Learning to Shut Up and Eat

Hello, my friends! I'm so sorry for the long silence, but I just got back from a visit to Italy where I spent three weeks just EATING. And drinking. Definitely drinking. Actually, I think I'm going through an Aperol spritz withdrawal...

But really. The trip was incredible. I've gained 6 happy pounds and a slew of new friends, who are all my next-door neighbors' family. So many of my happy memories are of sitting around their tables, eating course after course, speaking horribly bad Italian and learning that listening attentively for hours on end for any word that helps me understand what someone is saying is exhausting. But, man, is it fun!

Perhaps the biggest lesson that I learned on this trip, however, was simply to SHUT UP AND EAT. I mean it. So many times I (and I think you do this, too) tell myself that I will not like a particular food or dish, and so—ooooh, shocker—I DON'T!

At the start of this trip, I decided that I wasn't going to do that anymore. I wanted to step up my food attitude even more after my recent virginal experience with raw oysters,

so instead of negatively prepping my brain when faced with an un-experienced (yes, I made that word up) food this trip, I was going to leave my mind open upon first bite/slurp/lick/etc. and see how my taste buds responded.

And so I ate things that I never would have eaten before.

Like this salad at Garraffo in Palermo, Sicily:

And this steak at Uncle Franco's:

And this snack at Cousin Sebi's:

The first was flash-seared octopus that, if I had been blindfolded while eating it, I would have thought by texture and taste that I was eating a steak. Insanely delicious.

The second was horse. Yes. CAVALLO. So good I had it twice.

The last was a piping hot bowl of sheep-milk ricotta cheese with the whey, eaten by spoon with fresh bread chunks to soak up the whey. I thought I had died and gone to comfort-food heaven.

NEVER would I have eaten any of these dishes if I had followed my immediate reaction of I-won't-like-this. And, oh, what I would have missed out on!

I challenge you to try it: STOP TELLING YOURSELF YOU WON'T LIKE A FOOD.

Just shut up—and eat.

Lessons Italy and My Italian Friends Taught Me (Involving a Pizza and a Whole Roasted Scup)

It's been a reflective week this past week, these days following Chef Reiton's and my return from living in Italy for a month. I say "living" because that's what we did.

We didn't tour. We didn't visit. We lived.

And in those four weeks of first-time everything for me, I honestly believe I was transformed a little bit by the people and the places and lives I got to know while we were there. When you live, that's generally what happens, I guess. You learn from the experience. And I've heard that travel changes you. I guess I just wasn't expecting it to change how I think about so many things.

For one, I need to chill out. I'm serious. I am so much more chill than I was in a past life, but still, this trip taught me I can do way better. I was determined to not let anything stress me out from the moment we walked out the door (flying stand-by there and back, the driving of southern Italy's roads, only knowing a miniscule fraction of the language, etc., etc., etc.). I was pretty damn close to succeeding. Enough so, at least, to really learn that Life is incredibly more enjoyable when you allow fear and frustrations to roll off when they come sneaking into your being. Take a deep breath and a few seconds to look at how much worse something could be. Amounts of perspective and gratitude will shift dramatically in the right direction.

I also learned that I come from a country that really needs to get out more—and that includes out of our comfort zones. Traveling alone with my husband and staying in people's homes forced us to talk to Italians who spoke little to no English. Which meant we were cramming Italian lessons on Duolingo for a month and a half before we left. Which meant we spoke very, very little Italian. But you know what? It was enough Italian to fumble our way through ordering dinner, communicating with our hosts, and carrying on two-hour conversations with new friends who had the patience to let us speak like three-year-olds.

Frankly, I'd rather be embarrassed about my bad Italian grammar than the other incredibly rude behaviors I saw displayed by Americans who came to Italy expecting to get away with learning ZERO Italian beforehand. I'm sorry, but do the people who visit our country expect us to know their language when they get here? And don't give me the crap about the dominance of the English language. Show some respect for a different culture, learn to say and use "Hello!" frequently, and show some humility when you don't understand something. We saw three women hot off the cruise ship get irritated when our awesome friend, Salvatore, kept asking if they wanted 'pomodoro' pizza. They just kept saying louder and louder, "PIZZA." We finally had to intervene with their obnoxiousness and tell them that 'pomodoro' means 'tomato' because not all pizzas in Italy have tomato on them. We also pointed out as Salvatore calmly and coolly walked away down the street after they placed their order that Bar Max was a COFFEE SHOP and didn't sell pizza. But you know what? Salvatore was going to get them their pizza, anyway. Sure enough, a few minutes later Salvatore returned from his friend's restaurant carrying two pizzas for the women. And then he went and borrowed plates and real silverware from his other friend's restaurant. All for three Americans who didn't take the time to read his store signage or learn two words in Italian, namely, "please" and "thank you." Sigh.

Rude behaviors aside, every time we had one of our awkward-turned-awesome experiences of making new Italian friends, I spent the next day glowing and reminiscing of how much I loved these people. Of how delightful the world is when we spend time getting to know each other, laughing together and kissing each other good-bye.

And every time I had one of those experiences, I also had the thought that being on a tour bus would never, ever have given us—no, FORCED us—into those opportunities. Opportunities that were intimidating at first but opened up our world to friendships and memories that, I hope, will last a lifetime. Opportunities to visit towns, homes and places of beauty well off even the road-less-traveled. (Search for "Fiordo di Crapolla" on Google Map 3D; I hiked there from the top of the hill/mountain with two of our new friends, swam there, and then hiked back up, unlike the tourists who motored in on a boat—which is illegal—and only stayed 30 seconds).

We also had opportunities to eat at an insane number of bars and restaurants. Some that we hit were listed in the tourist guides; those tended to be very good. But the ones which we randomly stumbled across or were recommended by our new friends to have owners and servers that would take care of us—those were the restaurants that we went back to over and over again. I don't care that we weren't trying a new place every meal. The people and the food at these restaurants became home after the hours we spent with them. We didn't want to be anywhere else.

