Ok, first comes food, because, well, I love food. Since the Palindrome party a week ago, I've been on a big of a baking kick. I baked...5? pies this week. And bagels. Yes, bagels! I think maybe when I am homesick I want to bake food that reminds me of home. Do you know they don't have bagels over here in Italy? They haven't even heard of them. So, like pie, I made it my mission this week to introduce the Italians to yet another delicious American baked good. I think next on my list will be peanut butter cookies and banana bread.
Here is the requested picture of the lemon cake pie. Now, it isn't such a beautiful looking pie, but it sure is delicious. Somehow, the ingredients separate in the oven so that there is a creme resembling lemon curd in pretty much every way (yum!), and on the top is a fluffy lemon cake. Gianluca has declared it is his favorite pie in the world, which he generally declares for every pie, but I think that he really means it for this one.
I also discovered a fantastic kind of cheese I didn't know about before in a local cheese shop. It is made from cow milk and apparently it spends some of its life maturing in hay. You are supposed to cook it up in a skillet.... i did this with wedges of it, warming it up on both sides until the outside began to caramelize and the inside was gooey and warm, and ate it with a nice salad, OHHH BOY was it good.
In that same cheese shop, I found some very tasty smoked scamorza. It's like a slightly aged, drier mozzarella than is usually found here, and it is shaped kind of like a pear and is amazing. It is also eaten after being cooked a little bit on both sides (after it is sliced). I made a tasty dinner of quinoa and vegetable stuffed peppers topped with some of this delicious cheese, and with a balsamic reduction.
Now for the bagels! I, like most Americans, like bagels. However, I also grew up hearing stories from my grandfather about the bagels of his childhood in Queens, New York. He is a first generation American, with Orthodox Jew parents from Eastern Europe. Naturally they lived in a community of Jews after arriving in NYC, and when my grandaddy was a child he would go walk and get the bagels on a regular basis. Apparently there were old Russian guys making these bagels in underground bakeries, the same way these same men made them back in the Old World. And, from what I've heard, the bagels were absolutely divine, and my grandaddy says that he's never had bagels since that could remotely approach their quality. It seems that when these old bagel makers passed on, their secrets died with them. So it has become one of my grandaddy's current missions in life to rediscover their secrets and bring kickass bagels back to the world. I think he's got it down, and he recently gave the recipe to me. I made these divine little breads and my goodness, they were amazing. I took a bite, and closed my eyes in my Alpine kitchen, and for a moment felt like I was back home.
Here is the recipe, as my grandaddy wrote it... they aren't so difficult to make, and they are far better than anything you could possibly buy in a shop nowadays.
2 cups warm water
one packet of active yeast or 2 1/2 teaspoons
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons barley malt ( preferred) or sugar
1 table spoon salt
6 to 8 cups bread flour
Add yeast to warm water and stir to dissolve
add oil, malt or sugar
add flour and salt and stir till comes away from side of bowl.
knead 12 to 15 minutes and add flour as needed, bagels do best with stiff dough
so work in flour till stiff. knead until dough is smooth
place dough in oiled bowl and let rise till doubled in warm place
Prepare oiled baking sheet with cornmeal
punch dough down. divide into 3 pieces and then each piece into 4 pieces (total of 12 pieces
roll each piece between fingers into a rope and then around fingers to produce donut shape.
place on baking sheet. spray lightly with oil and let rise till puffy ( 30 minutes+)
boiling
Place 2 to 3 quarts water in a pan and add one tablespoon barley malt or sugar bring water to boil
dunk 2 to 3 bagels at time into the water. time 30 seconds per side and remove with slotted spoon and place back on sheet. The longer they are in water the more chewy they will be.
brush with beaten egg and then add toppings (caraway seed, poppy seed, sesame seed, and a little kosher salt
bake at 450 degrees with steam (add ice cubes to pan on bottom of oven) for about 20 minutes then remove sheet
turn bagels over and bake for an additional 5 to 10 minutes till brown or till they appear done.
