Tag: food

Cooking Light in The Land of Carbs

Later this month I head up to Lugano- a lovely Swiss resort town on Lake Lugano, (near Lake Como) in the Italian speaking part of Switzerland. I am going for the 50th reunion of The American School in Switzerland, which I attended my freshman year of high school. School’s 50th. Not mine!

Let me tell you that was an adventure in and of its self- from Bulgarian roommates to palomino ponies, black bulls and pink flamingos in the Camargue, Carnival in Venice, to performances of Guys and Dolls and Grand Fetes, to having friends and classmates from Turkey, Kazakhstan, Mexico, Uganda, Japan, Sweden etc. It was a culture shock to be sure, but one of the most amazing shocks you could ask for. And certainly a turning point in my life- if you are allowed to have one at 15.

So now, 7 years later comes the school’s 50th reunion. And I am so excited- Daniel is meeting me in Zurich after his own whirlwind of traveling, he is going to the Champion’s League Final in Paris the day before- GO Arsenal ! But I’ve convinced him that TASIS and Lugano are worth mild jetlag and a couple of flight-filled days- and it’s true this reunion should be amazing! Non vedo l’ora.

THE LAND OF CARBS

However, I am currently in Italy-the land of carbs; pastas and pizza, bread, bread salad, bread soup, 4 course meals (at least), plus Stefania’s desserts at Mossolinos and cappuccinos at Aldo’s, not to mention that gelato season is well and truly here! Whew! And while that is all well and good- and one of Italy’s greatest charms- if not the greatest- I am heading to a place where last they saw me I was 15- I just checked in the mirror- and for better or for worse I’m not 15 anymore- and by the way-what is up with that?!

So here I am, in Carb Land with big- bad, delicious, hard-to-resist, hard- to-eat-in-moderation waist-thickeners all around. And Slimfast not to be found on any shelf of any store- and I really cant do Atkins- Agaaaaaaiiiiii . . . So, now what . . .

Well this is also The Land of Fresh Produce, right? Ok I can work with that- tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, zucchini, lettuce, spinach — check! And the supermarket also has some great seafood as we’re on Lago Trasimeno- so I grab some mussels and some shrimp. Couldn’t find any chicken fillets (absolutely anywhere)- so I bought a whole roast chicken. Now they don’t have Slimfast but they do have Wasa crackers- thank god for Wasa crackers- they are my carb outlet at the moment. And lets see forgot the eggplant (or Mellenzane- which is a word that strangely makes me smile every time I say it- so it’s got to be good!). Throw in apples, Probiotic drinks, and lovely dark Perugina chocolate- for those moments when tiramisu wont stop calling and I need chocolate- NOW! And I have to say with my cupboards loaded with bag o’soups and the fireplace filled with sacks of oranges I have been doing all right.

My dinners have actually been exceptional. On the first night of my cooking light experiment I took vegetable soup from a bag (yes I can cook, but man, these soups are so good- and there are so many different kinds- they’ve ruined me) popped in some hot peppers, mussels and shrimp and presto- I had an amazingly delicious meal that lasted till lunch the next day. Top it off with grilled apples natural yoghurt, and local honey for dessert. — Yup, I was pretty pleased with my self, cheating the system and loving it!

The next night, a salad of romaine lettuce, topped with warmed mushrooms, onions, peppers, chicken, garlic balsamic vinegar and mustard. The kitchen smelled gorgeous and I was so full I only had enough room for a Prune yoghurt- yes Prune, bought it by mistake, but I’m telling you I will buy it again. Yay for supermarket surprises- the biggest surprise is it is hard to go wrong- it’s all good even if you don’t quite know what it is.

Then last night I made one of my Mother’s specialties, Eggplant parmigian ( we make it without breadcrumbs) and with homemade tomato sauce, fresh ricotta and mozzarella . . . Mmmm-whaah! Bellisimo. Would Lasagna have been better- NO! c’mon carbs get with the program- it’s Spring veggies are out and you are so last Winter.