With this repeated visiting of the same restaurants came times when we just told our server to bring whatever dish they loved; we wanted to get out of our food comfort zone. What did this mean? It means we got a lot of fish and seafood. A LOT. I mean, we were in southern Italy. We also got the chef to come out from the kitchen one night and teach us how to eat a whole fish because we had absolutely no idea how to do it.

If you are a loyal reader, you've probably noticed that I don't cook a lot of seafood. And when I do, it's pretty basic. Shrimp. Clams, once in a blue moon. Swordfish even more rarely. That's about it. So this eating-seafood-on-a-daily-basis was really new for me. Like, REALLY. And regardless of the fact that I gained seven pounds in a month (some of it was muscle weight, I swear!), I felt better. I really did. And I really liked all the fishes that I ate. Who knew fresh sardines were out-of-this-world?? (Super bummed they aren't native to the New England waters. Because I would be making them weekly. For real.)

And now we are home. Italy and our new friends are in my dreams every night. I am comforted only by the fact that at least the food we can (mostly) replicate here. We do live with the Atlantic lapping the shore at the end of the block. The unfortunate thing: all this seafood available to me that I learned to love in Italy? I don't know how to prepare it or cook it. Except for sardines from our cooking class with the Duchess. But, we can't...get...

Crap.

So, two days after we get home, we get an email offering cooking classes with Boston Public Market and Red's Best, a retailer for a network of local fisherman. The class promised to teach how to prepare not just one but THREE different seafood dishes: steamed razor clams, roasted whole scup, and bouillabaisse. DUDE.

Well, I signed us up. We went. We loved it. And we each came home with possibly one of the easiest and most delicious, healthy, not-fishy-at-ALL dinners I've ever made, even if it does sport tiny, razor-sharp teeth:

(How did we prepare it? Roasted it on a baking sheet at 350° F for about half an hour after we stuffed it with some lemon slices and fresh herbs of choice, sprinkled it heavily with salt, and rubbed it with olive oil. That's it.)

NEVER would I have made (and subsequently loved) this dish without Italy. Never.

I'm afraid I might have actually been annoying during the class because I kept remarking of how things reminded me of Italy. Like how the fennel in the bouillabaisse was so Italian. And how our friend, Andrea, had showed us how to clean and trim tuna that his fisherman friend had landed one afternoon. And how we learned to stuff and roll fresh sardines for a gorgeous dish in Palermo and now we are wanting to know what other fish to replace them with...

I'm currently wondering how long this obsession will last. I tend to do that with new things; I get obsessed. A year from now, will I still be telling everyone about the delectable spaghetti con vongole Patrizia's husband made for us in Atrani or of that crazy walk we took to Ravello or of that one time when we were in Trapani and I asked those two men if I could take their picture...?

But honestly, I don't want the obsession to end. I want it to go on and on and continue teaching me the way the past month taught me. As long as I am able, I want to continue living the way that Italy taught me to live: with a full heart, a full belly, a full glass of wine and a full appreciation for the fact that Life hands all of us all kinds of customers. Help each other out in the times of need, share in the goodness when it lands on your plate, and for heaven's sake, EAT.

How to Hand Your Heart over the Fence (or, Love in Arancini)

I'm working in my garden with Chef Reiton the other morning, pruning the insanity that is my tomato patch (in a good way), when I hear my name said in the most perfect Sicilian accent you could possibly imagine. I look up to find Paola, my next-door neighbor, standing on her upstairs balcony, waving.

"I have something for you," she says. "Wait five minutes. I come down."

If you've read my blog long enough (soon entering its 9th year!), you will remember when I moved to Boston two years ago and wrote about Paola and her proffered peaches in my post, Brandied Peaches and Cream at Midnight (which I just reread and realized that not only did I spell Paola's name incorrectly, I also haven't made that dessert again and I want to! A cool, creamy, low-sugar dessert that uses summer fruit and liquor! YUM).

Well, since that post, we have had Paola over many times. We have gotten to know her very well, and let me tell you: everything my gut told me about her back when we first met was true. I'll finish my story, and you will understand.

Back to me in my garden: I wait five minutes. Soon I hear the downstairs screen door open, and here comes Paola, carefully navigating the porch stairs with a foil-covered plate in hand. We both walk toward the low cedar fence that divides our yards. I don't know what's under that foil, but already I'm smiling.

"This is for you," she says as she hands the plate over the fence, she smiling, too.

I accept the plate with a "Thank you!" and hold it to my chest.

"Well, don't you want to see what it is?" she says. "Open it!"

I laugh because I don't know how to explain my love of suspense as being the reason why I hadn't unwrapped the plate—but then I cautiously lift the foil.

Set squarely in the center of the plate are three golden brown, piping hot, perfect arancini.

For readers like me, who—oh, about two years ago—had no idea what arancini was, I will educate you: in its basic form, arancini are rice balls that have been stuffed with some type of filling and then coated in breadcrumbs and fried.  Like practically every food, there are different interpretations of what its filling "should" be, but mine—the ones sitting on the plate in my hand—were made by a Sicilian home cook who uses her experience and what she has on hand to guide her. "Meat, egg, scamorza cheese. There are usually peas, but I didn't have any," she says, "so I used some basil instead." With her years of practice in a Sicilian kitchen, they were shaped into cones that would make any art teacher proud.

Paola goes on to tell me that she had made them and fresh "gravy" (a simple tomato sauce that Italians use with pasta and meats) for her grandson to take to work for lunch, and she decided that she wanted me to have them for lunch, too.

And so we do.

As Chef Reiton and I sit and eat, moaning over the delicious simplicity of this food we were experiencing for the first time, I almost yell out, "Paola, I love you!"

And as I sit and sip my wine and savor the lethargic effects of all great Italian cooking, I realize why I wanted to yell such words.

It was because those words were what she was telling me when she handed the plate of arancini over the fence.

This aracino, this little creation I had just consumed, had been made with thoughts of me. And it wasn't just any old food that had been shared: it was a food that was a part of Paola. A part of her story. A part of her repertoire of ways she expresses her love for others.

When that plate came over the fence, it wasn't just arancini on the plate. It was also Paola's heart.