to make onion bagels add one cup of diced onions during kneading
_____________________________________
OK, enough of food. Before I write about how this mountain guy cured me, you gotta know about the weather here. We got about a foot of snow the other day, and even when it stopped snowing, a fog had descended and I couldn't see very far, except to see that there was a lot of snow. Then, the next morning (which would be yesterday) I woke up and looked out the window and had to cover my eyes immediately because it was so BRIGHT! Crystal clear blue skies, and the towering and sharply angled Alps were glistening as if made of diamonds. I've never seen anything so bright in my life, it was incredible. To see something so bright, and a clear blue sky, is amazing after weeks of the world looking entirely like I am viewing an old black and white film, or on a good day, with everything in muted sepia tones. No colors...don't get me wrong, it is simply gorgeous here, even when everything is in shades of white, black, gray, and the occasion brown tone. Beautiful in a devastatingly austere and overwhelming and gorgeous way.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Baking Pies and Bagels and How a Mountain Medicine Man Cured Me
Ok, first comes food, because, well, I love food. Since the Palindrome party a week ago, I've been on a big of a baking kick. I baked...5? pies this week. And bagels. Yes, bagels! I think maybe when I am homesick I want to bake food that reminds me of home. Do you know they don't have bagels over here in Italy? They haven't even heard of them. So, like pie, I made it my mission this week to introduce the Italians to yet another delicious American baked good. I think next on my list will be peanut butter cookies and banana bread.
Here is the requested picture of the lemon cake pie. Now, it isn't such a beautiful looking pie, but it sure is delicious. Somehow, the ingredients separate in the oven so that there is a creme resembling lemon curd in pretty much every way (yum!), and on the top is a fluffy lemon cake. Gianluca has declared it is his favorite pie in the world, which he generally declares for every pie, but I think that he really means it for this one.
I also discovered a fantastic kind of cheese I didn't know about before in a local cheese shop. It is made from cow milk and apparently it spends some of its life maturing in hay. You are supposed to cook it up in a skillet.... i did this with wedges of it, warming it up on both sides until the outside began to caramelize and the inside was gooey and warm, and ate it with a nice salad, OHHH BOY was it good.
In that same cheese shop, I found some very tasty smoked scamorza. It's like a slightly aged, drier mozzarella than is usually found here, and it is shaped kind of like a pear and is amazing. It is also eaten after being cooked a little bit on both sides (after it is sliced). I made a tasty dinner of quinoa and vegetable stuffed peppers topped with some of this delicious cheese, and with a balsamic reduction.
Now for the bagels! I, like most Americans, like bagels. However, I also grew up hearing stories from my grandfather about the bagels of his childhood in Queens, New York. He is a first generation American, with Orthodox Jew parents from Eastern Europe. Naturally they lived in a community of Jews after arriving in NYC, and when my grandaddy was a child he would go walk and get the bagels on a regular basis. Apparently there were old Russian guys making these bagels in underground bakeries, the same way these same men made them back in the Old World. And, from what I've heard, the bagels were absolutely divine, and my grandaddy says that he's never had bagels since that could remotely approach their quality. It seems that when these old bagel makers passed on, their secrets died with them. So it has become one of my grandaddy's current missions in life to rediscover their secrets and bring kickass bagels back to the world. I think he's got it down, and he recently gave the recipe to me. I made these divine little breads and my goodness, they were amazing. I took a bite, and closed my eyes in my Alpine kitchen, and for a moment felt like I was back home.
Here is the recipe, as my grandaddy wrote it... they aren't so difficult to make, and they are far better than anything you could possibly buy in a shop nowadays.
2 cups warm water
one packet of active yeast or 2 1/2 teaspoons
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons barley malt ( preferred) or sugar
1 table spoon salt
6 to 8 cups bread flour
Add yeast to warm water and stir to dissolve
add oil, malt or sugar
add flour and salt and stir till comes away from side of bowl.
knead 12 to 15 minutes and add flour as needed, bagels do best with stiff dough
so work in flour till stiff. knead until dough is smooth
place dough in oiled bowl and let rise till doubled in warm place
Prepare oiled baking sheet with cornmeal
punch dough down. divide into 3 pieces and then each piece into 4 pieces (total of 12 pieces
roll each piece between fingers into a rope and then around fingers to produce donut shape.
place on baking sheet. spray lightly with oil and let rise till puffy ( 30 minutes+)
boiling
Place 2 to 3 quarts water in a pan and add one tablespoon barley malt or sugar bring water to boil
dunk 2 to 3 bagels at time into the water. time 30 seconds per side and remove with slotted spoon and place back on sheet. The longer they are in water the more chewy they will be.
brush with beaten egg and then add toppings (caraway seed, poppy seed, sesame seed, and a little kosher salt
bake at 450 degrees with steam (add ice cubes to pan on bottom of oven) for about 20 minutes then remove sheet
turn bagels over and bake for an additional 5 to 10 minutes till brown or till they appear done.
to make onion bagels add one cup of diced onions during kneading
_____________________________________
OK, enough of food. Before I write about how this mountain guy cured me, you gotta know about the weather here. We got about a foot of snow the other day, and even when it stopped snowing, a fog had descended and I couldn't see very far, except to see that there was a lot of snow. And because it doesn't look like it... the photograph below is the driveway!