Even today, driving in Parrano, there were so many cars parked along the side of a deserted road- ‘Ah,’ said Katia knowingly ‘they’re looking for asparigi’. Vegetables are even dictating weekend activities! Although, I must admit, I do do bad in the mornings- Aldo has a special breakfast for me Kiwi and Strawberries topped with yoghurt gelato- and how can I resist that! Ok . . . and a handful of Cappuccinos with sugar- if no ones looking. And I do keep driving past Pellicanos, dreaming of their pizza-to-go, and how easy it would be to order one and sneak it home and none would be the wiser. BUT, I have two weeks to lose 7 years- and although I doubt that’ll happen I at least want to eat well enough now, so that I can enjoy the Prosecco and pizzas in Lugano.

Now, I don’t have a scale- but my favorite linen trousers are looking pretty good- probably due in large part to the running around for Seeyouinitaly- and the miles of stairs in our house.

OUR OWN WISTERIA LANE ?

And our garden is great for a tan- even late into the evening, catching the sun’s last few rays as it falls pink behind the hills . . y’know now that I think of it- this is actually SPA ITALY- and I think I’m gonna go sit in the sunshine and eat my spinach salad under the Wisteria and Roses and wait for my masseuse to arrive- wait where is my masseuse?!- You mean a facial doesn’t come with this garden! Oh well, I guess I can live with it- if I have to:)!

See you in Italy! And in Italian speaking Switzerland!

Wiley

FLYING BACK THROUGH TIME. AND SPACE.

A bit surreal overall but, incredibly, it seems that WAS us backstage, in the same room with the Rolling Stones, eating their lobster ravioli, their long white asparagus with roasted peppers, their polenta, sampling their red wine and dining on and on in a meaningful and mostly Italian way.

IOWA, VIA OMAHA—Several times, this trip felt like flipping through a book from back, to front. When you start by knowing how it ends. And end at the very beginning when you know nothing at all. I am flying west today. Across the country. And, it feels like, across time.

The captain says &ldquo’Well, it is now 9:30 a.m. here in Chicago. You can set your watches back for Central Standard Time if you like”. I wind mine back one hour. And several years. Before Umbria. Before Maine. There was Chicago. I found myself here in graduate school. Found my wife too. And my first job. Good old Chicago.

Next stop, Omaha. Rent a car and follow the signs to Des Moines. Now the video replay screen on my Mental Time Machine is a blur of yearbook pictures, parties, nervous dates and proms. I see the exit signs for Drake, I slow down but don’t stop. I always think I will. But I haven’t yet. Past Des Moines and rewinding faster now. My life flashing before my eyes in reverse chronological order. Am getting younger in the process? Does this kind of time tripping work like that? I know the answer to that one. But, ahead I see there are signs we’re closing in on Conrad. Where we can go far, far back in time. Conrad, full of pioneer ancestors who settled the town. And left their family names on everyone in town and on rows of granite in the cemetery. I know all their names. I recognize their ever-serious, black and white faces looking back at me from frames on aunts’ and uncles’ mantles and bookshelves. High school memories are bubbling up and drowning out college now. There is Kathy’s driveway. The school bus picked her up there every morning, right after I got on. She lives there still, but I would not know her. Not now. I only know the person she was, then. Our farm. Our mailbox, on its post, two miles from Grandpa Stewart’s farm and his mailbox.

Mom and Dad. Coffee in the kitchen. Something baking in the oven. This is the house I was raised in. I’m all the way back now. I’m home. Is that apple rubarb pie for me?

HOW TO EAT LIKE A STONE

OMAHA— Surely some of the rewind and flashback feeling of the trip stems from one of the reasons for the trip: The Stones. The Rolling Stones are playing in the Midwest. Just like they did in 1967. I did not see them in 1967. But I will fix that oversight in 2006. Can the same stones really have played both those dates here?


A bit surreal overall but, incredibly, it seems that WAS us backstage, in the same room with the Rolling Stones, eating their lobster ravioli, their long white asparagus with roasted peppers, their polenta, sampling their red wine and dining on and on in a meaningful and mostly Italian way. The Italian influences in their huge spread of gourmet food far outweighed the occasional British classics like Shepard’s Pie.