Grain-Free Italian Wedding Soup: A Simple Winter Meal

I find it funny that I recently posted about how much I love to grocery shop, and the post I'm writing today came about because we were so short on food the other night! It was cold, windy, dark (I am NOT used to this dark-at-4:30 crap...), and we had NO food in the house. Like, I-feel-like-a-TOTAL-slacker kind of no-food-in-the-house. Ugh.

But desperation is the mother of creativity, right?

Right.

Wide open the pantry, fridge and freezer doors were flung, followed by some shuffling and grunting, and out came:

• 3 hot Italian sausages
• 1 28-oz. can of whole, peeled tomatoes
• 1/2 a zucchini
• 6 baby bella mushrooms
• 4 large carrots
• 1/2 a yellow onion
• 1 large potato
• 6 cups of homemade beef stock (check out how to make your own here!)

Right then Chef Reiton walked into the kitchen. "Italian wedding soup?" he asked. 

BINGO.

You will not believe the tastiness created by throwing these ingredients together. Not to mention, it was super easy and quick. I had it done from pulling out the ingredients to sitting down to dinner in an hour, tops. 

Don't forget: you are allowed to play. Change up the veggies to use what you have. Add pasta, if you insist (you will want to thin out the stock with some additional water, if you do). And if you want to jazz it up to another level, grate some fresh Parmesan into your bowl as a topper. 

Oh, dear. Wedding or no, get ready for your diners to ask for a second bowlful!

Click the recipe card below to download or print! And remember, when you've been a total slacker, don't lose faith! Just get creative!

Fall-ing for Scallopini: A Recipe for Chicken with Apple, Fennel & Thyme

I just got back from a visit to PA, right in time for the final "hurrah" of fall splendor.  The leaves on the drive down were just glorious.  My parents were having an Indian summer. The sun was shining almost every day.  The air smelled of dirt and decaying leaves.   It was exactly what I have always remembered autumn to be.

If only the visit were under better circumstances.  I drove down to be with my aunt Annie who had suddenly gotten quite ill.  She is home now, thank God; we are all very grateful.  But for a few days, things were quite scary.

My other aunt, Judy, came over for dinner one of those nights.  We were planning on going to the hospital right after we ate, so I wanted to make something quick and easy.  I decided on scallopini for ease, and in keeping with the beautiful fall weather, I chose to top it with apple, fennel, and thyme.

Aunt Judy loved it, so I decided to post the recipe for her.  This is another meal that you can really do whatever you want. Scallopini is any type of meat (although usually chicken or veal), thinly cut, and then sautéed.  You can top it off with whatever you choose, or just make a pan sauce like I taught you to make a few posts ago.  Or do both! It's all up to you.

Give it a try and let me know what you think.  Or create a different topper and share. We all would love to get some new ideas!

Serves 4

Special tools needed: large skillet, medium skillet, pie plate or cake pan, serving platter, foil

Ingredients: 

• 4 small boneless, skinless chicken breasts, each one sliced crosswise into two 1/4-in. thick pieces (if large, cut them into 3 slices); pound to tenderize between two sheets of plastic wrap, if you have the time
• 1 large apple-y apple that holds its shape when cooked (I used a Fuji), diced into 1/4-in. cubes
• several sprigs worth of fresh thyme leaves
• 1 small fennel/anise bulb, the hard root end cut off and tossed, the white part sliced very thinly (Tip: save the green part to use when you make stock)
• 1/2 cup flour in a pie plate or cake pan (use almond flour to make it gluten-free)
• kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 2 Tblsp-ish olive oil
• 2 Tblsp. butter
• 1 Tblsp. butter
• 1/2 cup water or dry white wine

Directions:

1.  Salt and pepper both sides of each piece of chicken.  Turn the oven on to 200° for warming purposes.

2.  In the large skillet, heat the olive oil until it is hot and shimmery.  While it is heating, dump the flour into a pie plate or cake pan and dredge (that just means lightly coat by dragging) the first two chicken pieces (called cutlets) in the flour, making sure that both sides are coated.  Gently shake off any excess flour, then lay the chicken cutlets in the skillet and brown both sides of the meat, about 2 minutes per side.  I always watch for when the chicken becomes opaque halfway up the side; that's when I flip it.

3.  Move the two cooked cutlets to a plate and cover the plate with foil to hold the moisture in; put the plate in the oven to keep warm.  Repeat the process with the rest of the chicken, adding oil to the pan if you need to.

4.  When you are halfway done with the chicken cutlets (or you can do this step after the chicken is done), melt the 2 tablespoons of butter in the medium skillet over medium heat.  Add the apples and fennel, sprinkle on a little salt and pepper, and sauté until both are starting to soften, about 5 minutes.  Add the thyme leaves and continue sautéing until the apples and fennel are golden, about another 5 minutes.

5.  Reheat the large skillet with all the browned bits in the bottom, then add about 1/2 cup of water or dry white wine to the skillet.  Simmer and scrape up all the yummy brown crud on the bottom of the pan, stirring to allow those bits to melt into a sauce.  When the water/wine has evaporated until only half is left, turn the stove off and stir in the tablespoon of butter until it has completely melted and slightly thickened the sauce.

6.  Arrange the chicken cutlets on a platter, pile the apples and fennel on top, then drizzle everything with the pan sauce. Serve!

Feel free to print the recipe by clicking on the image below.  (That is going to be project #2, once I'm done setting up the recipe index: creating printable recipes! If you find something you want a recipe for, let me know, and I'll create one for you.)

Happy November!

Gluten-Free, Grain-Free Zucchini Lasagna Speaks: "Don't Judge Me. Just Eat Me."

No matter how hard I try, when it comes to capturing the deliciousness of lasagna on film...it's nearly impossible.  Some of it may be my photography skills, but I think the true reason it can't be done is this: photographed melted cheese is just GROSS.  Your lasagna can be straight-out-of-the-oven, lava-hot—and it looks God awful:

Let it rest for just a few minutes to set, and it looks like the rubber from an old pair of tennis shoes:

There just seems to be no way to visually appreciate the culinary wonder that is lasagna.  

You just have to eat it.