Then, the next morning (which would be yesterday) I woke up and looked out the bedroom window and had to cover my eyes immediately because it was so BRIGHT! Crystal clear blue skies, and the towering and sharply angled Alps were glistening as if made of diamonds. I've never seen anything so bright in my life, it was incredible. To see something so bright, and a clear blue sky, is amazing after weeks of the world looking entirely like I am viewing an old black and white film, or on a good day, with everything in muted sepia tones. No colors...don't get me wrong, it is simply gorgeous here, even when everything is in shades of white, black, gray, and the occasion brown tone. Beautiful in a devastatingly austere and overwhelming and gorgeous way.
__________________________________
One of the things I love so much about living in another culture is just how different it can be sometimes. I know that sounds obvious, but it can really change your perspective on things. An experience I had yesterday was.... well, an experience. One I wasn't expecting. Because who expects to be sitting around with no pants on in a stranger's apartment with your family around you?
What led to this was an injured hip. Gianluca and I were on holiday in the Canary Islands a few weeks ago (an escape to warm weather!), and we decided to go for a run. I used to be quite the runner, but not in about 9 years, but I am still reasonably fit. I was enjoying the run so much that perhaps I overdid it (running 10 km or so), considering that I haven't gone on a run that long in... erm... not sure how many years, but closer to 10 than 5. And, you guessed it, I ended up injured. So, for the past two weeks I have been hobbling around like a little old lady who needs a hip replacement. I told Gianluca I wanted to go to a doctor, and he said, 'ok, I know someone we can go to.' I thought that meant a doctor, but no, no it wasn't. A few days ago I found out that this 'someone' was an ex-construction worker who has no medical degree, or any formal training, who you just go to in his apartment and he 'fixes' you. This sounded horribly suspicious to me, and being in the medical profession myself and not being someone to just trust anyone to try to fix me, I was NOT happy to hear that this, and not a doctor, was the plan.
But, Gianluca insisted, and we made an agreement that if this guy couldn't make me feel better (and I was certain he couldn't), I would then go to a normal doctor, with normal medical training. So, with this agreement, I reluctantly hobbled to Dominico the Healer's apartment on the outskirts of Aosta with Gianluca and his sister Valeria. A very short, very round, very gray haired man with very few teeth greeted us kindly at the door, along with his equally friendly wife. They had a smallish apartment with worn furnishings and and depictions of Jesus and various saints were peering down at us from the walls and cabinets, as the five of us crowded into the sitting room. He worked on Valeria first, to fix her leg circulation, and then it was my turn. In Italian he told me to take off my pants and lie down on the little couch. This seemed like a very particular, and somewhat sketchy, thing to in an older stranger's living room, but considering that there were five of us in the room, I figured I was safe. I did as he said, and he declared that my problem wasn't my hip, at all. It was my knee and my back. he poked at my knee and rubbed some blue stuff into it and said that there was a block in my knee and that it was now better. He then prodded at my lower back and said my back was crooked, and apparently he fixed that, too, though I didn't feel him to anything. He rubbed some more blue stuff on my leg and moved my leg around some, and said I was healed and if I took it easy for a couple of days, I'd be perfectly fine. I was inwardly rolling my eyes, thinking 'yeah, right. I've been in excrutiating pain for more than two weeks... no way that prodding and rubbing a little bit at my knee and back is going to make me feel better.' Then I stood up. And there was no pain. NO PAIN! He actually fixed me. He honest to God fixed me. I don't know how, but I can now walk without help, and even my back feels better. I can walk normally. On the walk back to the car, which I did unassisted, Gianluca explained to me that Dominico has a gift that is passed through his family's blood, every other generation. It has been this way for a long, long time. Dominico was the next in line for 'the gift' after his grandfather. The gift of being able to feel where people need help, to be able to heal with his hands, and a natural strong intuition about the human body. He learned healing techniques from his grandfather as well, but most of it he was just born with.
I'm a natural skeptic; I'm a physicist, a scientist. I don't generally believe things that I can't find proof of, and I am not the type of person to place the well being of my body into the hands of an old carpenter. But I'm telling you, the next time I have something wrong with me, I'm going to see Dominico first, because that man has some magic in him.