Yes, we were in their inter santo santorum the “Rattlesnake Inn”. Just as a serious hanger on. Not any doing of my own. But tickled nonetheless just to be in their hospitality suite with them. No, we did not get to actually touch, talk or even photo. At a certain point, the tables were pushed back, the Stones handlers rushed them in a for a Grip and Grin Official Photo with their opening act, Brooks&Dunn. And then they rolled those Stones right out of the room and onto the stage. Of course, I had my camera with me! And you know I wanted to take pictures. But, I almost got that trusty Olympus taken away with the one spy photo you see here from the Stones sound check. The venue looked empty except for the Stones on their massive stage. I took one shot, no flash and headset-wearing Men in Black rained down on me, commando style. From the rafters? I do not know where they came from. But they came. They stoically re-explained the subtle meaning hidden in the Absolutely NO Cameras Allowed signs posted around the auditorium. Ok, ok, all right, already. I get it. The passes we had, shown here, really parted the waters. Well, right up to the part about the cameras.

Thank you Brother in Law for breaking me into the epicenter, the very heart of rock and roll!

Our Italian Cup-A-Cake

Christmas Eve Dinner was an eclectic success. Classic American Fare? Classic Italian Fare? Some of both. With a large dollop of Southern Food thrown in for grins. We opened with Proseccos, and followed up with eggplant Parmesan and then moved to the piece de resistance, the mail-order, deep-fried turkey. Tacchino Fritto?

MIDGE’S HOLIDAY PANETONE RISES TO THE OCCASION!

NEW ENGLAND— Christmas Eve Dinner was an eclectic success. Classic American Fare? Classic Italian Fare? Some of both. With a large dollop of Southern Food thrown in for grins. We opened with Proseccos, and followed up with eggplant Parmesan and then moved to the piece de resistance, the mail-order, deep-fried turkey. Tacchino Fritto? Chi lo sai. It was all aces, but we had to feel Wicked Proud of the Panetone. Who knew you could actually make that at home? Could. And did. To be on theme, (and because we did not have many of the prescribed ramekins) we baked the cakes in oversized cappuccino cups. Worked like a charm. And the homemade Panettone was much moister and fresher tasting than the store-bought ones we have had in the past. Another benefit was that our whole house was redolent with the perfume of the little Panettones for the whole evening.

The next morning, Christmas Day, we had those Panetones, again. This time, for a late brunch: Omelet’s to order, Panettone with blackberry jam, and of course Cheesy Grits. True Multi-cultural Christmas Joy!

Speaking of things Italian and American Brunch: One of our life goals is to do our version of Brunch for our Italians friends sometime soon. The concept of eating Non Italian food will probably initially scare them half to death I’m sure, ma va le la pena (worth the pain). When pressed, most Italians will admit that they have heard Americans skip plates and eat straight out of cans that we buy in the SuperMart. And that we have only recently tumbled to the idea of using a fork to extract the food from the can. Well! Don’t they know we have moved up to Microwave Food? No matter. I have a secret weapon in mind to help win them over to our evil ways. As conservative and xenophobic in taste as Italians are about food, I have a way to help take away some of the fear: Maple syrup. Strange, but true. We have used it as a regional Maine Pride present to many of our Italian friends and so far, over the years, the reaction has been universal: cosmic, undying, How Have I Lived My Life Without This? So, my plan is that if I lead with Maine Maple Syrup and pancakes on the menu, I may be able to segue into Cheese Grits when our friends’ guard is down.