I did some experimenting the other night with making a pasta-free lasagna.  I think it was one of the best lasagnas I have ever made.  Instead of using lasagna noodles, Chef Reiton sliced zucchinis lengthwise on the mandoline, the blade set at the thinnest setting.  Out came "noodles" that we layered raw in the pan.  (He only sliced about halfway through each zucchini to avoid any accidents with the mandoline blade.  We saved the leftover halves to use for another "pasta" meal a few days later).

I made the mistake of forgetting to salt the zucchini noodles before using them, so the lasagna came out a bit wet.  Salting zucchini after you cut or slice it helps to draw out their water (sprinkle zucchini with some kosher salt and let them sit for a good 20 minutes, then rinse and pat dry).  Other than that goof, we were very happy with the flavors.  Robust, cheesy, and a bit spicy.

Here are the items that I layered into our small lasagna pan for 2-4 people:

• 3 small-to-medium sized zucchinis, about 1 1/2 to 2-in. in diameter, ends trimmed, then sliced LENGTHWISE on a mandoline set at the thinnest setting (salt the slices while you are sautéing up your 'shrooms and onions, then rinse and pat them dry)
• 1/2 lb. chopped and sauteed baby bella mushrooms
• 1 small onion, very thinly sliced on the mandoline into rings, then lightly caramelized on medium-low heat
• 2 links of hot Italian sausage, crumbled and browned
• whole milk ricotta cheese (forget lowfat, people! Full fat is better for you and tastes 100% better!)
• provolone slices (not smoked)
• mozzarella slices (not fresh)
• homemade tomato sauce (recipe below)
• Parmesan to grate on top

Lasagna is an as-you-like-it meal, so change the ingredients, layering tactics, and quantities to suit your own tastes.  

As for the sauce, it is quick and easy.  I figured the Italians keep things simple, so I did, too.  You ready?

Dump in the bowl of a food processor:

• a 28-oz. can of peeled whole tomatoes (yes, Marzanos if you can do them), juice included
• 2 peeled garlic cloves, cut into quarters
• 1 tsp. fennel seeds
• 1 tsp. oregano
• 1 tsp. kosher salt
• 1 heavy drizzle extra virgin olive oil
• 1 heavy drizzle balsamic vinegar
• the leaves of one large sprig of basil

Puree until everything looks smooth.  You can use the sauce straight from the bowl or simmer it to allow it to thicken and the flavors marry, if you have the time.

That's it.  Our lasagna got baked at 350° for a good half hour.  Just make sure the whole thing is bubbly, not just the edges.  

And if it looks U.G.L.Y. when you plate it? Don't judge.  Just eat.

San Marzano Meatballs: A Recipe of Comfort

Despite our move-in day last Friday being pretty dang hot, the past few days have been fallish-ly cool.  Cool = cozy, in my brain (I admit it: I’m already getting the holiday itch), and this translates in the kitchen to cooking up some serious comfort food.  I’m dreaming of gloriously herbed and roasted meats and veggies, slowly simmered stews and soups, the occasional heaven of warm, yeasty sourdough bread or the buttery crust of pot pie.  Anything that compliments my desire to revel in the warmth and slowness of life is bound to find its way onto my dining room table.

That being said, it is only natural that Chef Reiton’s and my first home-cooked meal in our new little house fell into the comfort category. I found Marzano tomatoes for a great price at our little local grocery, so I used them to make a meal I am calling Marzano Meatballs (and, yes, everything about this town is little).

While this meal isn’t necessarily fast in cooking time, it is very quick to get on the stove and is pretty hands-off and easy.  If you can smash, stir, and sprinkle, you’re good.  I've included the recipe below.  If you can’t find Marzano tomatoes in the canned tomato section of your grocery store (or you can but they are so fricking expensive in your area that you just can't do it), you can use any other canned whole peeled tomato—not the end of the world.  And BTW, now that we have an organized house and are back to cooking again, we are back to eating our mostly grain-free diet, so we ate these "plain."  They could be served over zucchini noodles or a pasta of your choice.

These quantities (as well as small green salads) nicely served 2 people.

Equipment needed: medium bowl, 10-in. skillet or larger (cast iron is best), slotted spatula, paper-towel lined plate, vegetable peeler

Nice, if you have it: 1 1/2-in. ice cream scoop (#40)

Ingredients:

• 1/4 lb.-ish ground beef
• 1/4 lb.-ish ground pork or lamb
• 1/2 tsp. kosher salt
• 1/2 tsp. fennel seeds
• 1/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
• 1 egg
• 1 large garlic clove, crushed or finely minced

• big glug of extra virgin olive oil
• 1 28-oz. can of whole Marzano peeled tomatoes
• half a medium yellow or sweet onion (the root end is best, to keep the pieces all together), cut into two quarters (don't cut off the roots)
• 2 cloves of garlic, smashed and broken open with the heel of your palm
• a big drizzle of extra virgin olive oil
• a big drizzle of balsamic vinegar

• a big sprig of fresh basil, medium and large leaves removed, stacked, then slivered
• a hunk of Parmesan cheese
• baby/torn basil leaves from the above sprig for garnish/extra flavor

Here’s what you do:

Place the meats, salt, fennel, pepper, egg, and crushed garlic into the medium bowl.  Using your hands (or a wooden spoon if you don’t like to get dirty), gently mix and knead the ingredients together until well blended.

Wash your hands.

Heat up the skillet over medium heat.  Pour in a big glug of olive oil, then let it get hot and shimmery but not smoky (about 30 seconds).  

Using the ice cream scoop or your hands, make about 10 small 1 1/2-in. meatballs, dropping them into the pan one at a time as you make them.  Roll the balls around every couple minutes and brown as many of the sides as you can.  (The meatballs do not need to cook the whole way through.  They will be simmering in tomatoes shortly and will finish cooking then.) 

When a meatball is browned all over, take it out of the skillet and place it on the paper-towel lined plate to drain.  When all the meatballs are finished, pour the hot fat from the skillet into an old glass jar or tin can, but don’t wipe out or clean the skillet.  You want to use those residual brown bits and a smidge of meaty fat to help flavor the sauce.