Here is the requested picture of the lemon cake pie. Now, it isn't such a beautiful looking pie, but it sure is delicious. Somehow, the ingredients separate in the oven so that there is a creme resembling lemon curd in pretty much every way (yum!), and on the top is a fluffy lemon cake. Gianluca has declared it is his favorite pie in the world, which he generally declares for every pie, but I think that he really means it for this one.
I also discovered a fantastic kind of cheese I didn't know about before in a local cheese shop. It is made from cow milk and apparently it spends some of its life maturing in hay. You are supposed to cook it up in a skillet.... i did this with wedges of it, warming it up on both sides until the outside began to caramelize and the inside was gooey and warm, and ate it with a nice salad, OHHH BOY was it good.
In that same cheese shop, I found some very tasty smoked scamorza. It's like a slightly aged, drier mozzarella than is usually found here, and it is shaped kind of like a pear and is amazing. It is also eaten after being cooked a little bit on both sides (after it is sliced). I made a tasty dinner of quinoa and vegetable stuffed peppers topped with some of this delicious cheese, and with a balsamic reduction.
Now for the bagels! I, like most Americans, like bagels. However, I also grew up hearing stories from my grandfather about the bagels of his childhood in Queens, New York. He is a first generation American, with Orthodox Jew parents from Eastern Europe. Naturally they lived in a community of Jews after arriving in NYC, and when my grandaddy was a child he would go walk and get the bagels on a regular basis. Apparently there were old Russian guys making these bagels in underground bakeries, the same way these same men made them back in the Old World. And, from what I've heard, the bagels were absolutely divine, and my grandaddy says that he's never had bagels since that could remotely approach their quality. It seems that when these old bagel makers passed on, their secrets died with them. So it has become one of my grandaddy's current missions in life to rediscover their secrets and bring kickass bagels back to the world. I think he's got it down, and he recently gave the recipe to me. I made these divine little breads and my goodness, they were amazing. I took a bite, and closed my eyes in my Alpine kitchen, and for a moment felt like I was back home.
Here is the recipe, as my grandaddy wrote it... they aren't so difficult to make, and they are far better than anything you could possibly buy in a shop nowadays.
2 cups warm water
one packet of active yeast or 2 1/2 teaspoons
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons barley malt ( preferred) or sugar
1 table spoon salt
6 to 8 cups bread flour
Add yeast to warm water and stir to dissolve
add oil, malt or sugar
add flour and salt and stir till comes away from side of bowl.
knead 12 to 15 minutes and add flour as needed, bagels do best with stiff dough
so work in flour till stiff. knead until dough is smooth
place dough in oiled bowl and let rise till doubled in warm place
Prepare oiled baking sheet with cornmeal
punch dough down. divide into 3 pieces and then each piece into 4 pieces (total of 12 pieces
roll each piece between fingers into a rope and then around fingers to produce donut shape.
place on baking sheet. spray lightly with oil and let rise till puffy ( 30 minutes+)
boiling
Place 2 to 3 quarts water in a pan and add one tablespoon barley malt or sugar bring water to boil
dunk 2 to 3 bagels at time into the water. time 30 seconds per side and remove with slotted spoon and place back on sheet. The longer they are in water the more chewy they will be.
brush with beaten egg and then add toppings (caraway seed, poppy seed, sesame seed, and a little kosher salt
bake at 450 degrees with steam (add ice cubes to pan on bottom of oven) for about 20 minutes then remove sheet
turn bagels over and bake for an additional 5 to 10 minutes till brown or till they appear done.
to make onion bagels add one cup of diced onions during kneading
_____________________________________
OK, enough of food. Before I write about how this mountain guy cured me, you gotta know about the weather here. We got about a foot of snow the other day, and even when it stopped snowing, a fog had descended and I couldn't see very far, except to see that there was a lot of snow. And because it doesn't look like it... the photograph below is the driveway!
Then, the next morning (which would be yesterday) I woke up and looked out the bedroom window and had to cover my eyes immediately because it was so BRIGHT! Crystal clear blue skies, and the towering and sharply angled Alps were glistening as if made of diamonds. I've never seen anything so bright in my life, it was incredible. To see something so bright, and a clear blue sky, is amazing after weeks of the world looking entirely like I am viewing an old black and white film, or on a good day, with everything in muted sepia tones. No colors...don't get me wrong, it is simply gorgeous here, even when everything is in shades of white, black, gray, and the occasion brown tone. Beautiful in a devastatingly austere and overwhelming and gorgeous way.