In the meantime, Happy San Stefano’s Day You do know that today, the day after Christmas, is a holiday of sorts in Italy? San Stefano’s Day is like Boxing Day in the British Empire. But rather than being all about presents etc. in Umbria it is all about Tombola! It is like Bingo. But it has more personality. Every number has a nickname and story to go with it. The Tombola games themselves are fun trip souvenirs, not to mention that they are a good way to motivate yourself to learn Italian numbers and counting. And it is a pressure-packed learning device, as you have to be quick with yelling those numbers out and getting them right. Playing in a town-wide Tombola is exciting. If you find yourself in Italy over the holidays, ask around and chances are good there will be a game and it will surely be open to the public. Well, that is what we did one year. And I won a Hair Dryer. Now, if I only had enough hair to need said hair dryer. Sigh. Oh, well, the girls in the family were impressed. And isn’t that what Christmas is supposed to be all about?

Allora, Buona Stagione a Tutti!

Happy Holidays wherever you may be.

So, why is Midge in her apron? What’s cooking, Midge? Panetone? Yes, indeed. We’re braving up to try making the tradional Italian Holiday treat. Is it cake is it bread, I really do not know. But when in Italy it seems they are everywhere. Except on forks. Do they actually eat them?

WINTERWONDERLAND, MAINE— Where am I? Really. Good question. Where haven’t we been this month? Everywhere but putting up blog stories, it appears. Gathering Material. Yes. That’s it. You know, just like Hemmingway fighting the matador’s bulls or wrestling mutant Marlins into his fishing boat. Or not. But in the last thirty days time we have spent some long, fun weekends in NYC, London and Limestone, Maine. More on the London to Limestone sagas coming up. And Wiley has a big blog backlog direct from Italy that she is polishing up in Harold Wood outside London right now. But for today, we are grateful to have most of our family sitting right here at the dining room table. Zak, of NYC, bent over a growing chart, pen in hand, doing NYC Dutch ancestory genealogy, Midge in her “OLIO” cooking apron talking to the missing Wiley in London, and baby Grayson holding a bag of frozen peas on her jaw where her wisdom teeth came out yesterday. Poverina, figlia minora. She’s in good spirits and ready for whatever the holiday and Babbo Natale is about to bring her.

So, why is Midge in her apron? What’s cooking, Midge? Panetone? Yes, indeed. We’re braving up to try making the tradional Italian Holiday treat. Is it cake is it bread, I really do not know. But when in Italy it seems they are everywhere. Except on forks. Do they actually eat them? Not so much, is my observation. Sometimes I think they are more atmosphere than cuisine. Occasionally they are put out of their decorative boxes and nibbled with Prosecco. Anyway, we are growing our own, sans decorative box. It sounds like a proper family fun holiday activity. You stir this. I’ll chop that. You find the yeast. And it goes on all day if I read correctly the instructions in “Italian Cooking” magazine. Dec 05 to Jan 06 Holiday Issue. That recipe rocks. Available in newstands as they say. The recipe on their website sounded like a very complicated train wreck and we would have never even attempted that one, sissies that we are. More news on our Italian pastry dessert cooking experiment as it becomes available.

FLYING TURKEYS

We will probably be the only people in Maine having homemade Panetone with Cajun Turkey. Totally random culinary combination. Never look a gift turkey in the mouth. Oh, wait, ready to eat, fresh from the store turkeys don’t have a mouth. But we do and it will be great. Midge’s Nashville brother Kix had this fried turkey flown up to Maine and she found it waiting on our doorstep when she went on her humanitarian cappuccino run: LOOK WHAT I FOUND! Hey, hey, you HAVE had “southern deep fried turkey” , haven’t you? Please, please say yes. Or quick, put it on your life goals list.

As the fried turkey indicates, we may not be in Italy for the holidays but with emails coming in from our Italian Home Away From Home we are feeling the love and day dreaming about different times we have been in Umbria for Christmas and New Years. Good times all.

Well, as our red and gold Italian Holiday Banner here at the top of the page says BF, UE, OS, NT, EE (Buone Feste) to all!

Michelangelo. Of New York.

The hotel is very cool, very downtown and quite Italian. Coming in late Saturday night, I saw bound-up stacks of ”La Republica” next to stacks of New York Times. And get this: they carry Rai Uno on the TV’s in their rooms! Our satellite dish in Umbria is so out of whack that we can’t get Rai Uno in Italy. And they get it in NYC? How DO they do that?