Put the skillet back on the stove over medium heat, then add your can of tomatoes, juice and all.  Taking the edge of your spatula, gently cut each of the tomatoes in half (watch for shooting tomato guts!), then cut each of the halves in half.

Now take the meatballs and nestle them into the tomatoes.  Sprinkle everything with a pinch or two of kosher salt.  Drizzle the olive oil and balsamic vinegar into the tomatoes.  Next toss in the two quarters of onion and two smashed garlic cloves.  Gently give everything a good mix, using the edge of your spatula to scrape up the browned bits from the bottom of the pan and mixing them into the sauce.  When everything is well coated with tomato juices, turn the heat down to medium-low, go pour yourself a glass of wine, and wait.  

Time is of the essence here.  The longer this simmers, the better it tastes/the more the tomatoes break down/the thicker the sauce will be/etc., etc., etc.—so really enjoy that wine, set the table, and make a nice salad.  Stir everything occasionally to keep the parts all blended.  If you are in a rush, 20 minutes of simmering will suffice.  

When you are about ready to serve, sprinkle in the basil slivers and give the saucy balls one final good mix.  Scoop everything into one large bowl or individual serving bowls.  Take your hunk of Parm and your vegetable peeler and gently peel/shave Parmesan cheese into a mound on top of the whole mess.  Sprinkle everything with the baby basil leaves, and you're done.

Serve your masterpiece immediately and get ready to make some yummy noises!

A Lazy Creation: Messy Caprese Salad Recipe

To accompany our Italian-themed dinner the other evening (I totally cheated--it was a pre-seasoned Italian pork loin.  Sorry.), I decided to make a Caprese salad to use some of our beautiful Roma tomatoes and sweet basil from the garden.  But--due to my laziness--I just wanted to throw it all together and not take the time to get all pretty with the typical layering.  So that's what I did, darn it! And what resulted tasted better than almost any Caprese salad I have ever tasted! It doesn't look as pretty (especially with a kind-of crappy photo), but you can count on those flavors melding together for a true Italian eating experience!

I'm going to pull a David Rocco on you and tell you to quanto basta everything: use how much you want to—no exact measurements needed! I'll tell you below what I did, but definitely feel free to use more or less of an ingredient to suit your own tastes.

The amounts below fed just two of us, so gauge your quantities from there, too.

What you'll need:

• good, ripe Roma tomatoes, halved lengthwise and then sliced into chunks: I used 3
• fresh mozzarella cheese, torn into bite-sized pieces: I used 3 balls, still dripping brine, from BelGioioso's Bocconcini tub, usually found in the "nice cheese" section near the deli
• fresh basil leaves, slivered or torn
• fresh lemon, juiced: I used half a lemon
• extra virgin olive oil: I used about 3 Tblsp.
• kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

In a medium bowl, whisk together the lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and pepper until it looks like everything has completely incorporated.  Add the rest of the ingredients to the bowl and toss gently but well, making sure everything is coated.  Let the salad rest in the fridge while you finish dinner.  Toss once more before serving.

Delizioso!

The Norwegian Codfather—Chambersburg, PA

Okay, I feel like a jerk as I write this post...

You see, I thought I had written this post over a year ago because I'd been dreaming about this little shop for a year.  AND I told some very important people that I'd written it!  They probably think I am a total liar... Oh, geez.

So, my aim is to make it up to them.  (Tom and Pauline, this one's for you.)

Tom and Pauline, for those of you who have not had the delight of meeting them, own a small European grocery in my old hometown of Chambersburg, PA.  No offense meant to my heritage, but when I heard that they existed, I really did not know what to expect.  A European grocery? In Chambersburg?

But Luke, the fabulous chef from Cafe d'Italia just around the corner from them, recommended them to me for some fantastic prosciutto he had used on a white pizza.  The name of their establishment? The Norwegian Codfather.  I had to check them out...

OH, dear Lord, was I glad I did! The treatment! The finds! A deli case stocked with sausages, meats, and cheeses you can't find anywhere else: a sharp provolone that will take your lasagna from good to glorious.  Smoked bacon that I put on ice and drove for 13 hours so I could have some at home for breakfast. Caramelized goat cheese that you can shave into divine little curls and serve for dessert with fruit.  And then there's the licorice.  Licorice like you've never had before.  REAL licorice.  There's even one that is salted.  (My dad finds excuses to go into town just for that!)  And all of this Tom and Pauline offer you to try before you buy. You will even find yourself tasting items that you would never have asked (or thought you wanted) to try--because Tom and Pauline know: the foods they sell are superb, and all it takes is one taste...

On top of all this foodie wonder, The Norwegian Codfather sells random European baking and cooking ingredients that I've read about and wanted to try but have never been able to find without ordering it online.  Like pearled sugar for sprinkling on a braided lemon bread.  And rosewater for cocktails.  Juniper berries for a braised meat dish.

It really, truly is a shop you must explore, at least once.  And here's the ultimate reason why: after last year's visit, I absolutely HAD to go back this past Christmas break, and--can you believe it? They remembered me.

THAT, my dear foodie friend, is what Life is about.  Amazing food made even more amazing by the relationships we build with the people we share it with.  Even if it's just for an hour once a year.

**UPDATE as of Jan. 2016**

I am so sorry to see that the Norwegian Codfather has closed.  I made the discovery a little over a week ago when I tried to visit while back in PA.  Tom and Pauline, you will be greatly missed.  I hope that your closed doors have opened up a new adventure for you elsewhere! Best wishes to you both!

The Primal Eggplant: Tweaking Eggplant Rollatini

If you are a vegetable lover like me, you probably are pretty open to trying mostly any vegetable out there.

If you continue to be like me in such matters, you are still--no matter your openness--wary of the eggplant.

In defense of myself, I am (mostly) a believer in the food adage: "In-order-to-know-if-you-really-like-something-you-have-to-try-it-10-times." So, eggplant and I keep trying.  Yes, I discovered the amazing coal-roasted eggplant this summer, which I truly did love.  But, if you've been watching the news as of late, it's not necessarily grilling season up here in Wisconsin.