__________________________________
One of the things I love so much about living in another culture is just how different it can be sometimes. I know that sounds obvious, but it can really change your perspective on things. An experience I had yesterday was.... well, an experience. One I wasn't expecting. Because who expects to be sitting around with no pants on in a stranger's apartment with your family around you?
What led to this was an injured hip. Gianluca and I were on holiday in the Canary Islands a few weeks ago (an escape to warm weather!), and we decided to go for a run. I used to be quite the runner, but not in about 9 years, but I am still reasonably fit. I was enjoying the run so much that perhaps I overdid it (running 10 km or so), considering that I haven't gone on a run that long in... erm... not sure how many years, but closer to 10 than 5. And, you guessed it, I ended up injured. So, for the past two weeks I have been hobbling around like a little old lady who needs a hip replacement. I told Gianluca I wanted to go to a doctor, and he said, 'ok, I know someone we can go to.' I thought that meant a doctor, but no, no it wasn't. A few days ago I found out that this 'someone' was an ex-construction worker who has no medical degree, or any formal training, who you just go to in his apartment and he 'fixes' you. This sounded horribly suspicious to me, and being in the medical profession myself and not being someone to just trust anyone to try to fix me, I was NOT happy to hear that this, and not a doctor, was the plan.
But, Gianluca insisted, and we made an agreement that if this guy couldn't make me feel better (and I was certain he couldn't), I would then go to a normal doctor, with normal medical training. So, with this agreement, I reluctantly hobbled to Dominico the Healer's apartment on the outskirts of Aosta with Gianluca and his sister Valeria. A very short, very round, very gray haired man with very few teeth greeted us kindly at the door, along with his equally friendly wife. They had a smallish apartment with worn furnishings and and depictions of Jesus and various saints were peering down at us from the walls and cabinets, as the five of us crowded into the sitting room. He worked on Valeria first, to fix her leg circulation, and then it was my turn. In Italian he told me to take off my pants and lie down on the little couch. This seemed like a very particular, and somewhat sketchy, thing to in an older stranger's living room, but considering that there were five of us in the room, I figured I was safe. I did as he said, and he declared that my problem wasn't my hip, at all. It was my knee and my back. he poked at my knee and rubbed some blue stuff into it and said that there was a block in my knee and that it was now better. He then prodded at my lower back and said my back was crooked, and apparently he fixed that, too, though I didn't feel him to anything. He rubbed some more blue stuff on my leg and moved my leg around some, and said I was healed and if I took it easy for a couple of days, I'd be perfectly fine. I was inwardly rolling my eyes, thinking 'yeah, right. I've been in excrutiating pain for more than two weeks... no way that prodding and rubbing a little bit at my knee and back is going to make me feel better.' Then I stood up. And there was no pain. NO PAIN! He actually fixed me. He honest to God fixed me. I don't know how, but I can now walk without help, and even my back feels better. I can walk normally. On the walk back to the car, which I did unassisted, Gianluca explained to me that Dominico has a gift that is passed through his family's blood, every other generation. It has been this way for a long, long time. Dominico was the next in line for 'the gift' after his grandfather. The gift of being able to feel where people need help, to be able to heal with his hands, and a natural strong intuition about the human body. He learned healing techniques from his grandfather as well, but most of it he was just born with.
I'm a natural skeptic; I'm a physicist, a scientist. I don't generally believe things that I can't find proof of, and I am not the type of person to place the well being of my body into the hands of an old carpenter. But I'm telling you, the next time I have something wrong with me, I'm going to see Dominico first, because that man has some magic in him.
Palindrome Party...AKA I don't understand how Italians are so thin
I think this is a good time to write about the palindrome party. It was our dear friend Fabio's idea, and it took place on, you guessed it, a date that is a palindrome: 01/02/2010. And for the Americans out there who may think this is long overdue..... this would be Februrary 1, 2010 written how it is written over here in Europe.
So, this was a dinner party where we had our dinner in a palindrome format, since pretty much everything over here seems to involve food. Viva Italia! It went like this: Appetizer, first course, second course, dessert, dessert, second course, first course, appetizer. With corresponding wines to each course, of course! It was a potluck, even though they don't have a word for potluck over here. Actually, they don't have a lot of words that we have in English, which I've found to be frustrating at times, but the Italians make up for it by having extra-beautiful words, being beautiful, and having exemplary food and wine.
