounter regional, traditional foods you couldn’t have found at your last stop. There are foods unique to specific communities!
As an example, depending on the region, the starch base will be different. You may encounter polenta, pasta (of a shape specific to that region), rice (risotto), focaccia or other bread. Wines, meats, cheeses and seasonings all vary by region.
For instance, in my last visits to Sanremo, I was treated to:
The next time you want to go out for “Italian Food”, stretch beyond what you’re familiar with and either go to a restaurant that offers more authentically prepared foods, or pick something off the menu other than your tried-and-true favorite. Order something you can’t identify. I do it all the time!
Below is a map that I saw on the wall at Ristorante Re Enzo in Bologna. It mentions just a few of the noted food and wine specialties for each region.
We got together to celebrate Anaïs’s 24th birthday with traditional Milanese apperitivi at an “art bar” in town. Several of us women from Italian classes get together outside of class for chats, bike rides and travel. Anaïs is one of them.
She’s from Cannes, France, and 3 of her friends drove over, (bringing her kitty with them) to spend her birthday weekend. There were 10 of us together around the table, representing 5 countries: 4 French, 1 Portuguese, 1 Turkish, 2 Italian, 2 American, ranging in age from 24 to 40-ish… and me. The language changed depending on the speaker and the listener.
The Milanese apperitivi tradition allows you to go to just about any restaurant in town, buy one drink for 7 – 9 euro and eat as much as you want from the buffet of appetizers: pizza and foccacia squares, bruschetta, pasta, french fries (!), sliced meats, cheeses, risotto, mini-tarts. A better apperitivi offering will include such things as steamed mussels, veggie sticks, interesting salads, and other foods that are lower carb and more artfully prepared.
After our apperitivi, several of us went out for dinner at 11:30 p.m. to a Mexican restaurant, while the others went to the disco.
Saturday. Clear blue skies. About 50 degrees. Yes!
I headed down the canal on my bike, but decided on a change of scenery and followed the path I learned about from Angelo, my surprise tour guide in mid-January. The one lane road wound though small towns and rice fields. I found my way back to the same old “cascina” (large, formerly-fortified farm) that Angelo had shown me. The farm store had been closed that time before, and though they were closed again, a young woman came out of the house and welcomed me into the shop.
“What do you recommend?”, I asked her. She pointed out all of their own farm-produced foods and I selected fresh ricotta, fresh mozzarella, brown rice and salami. What could be better?!
I found a way to secure the little bundle on my bike and continued my ride. There was a woman on a pink scooter. A lawn hosting 4 peacocks. An old tile roof warming 3 black cats. 1 Woman on a bike. Swelling buds on the trees. And a stop to say “hello” to Padre Pio at his shrine in Zibido San Giacomo. What a day!
Gauging the position of the sun and the remaining daylight and warmth, I went as far as Noviglio then turned around to head north back to home.
The very first thing upon coming in the door was to open the ricotta and mozzarella and have a taste. OH…MY! That fresh ricotta was better than most ice cream. I simply got myself a spoon and started eating it. Wow. Delicious. And the salami was good, too.
I’m really liking this. Go for a bike ride and, not far out of the city, pick up home grown rice and fresh ricotta cheese. (This is so unlike my previous life experience.)
There’s no way I could have CONCEIVED of this weekend! Talk about “living on a movie set!” It was all beyond real, not to be believed. Pinch me. Am I dreaming this stuff up?
Friday morning at 11:10 I hopped on the train heading to Sanremo on the Italian Riviera.
Just outside of Milan, a blizzard started.
(I later heard Milan had several inches of snow. I missed it again.)
I arrived in Sanremo in pouring rain and was welcomed by Sandra, my landlady, and her husband, Mauro, whom I had met once last Fall and had talked to for only an hour. They had invited me to stay at their house for 3 days.
We cleaned a big pile of mussels, clams and branzino (fish) to cook up for dinner.
Their good friend, Sandro, joined us for dinner and the four of us ate and talked all evening. Sandra, Sandro, Mauro and Maureen.
Saturday morning was sunny and blue-skied, and Sandra, Mauro and I wandered through the crowded street markets of Sanremo and strolled along the shoreline path.
At 2:00, after lunch, the 4 of us took off driving west along the Ligurian Sea/Riviera coast and about 15 miles down the road crossed over into France.
We stopped in Menton, France, wandered around town and I kept forgetting to change languages and say “Merci” instead of “Grazie”.
About 15 miles further, we crossed over into Monaco.
We walked around town, saw the outside of the Casino Monte Carlo and the route for the Grand Prix Monte Carlo.
We toured an amazing show of 300 photographs of women, photos c. 1900-2008, all from a private collection.
This morning was again sunny, blue-skied and in the 60s. The four of us went for a 14 mile bike ride to the town of Santo Stefano al Mare, along the paved bike path at the water’s edge on the Riviera.
We returned home to a meal of apperitivi and rabbit.
I had spent three days, with three people, speaking and listening to Italian the whole time. (I think I rounded a corner a month or so ago.)
When I left this afternoon, I felt as if I had spent the weekend with friends I’ve known for years.
I hopped on the train which left promptly at 3:15. The ride was under sunny skies until the town of Ronco, in the mountains halfway between the coast and Milan, where there was deep snow and whiteout conditions. I arrived home at 7:30 Sunday evening to “bare and wet”.
I had traveled from Spring back in time to Winter in a matter of just a few hours.
What’s next on the list?
Years ago, a girlfriend of mine from Seattle traveled and stayed with Marcello and Raffaella Tori of BluOne Cooking Tours in Bologna. When my girlfriend, Carri, returned home to Seattle, she kept talking with great fondness about the couple, their big hearts, and the wonderful time spent with them.
For 15 years, Marcello and Raffaella have been offering small, guided culinary tours customized for food lovers, home cooks and pro chefs. Talk about a foodie’s delight! They are based in Bologna, but also lead their cooking adventures in Emilia Romagna, Umbria, Le Marche, Piemonte and other regions of Italy.
The other day when I decided to go to Bologna for the weekend, I got in touch with Marcello and Raffaella and asked if we could meet for even a few minutes. I didn’t want to disturb their weekend plans, but wanted to at least get a photo of them to send to Carri. We e-mailed back and forth a few times and chatted by phone to make arrangements.
I showed up at their home yesterday at 5:00, (a half hour later than we had planned). They opened their door, greeted me with big hellos and sat me down at their kitchen table for tea and freshly baked apple tart (which perfumed the house). We talked for a couple of hours, and laughed and shared ideas about a hundred different things. When it was time for me to dash back into town to catch my train home, we exchanged hugs, kisses and vows to share a long, delicious dinner next time.
I walked away with new friends in my life.
If you’re looking for a more interesting vacation in Italy, something memorable that takes you into the homes and hearts of people, I can’t think of a dearer couple to lead your way. Through food and fun, Marcello and Raffaella will create a never-to-be-forgotten time in your life.
Marcello & Raffaella Tori
Bluone – Cooking Tours in Italy
Via Parigi, 11 40121 Bologna – Italy
Phone +39 051 263546
Fax +39 051 267774
Web: www.bluone.com
E-Mail: info@bluone.com