In perusing my David Rocco cookbook, Made in Italy, the other day, I came across this winner of a recipe (approved by two teenage boys--and I didn't even lie about what it was!): Involtini di Melanzane e Provola.  I adapted it for my primal husband, which is the version I've posted below, but you can use flour instead of the almond meal if you wish.  I do encourage you to give it a try the primal way, though.  I think you'll be happy you did.  The slightly nutty flavor was one of the things the boys liked about it.

Ingredients:
1 medium eggplant
Kosher salt and fresh cracked pepper
1 cup almond meal (I used Trader Joe's) in a pie plate
1 egg, beaten in a pie plate
Extra virgin olive oil for frying (amount will depend on the size of your skillet; you want it a good 1/4 inch deep)
12 slices of smoked provolone

As thinly as you can, slice the eggplant lengthwise.  I got about 12 slices, and that includes discarding some that were just wonky (I'm not very good at slicing thinly and evenly).  Salt the slices heavily and let rest for half an hour to draw out the water.  Pat dry.

Get a plate and a pile of paper towels ready.  Heat the oil in a skillet until it is almost smoking.

Dip a slice of eggplant in the almond meal, coating both sides, then dip it in the egg, coating both sides.  Let the excess egg drip off, then lay the eggplant in the hot oil and fry for about a minute until golden brown.  Flip and get the other side golden.  Remove to a paper towel to absorb excess oil.  Repeat for the rest of the eggplant slices.

When you are done frying, lay a slice of smoked provolone on each slice of eggplant and roll up, lining the rolls up on a warm platter.  Season with fresh cracked pepper.  If you wish, spoon some of Beppe's tomato sauce over the top.

Delizioso! I promise!

Random Food and Cocktail Photos

My darling husband is sitting here, being a saint and doing bills and reconciling, and I'm sitting here, drinking a French red and feeling unproductive.  My remedy? Writing you all.  It's been awhile, regrettably, thanks to my job.  Maybe one day this will be my full time job...

Anyway, due to my absence and my nuts-o schedule, I've decided to just post pics of random food/meals we've had of late, and then maybe in a few days I'll be able to get on again and bang out a recipe.  So, for now, for your enjoyment:

my first Hendricks martini:

ribs, green beans, and sweet potato fries for Michael:

gluten-free chicken tenders with buffalo sauce:

homemade "Brickhouse Cheesy Sticks" (This one's for you, Valbon.)   To get the real deal, check out Brickhouse Pizza Pub in Fort Atkinson, WI.  YUM.

a gorgeous beet I roasted for dinner one night.  Look at that color!

and, lastly—THE HOPS ARE GROWING!!! (Ignore the fact that I have not weeded.)

I'll catch up more later.  PROMISE.

A Foodie Honeymoon: Monday Dinner at Domenica

It's strange how anticipation of an event can be a complete killer to an experience because it doesn't live up to what you want it to be.

OR it can be a total laugh because the experience completely blows away even your wildest hopes.

Such was the start of our John Besh honeymoon.  Domenica, his Italian restaurant, was our first stop.  After unloading at the hotel and taking a brief siesta, we walked to this gorgeous restaurant for happy hour (a restaurant who's decor was as fantastically un-Italian as you could get):

Happy hour at Domenica means 1/2 price pizzas, beer, wine by the glass, and well cocktails.  Considering we were going to get pizza and beer anyway, it was quite a deal for such a great place.  But there is something about getting restaurant food for a deal that always makes me feel a little--oh, I don't know--like I'm being cheap.  Which I am.  But I always have a twinge-y feeling that the waitstaff will be disappointed in my cheapness and therefore treat me less.

Well.  Let me introduce you to Vanessa and Corey.  If you have the same qualms as I do, they will make you feel right at home and laugh your qualms to scorn.

The first item set on the table was a bottle of water.  Vanessa introduced herself as Corey, who she was training, and the evening got off to the perfect start with a good laugh.  We introduced ourselves as well--something that I like to do--then Vanessa then took our drink order: I ordered a local IPA, and Chef Reiton ordered a blonde (beer, that is.  Domenica isn't that kind of place...). 

When Vanessa and Corey returned with our beers and a chunk of hot Italian bread with a bottle of pepper-infused olive oil, we chit chatted about what brought us to New Orleans.  Of course our honeymoon came up, and they both responded with congratulatory smiles and remarks.  We told them that we were honeymooning to eat at all of Besh's restaurants, and they asked if we'd eaten at August, yet.  We told them that Domenica was our first and that August would be our last.  And according to them, apparently that was the best way to do it.

In between bites of gorgeously chewy, bubbly bread, we perused the menu; everything sounded so good. Chef Reiton decided that he would go with the Calabrese: spicy salami, tomato, mozzarella, capers, and olives.  I was a little shocked--he hates olives.  But this was what we came to Besh and New Orleans to do: eat foods put in front of us whether we were scared of them or not.  I chose to go with the  Bolzano, a mix of pulled pork shoulder, fennel, bacon, and sweet onion.  

Corey and Vanessa affirmed our food choices as we ordered, then dashed off to the kitchen.  As we waited for our food we snapped some pictures

and talked excitedly of being together, being married, being foodies.

And then Vanessa and Corey showed up.

Not with the pizza but with flutes of sparkling wine.

"Congratulations!" they both said and set the glasses before us.  "It's your honeymoon! We had to do something." 

What a wonderfully surprising treat! We thanked them profusely, then toasted each other, and took another picture.

Soon our pizzas came, way larger than I expected and absolutely gorgeous.  The Calabrese was fantastic: salty from the olives and capers, with a good pucker from their pickling.  The spiciness of the salami bit back, too, but the whole seemingly chaotic mess was sweetened by the tomatoes and  smoothed out in the mellowness of the mozzarella.  It was perfect.  A full tongue experience.

My Bolzano was also very, very good.  It was a much more subtle dish.  The pulled pork was not spicy, and the bacon was not overly salty or smoky.  The meats' flavors were kept simple, given depth and sweetness by the roasted fennel and the sweet onion.  The combination was--comforting.  And it was real food.  I found a bone chip in a chunk of pork, for crying out loud.  Why??? Because THEY ACTUALLY SMOKE AND ROAST THEIR OWN MEAT.  Ohhhhh, foodie heaven.