Anyhow, there were 15 or so of us, and I was responsible for bringing two pies. Pies can be a little bit tricky in the winter, if you want to use mainly seasonal ingredients, especially as I am not so much a fan of pies that fall into the chocolate, chess, fluffy, or meringue categories. Basically pies that mainly consist of sugar and fat don't really float my boat all that much. And am not the biggest fan of apple pies, either, unless cut with something more flavorful (unless they are killer apples, which are hard to find in February). Now, maybe you are thinking right now, 'damn, for a pie lover, this woman doesn't like pie very much.' I love pie. But I like making pies I can be proud of, and that I think are tasty and creative, even if I'm not the one who will be eating it. I think to make something taste good, you have to put love into it, and to put love into it, you need to love what you make. Suffice it to say, with my objection to all pies chocolate and fluffy, and in the middle of the winter, my options were limited. I ended up making a lemon cake pie and a 'mock pecan pie' which is really an oatmeal pie. However I didn't have any coconut in my pantry for the oatmeal pie, so it wasn't as good as it could be, but still quite tasty. The oatmeal pie recipe is also in my mom's pie cookbook I linked to yesterday.
So we proceeded by eating the forwards and backwards palindrome meal, all starting each new course and wine together. All the food was together on the table, and each course was labeled, so that people didn't get confused, and heaven forbid, eat out of order! It was a thoroughly Italian experience... a more-or-less random gathering of friends and strangers, for the purpose of eating, celebrating food, drinking, merriment and of course a lot of hand waving, and making lots of noise. A few people couldn't make it through and were thoroughly berated and I introduced the Italians to the concept of calling someone a 'chicken'. Apparently they call people a 'rabbit' (coniglio in Italian) for the same thing, although I don't think it is used to goad people on so much as in the US.
All in all it was yet another fun Italian party, and I am finding it easier to converse in Italian, now. I haven't ever taken Italian lessons (unless you count the two useless days of 'classes' I went to in town a few months ago, where we spent 3 hours reading a couple sentences I could already understand). I've just learned it by being around it and people being patient with me. I speak sort of like a young child, I think. My vocabulary isn't so big, I make funny mistakes, and I have pretty bad grammar. But, all around, I can make myself understood, and can understand others when they don't talk a million miles a minute. Viva Italia!
And now I leave you with a palindrome:
Straw? No, too stupid a fad; I put soot on warts
So, this was a dinner party where we had our dinner in a palindrome format, since pretty much everything over here seems to involve food. Viva Italia! It went like this: Appetizer, first course, second course, dessert, dessert, second course, first course, appetizer. With corresponding wines to each course, of course! It was a potluck, even though they don't have a word for potluck over here. Actually, they don't have a lot of words that we have in English, which I've found to be frustrating at times, but the Italians make up for it by having extra-beautiful words, being beautiful, and having exemplary food and wine.
Anyhow, there were 15 or so of us, and I was responsible for bringing two pies. Pies can be a little bit tricky in the winter, if you want to use mainly seasonal ingredients, especially as I am not so much a fan of pies that fall into the chocolate, chess, fluffy, or meringue categories. Basically pies that mainly consist of sugar and fat don't really float my boat all that much. And am not the biggest fan of apple pies, either, unless cut with something more flavorful (unless they are killer apples, which are hard to find in February). Now, maybe you are thinking right now, 'damn, for a pie lover, this woman doesn't like pie very much.' I love pie. But I like making pies I can be proud of, and that I think are tasty and creative, even if I'm not the one who will be eating it. I think to make something taste good, you have to put love into it, and to put love into it, you need to love what you make. Suffice it to say, with my objection to all pies chocolate and fluffy, and in the middle of the winter, my options were limited. I ended up making a lemon cake pie and a 'mock pecan pie' which is really an oatmeal pie. However I didn't have any coconut in my pantry for the oatmeal pie, so it wasn't as good as it could be, but still quite tasty. The oatmeal pie recipe is also in my mom's pie cookbook I linked to yesterday.
So we proceeded by eating the forwards and backwards palindrome meal, all starting each new course and wine together. All the food was together on the table, and each course was labeled, so that people didn't get confused, and heaven forbid, eat out of order! It was a thoroughly Italian experience... a more-or-less random gathering of friends and strangers, for the purpose of eating, celebrating food, drinking, merriment and of course a lot of hand waving, and making lots of noise. A few people couldn't make it through and were thoroughly berated and I introduced the Italians to the concept of calling someone a 'chicken'. Apparently they call people a 'rabbit' (coniglio in Italian) for the same thing, although I don't think it is used to goad people on so much as in the US.