NY, NY— Let’s see, how can we contort being in the Big Apple for the Country Music Awards into something Italian? Could be tricky. No. Wait. I think I see an opening. OK . . . how about this: we stayed at the Michelangelo Hotel and saw works by the real Michelangelo at a gallery?

The hotel is very cool, very downtown and quite Italian. Coming in late Saturday night, I saw bound-up stacks of ”La Republica” next to stacks of New York Times. And get this: they carry Rai Uno on the TV’s in their rooms! Our satellite dish in Umbria is so out of whack that we can’t get Rai Uno in Italy. And they get it in NYC? How DO they do that?

We blame our problem on Moonlight. Our satellite TV guy, who we could not find on our last trip, is poetically named Marco Lumadiluna. Marco Moonlight. Could there be a more evocative name for the person in charge of bringing moving pictures down from the heavens? Allora, non fa niente.

GALLERY SLAVES

The art by Michelangelo was in the Salander-O’Reilly Gallery up by The Frick on Central Park. Our son, Zak, is the librarian at the gallery and master of what looks like hundreds, maybe thousands of art reference books. So, we had to go see him, in situ, in this new-ish job. What a place. Sculptures by Bernini, paintings by Tintoretto, carved life sized madonnas, rooms full of them, in fact. Crucifixs? What size do you want? We went to the Salander Gallery after seeing the Fra Angelico exhibit at the Met and before going to the Frick and before we saw the illuminated Italian manuscripts at the Public Library.

As you enter Zak’s domain in the fourth floor Salander library, the first thing you come to is a Cellini sketch. And a signed letter from old Benvenuto, himself. In the totally, non-public reference library! I guess I can, make this about Italy. Yes. Yes, I can.

LA DOLCE VITA, LA DOLCE VINO

We ate at several fine, fine Italian places in the city including Scalinatella which is just down the street from the Four Seasons on the Upper East Side on East 61st. Hyper hip. All the waiters spoke Italian to each other. Loudly. And in an accent I had never heard, so I got a case of timid and didn’t get into it with them. Food was off-the-chart good. Waiters were suave, funny and engaging. And the wine. Aces, truly aces, 1999 red wine from Montalcino, which is near us in Italy. Just velvet.

You know, this shoehorning Italy into New York is pretty easy, once you get into it. We also had great Italian Proseccos and pastas at Orzo. On west 46th in the Theater District. We ordered all kinds of fun anti pastas for the table and dived in and liked it too.

What with cappucchinos every morning and Italian food almost every night, it was rather like being in the old country. And the Fra Angelico show I mentioned at the Metropolitan was Really like being there. I did not previously understand, or fully appreciate how articulated and gilded his backgrounds are. From studying him in art history I knew he was amazing, in person and in quantity it was really overwhelming. The detail, the etched lines in the gilding in the feathers of the angels was just too wonderful for words. He could paint on wood in a way that would make that wood turn into surreal, luminous, precious metal, fabrics truly fit for angels to wear. And consider, if you will, these pieces of art are hundreds of years old. My mind boogles and reels at seeing them. Imagine the people of the times seeing these when they were new.

SHOW ME SOME STARS

We were lucky enough to tag along to party where James Gandolfini (Tony Soprano. How Italian/American can you get?) was hanging out in the middle of the night in a big party house on Gramercy Square. We did not speak, omerta and all that, but for a moment, we were so traveling in the same circle.

Oh? The Yoko thing? OK, she may not be 100 percent Italian, but as long as we are name dropping here . . . we had finished our Italian sausage sandwiches and I was shooting some photos near Zak’s gallery. A pretty Japanese bride was walking to her wedding photo session in the park, her formal, hoop’ed wedding gown hitched up to mid thigh over white Nancy Sinatra type boots. I was focusing on that, when Midge poked me in the shoulder and said See the Purple Jacket that just went by? Yes. You just missed it . . . That was Yoko. Oh, no!

Buone Feste! And Happy Holidays too!