I giggled as we snapped away at our food, glancing around to see if anyone was frowning upon our unclassy behavior.  "I don't care," I muttered as Chef Reiton framed the shot.  "We came here to eat, and there is no way I'm blogging without pictures."

When we couldn't eat anymore, Corey and Vanessa insisted that we have dessert.  We both paused, and they suggested we share--then left us with the dessert menu and the words "Banana Zuppa Inglese" ringing in our ears.  We read the description: "moist banana cake, butterscotch mousse, and peanut brittle."  One glance across the table said the same thing: we're on our HONEYMOON.  And when Corey came back, we simply said, "Let's do it."

A few minutes later, we were presented with this (you can see Chef Reiton couldn't wait):

Our first notice was of the vessel: a canning jar! So rustic. So simple. So screaming "HOMEMADE!!!"  

And then I noticed something even more unusual: I liked the brittle, and I HATE peanuts.

I was very quickly starting to understand this about a first class restaurant (which I have frequented very, VERY rarely in my 37 years): here, delight is in everything, because everything everything is made from scratch from quality ingredients.  No half assing.  No skimping.  No cheating.  Make it the real way and make it good, and you will have customers like Chef Reiton and I making obscene noises at your dinner table.

A final discovery with our dessert was this: it is truly a delightful experience to dive downward with your spoon and resurface with an array of ingredients that look to be completely distinguishable but meld in your mouth to become one utterly unified flavor unlike anything you had tasted before.  Creative flavor genius at work. 

Shortly after demolishing our B.Z.I., Corey and Vanessa came to check on us and give us the bill--and a plate of fudge cookies.  They congratulated us again--and we thanked them again: two of the most delightful people who had ever waited on us.

As Chef Reiton signed the check and we pushed the last plate away, we turned to each other, brushed the crumbs off our fronts, and laughed.  We were stuffed.  We were happy.  We had leftover pizza. 

We had started the journey.

Calabrian Spaghetti and Meatballs

Tonight was going to be taco night, but in the middle of the grocery store, Michael declared his dislike for tacos, and so we compromised on spaghetti.

In investigating my My Calabria cookbook, I found a recipe for a basic tomato sauce and a recipe for pork meatballs, both of them being rather quick.  As usual, I didn't have everything that the recipes required, so I did some adapting: rosemary in place of parsley and beef in place of pork, both substitutions in the meatballs.

First I made the sauce.  It is quite like Marcella's tomato sauce, but Rosetta asks for fresh torn basil (which I had just enough of) and a halved hot pepper.  It took a whole 10 minutes to get in the pan and simmered down.

Making the meatballs was a matter of dumping everything in a bowl and mixing it with my hand: ground round, freshly grated Parmesan (instead of pecorino), salt, fresh cracked pepper, chopped fresh rosemary, an egg, and fine breadcrumbs (homemade would be so much better, but I didn't have any).  Here they are, rolled and ready to go in the skillet.  I actually froze most of them for future dinners, since Michael and I would never eat this many (and I cut the recipe by a third).

After browning the meatballs, I poured the tomato sauce back into the skillet, without draining the olive oil or fat the balls browned in, and simmered it all for about 10 minutes.  I then tossed it all in a pasta bowl, and this is what we got:

My thoughts? I am truly falling in love with Italy.  And I really want to hang out with Rosetta.  I didn't serve this meal in the Italian style: serving the meatballs separately from the pasta in two different courses.  I was completely American and tossed it all together.  But all the same, it was absolutely fantastic.

My mental notes? I actually really loved the rosemary in the meatballs.  I was a little worried about it competing with the basil, but it worked really well.  A flaw, though, was I should have drained the fat from the meatballs.  I liked the beefy hint that the sauce got from the fat, but there was a little too much of an oily feeling on the tongue.  I think Rosetta said to drain them, but I forgot.  Oops.  Oh, well.  Next time.  Because there definitely will be a next time.  Mmmmmmm...

Trattoria La Siciliana–Berkeley, CA—A Restaurant Recommendation

In a recent trip to California, I visited THE best Italian restaurant I have ever been to.  I was in town visiting my brother with my two sisters. Our first night together we visited a little place called Trattoria La Siciliana on College Avenue in Berkeley.  It is a teensy tiny place that has been family-run for 15 years. 

Our reservations were a little bit late, but considering I got to sit on a bench and talk to the adorable owner while I watched her guys cook (and learn a new pasta-cooking tip in the meanwhile) made it completely worth it.

After being seated and while we decided on what we were hungry for (which took awhile since we all hadn't been together for 8 months), we pigged out (really) on the most amazing of simplest concoctions: olive oil, minced fresh garlic, crushed red pepper flakes, fresh Italian parsley, dried rosemary, cracked black pepper, and salt.  Dip fresh Italian bread in the above and NIRVANA.  (Although Chef Reiton, who arrived later that night, said that he could smell the garlic on me for the next 24 hours...)

The waiter (and I mean the waiter) suggested that we do our meal family style, so we took his advice and ordered the following:

• bruschetta topped with mozzarella
• "fresh" green salad with olives and mozzarella
• risotto in a cream-tomato sauce with olives and artichoke hearts
• ravioli filled with mushroom and tossed in a butter sauce

Our experience? I think the pictures below says it all:

Check them out if you are in town: http://www.trattorialasiciliana.com/.  A wee bit pricey, but you won't be sorry.  I promise.

A Dinner Menu for the Best of Friends

When you just want to hang out with friends and make them some really good food...

Appetizers:

• blue cheese and walnut spread with water crackers, red pears and fresh black figs
• bacon-wrapped dates
• parmesan spirals

Beverages:

• Four Vines Zinfandel
• Blue Fin Pinot Noir
• vodka tonics
• martinis with bleu cheese-stuffed olives

Main Course:

• beef shank and sausage ragu with spaghetti
• green beans with garlic and parsley
• assorted Italian breads

Dessert:

• flourless chocolate cake served with fresh whipped cream and strawberries
• coffee

*All recipes from Everyday Food by Giada, except for ragu. Ragu taken from Bon Appetit, May 2009*

A Progressive Dinner Menu with Giada D.L.