All in all it was yet another fun Italian party, and I am finding it easier to converse in Italian, now. I haven't ever taken Italian lessons (unless you count the two useless days of 'classes' I went to in town a few months ago, where we spent 3 hours reading a couple sentences I could already understand). I've just learned it by being around it and people being patient with me. I speak sort of like a young child, I think. My vocabulary isn't so big, I make funny mistakes, and I have pretty bad grammar. But, all around, I can make myself understood, and can understand others when they don't talk a million miles a minute. Viva Italia!
And now I leave you with a palindrome:
Straw? No, too stupid a fad; I put soot on warts
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
How I got where I am today and Lemon Cake Pie
It's
hard to know where exactly to start. I'm new to this whole 'blog'
world (I'm behind the times, I know), but I've been told my life is
interesting and that I should do this.
My life is a little bit mismatched, but in a delightful manner. For example, right now I am sitting in my house-that-who-knows-how-the-heck-old-it-is perched on the dark side of Valle d'Aosta in northwest Italy, with views of snow and glacier capped alps from every window, but I'm eating the last slice of a delicious 'lemon cake pie' that I made last night. It's a historic American recipe, and I made it in an American vintage yellow pyrex pie plate. Yes, I toted my pyrex all the way over to Italy.
This blog is going to be about my experiences as a young Appalachian woman living in Italy, the people I meet, the funny cultural things, the traditional music and dancing, and quite possibly most of all, the FOOD. I love food. I love pretty much every aspect of it- growing, harvesting, preparing, cooking, serving, eating, smelling, you name it. I want to learn as much as I can about the regional food, but I don't want to lose touch with my roots. So, not only is this blog about my adjustment to Italy, but perhaps a bit of Italy's adjustment to me.
In case you are thoroughly confused, here is the brief 'low down' on what the heck I am talking about here, and who I am. I'm a medical physicist in my mid 20's and am originally from the beautiful Appalachian mountains of Western North Carolina (Asheville, to be specific). I'm a lifelong musician, with fiddle being my main instrument. I grew up quite literally steeped in traditional Appalachian music and culture, with my parents being historians of the regional food, music, and folklore for a living. So, I've been playing old time music since I was a tot, and my version of a teenage rebellion was learning to play Irish and contra dance music instead of old time! I love to cook and bake, and am fairly obsessed with pie making. I'm a swing dancer, and have been for going on 9 years now, and mostly do lindy hop. If you don't know what that is, I highly recommend you check it out. I've danced and taught this dance in many places around the world, and it is another big ol' passion for me. I'm also a contra dancer, and have been in a few (in my opinion) kickass contra dance bands. I love traveling. I'm accident prone. I love my family. I love art and occasionally dabble in it.
So, after college (where I had a mostly fabulous time and earned myself a B.S. in Physics), and before graduate school (where I got an M.S. in Medical Physics) I decided I needed a break from the world of physics and the US of A, and took off to Europe for more than a year. I had a number of adventures around the continent, mostly involving swing dancing, before I landed in Galway, Ireland. I had a work visa and spent about 8 months living there. I was the 'everything' at a cafe/bakery in the back of a flowershop (cooked, baked, cleaned, served, etc), played music on the streets and pubs, taught swing dancing classes, and drank just the perfect number of pints. When my visa expired, I still had about 4 months left in Europe before an airplane would bring me back to the US, and I didn't quite know what I would do. Suffice it to say that I had an adventure in France with some of my Irish friends that had the end result in me walking nearly 600 miles across France and Spain, meeting the love of my life, and moving to the Italian Alps.
During that French adventure, I found out about the Camino de Santiago. It's one of those rare events in life that COMPLETELY changes your life- everything from your perspective on humanity, your spirituality (or lack thereof), your muscle tone, direction in life, etc. It's a 1000+ year old spiritual pilgrimage across southwest France and northern Spain, and you walk the whole way, carrying all of your belongings on your back. All day you walk, rain or shine (and it rained....), and then at night you stay at what is basically a rough hostel. It's one of those experiences you just can't put into a few words, but it changes you. I basically did this walk on a whim; I'm a lifelong agnostic with Jewish roots, and didn't really know why I was doing it except that I simply felt that I must. So, exactly 2 weeks into my walk (out of a total of 5 weeks), I met the man who would 3 years later become my husband. Gianluca, an Italian engineer, and a person with an exceedingly beautiful soul. We walked the last 400 or so miles together, until we reached the Atlantic ocean on the western coast of Spain, and then instead of going off to work on a French farm like I had planned, I spent most of the rest of the summer in Italy with him. Somehow we made the following two years work, when I was back in the US getting my masters degree, and I said that I'd move to his hometown of Aosta if there was a medical physics job for me there. And somehow, there was!
