by Maureen | Oct 17, 2009 | Cheese, Featured Articles, Food!, Journal, Photos, Shopping & Markets
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.
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.
by Maureen | Oct 12, 2009 | Cheese, Discoveries, Food!, Journal, Quips, Shopping & Markets
At almost 4 months’ time here (with a few side trips away) I have now gone through a one liter bottle of Extra Virgin Olive Oil and I just bought my second bottle. And by the way, even though I’ve eaten more meat (bresaola and prosciutto! Mmm) and cheese in the last 4 months than I have in decades, my cholesterol has dropped 30 points.
by Maureen | Oct 12, 2009 | Cheese, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Food!, Journal, Photo of the Day, Photos, Shopping & Markets
What a street market! I rose up out of the subway this evening at 6:00 and immediately stepped into a one block section of tented stalls hosting vendors from the many regions of Italy. Wow. Cheeses, meats, spices, pastries, dried fruit. As they say “over the top”!
One stall in particular had what I can only call “ambitious cheese”. Ambitious in the making and in the eating. Cheeses matured in juniper, walnut leaves, “must of nebbiolo grapes”. Leaves, twigs and what looked like good rich earth were still adhering. You want a quarter cheese round? The woman will cut through the cheese wheel and send some of that must home with you. (I can’t help but think that such things would never be found in the U.S. They would be accompanied by a waiver and binding agreement not to sue. I was again reminded that, as Americans, we are so removed from our food sources! …Don’t get me started on THAT soapbox.)
No. I didn’t try any. Mostly because the woman was busy with other customers, and her sample dishes were empty. And if I tried some, how could I walk away without buying? (And look at the prices! Some of those are about $23 per pound. But they must be sublime. I’ll have to try-and-buy next time.)
I did buy a wedge of cheese at another stall. I put my hands VERY close together and indicated that I wanted just a bit of the cheese with green olives and spicy red peppers. She came over from playing with her baby son, picked up the knife, cut a wedge and charged me 9 euro for that bit. (About $13.50 for that small wedge!)
The meats were stacked high. Spices and fruits in heaping mounds. The Sicilian cookies and pastries tempted me. The young Sicilian man packaged some various cookies for an elderly couple… maybe a dozen and a half, 2 inch cookies. “25”, he said. “What?” said the old man. “25.” It was 25 euro for that little bag of little cookies. The couple scoffed, left the bag and walked away. Cautious, I bought two small macaroons and one pistachio cookie: 2,50 euro.
by Maureen | Oct 11, 2009 | Canals, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Food!, Journal, Photo of the Day, Photos
Wow. An absolutely gorgeous day in Milano. Is this what Fall is like in Italy?! Sunny after some 2:00 a.m., drenching downpours recently. Fresh air, yet nicely warm. No humidity to be bothered with. It was a day that screamed for a bike ride along the canal.
Fish are always present in the Naviglio Pavese Canal, and I’ve been told they’re fussy about biting. I see them when glancing over as I ride along. Sometime in the last week or so they’ve lowered the water level down to just a couple of feet. Perhaps this has affected the fish, and perhaps it’s just their biology (spawning time?) but now they are clustered in clouds! AND I saw three of four that were brilliant gold or gold and black. Koi let loose? Whatever the reason, I had to stop and simply watch them.
I still don’t know what kind of fish they are. One day I stopped to chat with an elder fisherman and I should have had pen and paper with me to write down what he told me. “Trota” was one fish that was easy to remember. Trout! But I see a few others with different markings and body shapes, which keep up my curiosity.
by Maureen | Oct 11, 2009 | Canals, Featured Articles, Journal, Meals, Shopping & Markets
Nope. It’s not a Vespa-type scooter or a little car. It’s a little fish.
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.
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.)
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.
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!
FROM WIKIPEDIA:
The European seabass, Dicentrarchus 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 seabass, bronzini 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.
by Maureen | Sep 11, 2009 | Canals, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Journal, Photos
When I rode along the canal the other day, sure enough, the corn field had been cut bare. There were two men out gleaning, walking up and down each corn row looking for remnants. They had filled their wheel-barrow full.
They seemed puzzled about this woman in her hot pink bike top stopping in the corn field. I held up my camera and yelled to them that I was taking photos. They nodded and continued on. So did I.
by Maureen | Sep 10, 2009 | Canals, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Food!, Journal, Photos
I HAVE made “Muskrat Cacciatore” before, but that was long ago and far away. It was pretty darned good, (yes, it DID taste “just like chicken”) but I think this big guy might be a bit tough. He’s got to be TWICE the size of my head, the granddaddy of them all.
There’s a group of seven muskrats that I see every evening that I go for a ride along the canal. They have a favored spot with some brush for cover if they want it, but they seem fairly used to the bike and foot traffic going by, and nonchalantly continue to forage for roots at the tree bases in “their spot”. They don’t seem to be bothered by anyone (hunted or trapped). There are “no hunting” signs posted along the bikeway.
Imagine, 15 minutes by bike south of Milan – a major, international, cosmopolitan city – and there are “no hunting” signs and muskrats having the time of their lives!
*Acknowledgements to B. Kliban and his wonderfully bizarre humor.
His book title came immediately to mind.
by Maureen | Sep 5, 2009 | Cheese, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Food!, Journal, Shopping & Markets
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.
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?
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.
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!)
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.
by Maureen | Aug 10, 2009 | Featured Articles, Food!, Introspection, Journal, L'Isola d'Ischia, Meals
One would think that in a coastal town on an island in the Tyrrhenian Sea it’d be possible to find a good meal of seafood. I was on a mission to satisfy a craving for a plate of mixed, grilled, fresh fish. I found it, and it was perfection.
It was 2:00 p.m. and I was hungry. I strolled the walk along the string of dockside restaurants and read the menus. The dozen restaurants were empty of patrons, and yet of them all, only one had a waiter that came out to the walk to greet me: “O Purticciull”. I told him I was checking out all the menus before I made a decision, then walked on. I walked to the wharf end, and turned around and went back. (The personal touch wins points with me.)
I sat facing the marina, the small local boats, the luxury yachts and the cruise ships. I ordered my mixed, grilled fish and the waiter (I didn’t get his name) suggested a small salad, a “quartino” of white wine and some bottled water. Yes, exactly! I sat on that sunny day with my journal, at ease and breezy. When the waiter arrived with my meal I knew I had selected the right place. Heaven on a plate!
The swordfish, squid and scampi were fresh and grilled perfectly. Delicate, moist, tender. Every bite was savored. Absolutely what I had been looking for!
If you find yourself on the island of Ischia, reserve a meal for O Purticcull, and say thank you to the waiter for me.
http://www.porticciullo.it/index.htm
by Maureen | Jul 20, 2009 | Cheese, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Food!, Journal, Quips, Shopping & Markets
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!)