Last week, Chef Reiton emailed that he'd gotten a new cookbook, Everyday Italian: 125 Simple and Delicious Recipes by Giada de Laurentiis. In it he had found a recipe for one of his favorite dishes in Italy, spaghetti alle vongole, and he wanted to make it with me. We decided that Saturday night would be all Italian, and the menu was set: caprese salad for the antipasto, spaghetti alle vongole for the primo, grilled lamb chops for the secundo, and tiramisu for the dolce.

Chef R did some research online to find a fish market very close to home that sold fresh Manila clams. Saturday afternoon after he arrived with the cookbook, we made our list and hit the stores. Items to buy? Well, besides fresh clams—lamb chops. Fresh mozzarella. Fresh basil, rosemary, thyme and parsley. Mascarpone. Cream, wine and lady fingers. (Just writing the ingredients again is making my mouth water.)

We came home, cracked a bottle of Bogle Old Vine Zinfandel,

and started preparing for the evening.

First we prepped for the tiramisu and made the cream filling. I could have eaten the entire bowl of it just as it was. Amazing what chocolate, cream, and mascarpone can become when blended together. Chef R made several pots of espresso, and we finished building dessert.

Next we worked on the marinade for the lamb chops: a blend of olive oil, fresh rosemary, garlic, and sea salt. We rubbed the chops well, then stuck them in the fridge to marinate while we took a nap. Dinner was going to be late, and we wanted to enjoy every moment of it.

When we got up, it was time to start the quicker elements of dinner. First task? Scrub the clams. We soon got a system down. I'd take a Scotchbrite pad to the poor fellas (they're still alive at this point), then he would take a veggie brush and get in the buggers' grooves. Soon the poor guys were beautifully clean—for our bellies.

Here's a look at them before the fire started:



Next Chef R started the dressing for the caprese salad. It was so simple: olive oil, lemon juice, sea salt, and fresh pepper. He sliced some Roma tomatoes, slivered the basil, and created a gorgeous dish.



At this point we put the spaghetti on to boil and started steaming the clams. Within minutes you could smell them as they simmered in the wine. I have never been much of seafood person, but I've been trying to alter my mindset about foods, as I've discussed before (thank you, Julissa), and I was rather excited about trying this dish. I was happy to notice that the aroma of it wasn't fishy; it smelled deep, actually, and full of earth. A peek under the lid showed the shells opened, and the dish was ready to be finished. Chef R drained the spaghetti, tossed it with the clams and the sauce, poured it all into the serving dish, and we garnished it with lemon zest and more parsley. Beautiful.



Now, begin eating! We sat down to our caprese salad and spaghetti alle vongole, as well as a bottle of Georges Duboeuf Beaujolais Nouveau. Chef R had been looking to find a wine that was like the local table wines of Europe—nothing deep and complex, just a simple fruity wine that paired with a simple Italian meal. This is what we picked:


To say simply, as I took my first bites, our antipasto and primo blew me away. I knew I'd love the caprese, but I wasn't sure about the clams. But I can honestly say that I would make it again in a heartbeat. I loved what the lemon and wine did together, and again, the deep but not overpowering flavor of the clams. Nothing was too intense. Each taste—the lemon, garlic, wine, clams—when you thought about them individually, could be detected, but yet each bite melded the flavors together to create a very light but satisfying mouthful.

We did discover upon eating that the recipe made a TON. We had cut the recipe in half, and we still threw out enough to feed at least another person, if not two. So if you make this recipe, be prepared for a lot.

After our primo course, it was time to cook the secundo. I had pulled the chops out of the fridge while we made the clams, so they were pretty much to room temperature. We heated the grill pan on the stove to "almost smoking," and Chef R threw the chops on to sear. The amazing smells that arose from that pan made me marvel at how people don't cook. You don't have to go out to eat like a king! And lots of times the food you make at home is BETTER than what you would pay for in a restaurant! (Oh, the joys of cooking!)

In short time, the secundo was done, and we sat down to taste the first lamb chops either of us had ever made:


OH MY GOD. Perfectly grilled. Perfectly seasoned. Perfectly sized. (Yes, Giada, we did evenly divide the chops among the two plates.)

As the last bite of chop was devoured, we both sighed. Everything had been so good, and we weren't even done. Next, the sweet end: homemade tiramisu.

We had questioned some of Giada's directions in the making of the dessert. She says to dip the lady fingers in the espresso, but what exactly is the timing of a dip? If I take a dip in a pool, I take that to mean a good 30 minutes, at least. My mom's dip is about 5. So when you dip a cookie, is it a 1-second dip, or is it a 1-2-3-4 dip? Chef R and I decided to experiment. Layer 1 was a 1-second dip. Layers 2 and 3 were 1-2-3-4 dips. Layer 4 was a mix of both. When we cut it we would see the results.

Well, it was time. We inverted the cake and sprinkled it with cocoa powder, and I handed Chef R the knife. He made the cut.

What wonders were beheld. Even layers. Espresso-soaked cookies. A rich, chocolatey cream to mellow the intensity of the coffee. My mouth couldn't wait. I put the camera down and took a bite.

About the hundredth sigh escaped my lips that evening. My taste buds were silently screaming with pleasure. And I kept thinking, "But it was so easy!"

(Afterwards, the two of us did decide that a 1-second dip was the best way to go. The cookies that went for a longer swim were a bit strong and wet; we determined that the cream would sufficiently soak into the lady fingers as it rested in the fridge, creating a nicely moist, but not wet, cake. I'm so willing to test the revised method very soon. I'm sensing a dinner party coming on...)

As the last bite of dinner settled, Chef R and I sat and stared at our empty dessert plates, then reached for our wine glasses and, for the fifth time that night, toasted each other. "You rock, Chef Reiton," I said.

And he did what I love to hear: he laughed. "Thanks," he said. And, bellies full and happy, we both smiled.