So this fall I moved to the tiny village of Charvensod, a 20 minute walk from the city center of Aosta, which is Valle d'Aosta, Italy. It's right on the Swiss and French borders, and it is an amazing place. I can see a glacier from my kitchen window, and I can see Switzerland from my bedroom. I've discovered that Italian bureaucracy is the world's most complicated labyrinth, and takes a lot of patience. So, now you know more-or-less how I got here. For now, I'll leave you with the recipe for the lemon-cake-pie I made last night because it is really good and you should make it, too. It can make any man fall in love with you, I promise! Oy yoy yoy, it is good. Seriously. It is from my mom's book, 'The Lost Art of Pie Making, Made Easy', which you can buy here.
Lemon Sponge Pie (also called Lemon Cake Pie), from 1915
1 cup sugar
2 eggs, separated
3 Tbs. softened butter
1 lemon, juice and rind
3 Tbs. flour
1 cup milk
(I also add a splash of vanilla, which I think makes it better)
You'll also need an unbaked pie crust. Please don't use one of those fake store-bought ones, because that is cheating. On a later post at some point I will tell you how to make the best crust ever, if you so need.
Beat sugar, egg yolks, and butter. Add lemon juice, rind, and flour and mix together. Add milk, then fold in the egg whites, stiffly beaten. Pour in an unbaked crust and bake on the lowest shelf at 400 degrees for 10 minutes, and then turn oven down to 300 degrees for approximately 30 minutes more, until firm.
*This pie likes to burn. So, once it starts to brown, 'tent' a piece of aluminum foil over it so that it stops browning, and it is ready to come out when you move it back and forth a little and it doesn't jiggle like liquid or jello anymore. Let it cool down before you eat it and prepare to go to heaven :).
Signin' off-
Annie
My life is a little bit mismatched, but in a delightful manner. For example, right now I am sitting in my house-that-who-knows-how-the-heck-old-it-is perched on the dark side of Valle d'Aosta in northwest Italy, with views of snow and glacier capped alps from every window, but I'm eating the last slice of a delicious 'lemon cake pie' that I made last night. It's a historic American recipe, and I made it in an American vintage yellow pyrex pie plate. Yes, I toted my pyrex all the way over to Italy.
This blog is going to be about my experiences as a young Appalachian woman living in Italy, the people I meet, the funny cultural things, the traditional music and dancing, and quite possibly most of all, the FOOD. I love food. I love pretty much every aspect of it- growing, harvesting, preparing, cooking, serving, eating, smelling, you name it. I want to learn as much as I can about the regional food, but I don't want to lose touch with my roots. So, not only is this blog about my adjustment to Italy, but perhaps a bit of Italy's adjustment to me.
In case you are thoroughly confused, here is the brief 'low down' on what the heck I am talking about here, and who I am. I'm a medical physicist in my mid 20's and am originally from the beautiful Appalachian mountains of Western North Carolina (Asheville, to be specific). I'm a lifelong musician, with fiddle being my main instrument. I grew up quite literally steeped in traditional Appalachian music and culture, with my parents being historians of the regional food, music, and folklore for a living. So, I've been playing old time music since I was a tot, and my version of a teenage rebellion was learning to play Irish and contra dance music instead of old time! I love to cook and bake, and am fairly obsessed with pie making. I'm a swing dancer, and have been for going on 9 years now, and mostly do lindy hop. If you don't know what that is, I highly recommend you check it out. I've danced and taught this dance in many places around the world, and it is another big ol' passion for me. I'm also a contra dancer, and have been in a few (in my opinion) kickass contra dance bands. I love traveling. I'm accident prone. I love my family. I love art and occasionally dabble in it.
So, after college (where I had a mostly fabulous time and earned myself a B.S. in Physics), and before graduate school (where I got an M.S. in Medical Physics) I decided I needed a break from the world of physics and the US of A, and took off to Europe for more than a year. I had a number of adventures around the continent, mostly involving swing dancing, before I landed in Galway, Ireland. I had a work visa and spent about 8 months living there. I was the 'everything' at a cafe/bakery in the back of a flowershop (cooked, baked, cleaned, served, etc), played music on the streets and pubs, taught swing dancing classes, and drank just the perfect number of pints. When my visa expired, I still had about 4 months left in Europe before an airplane would bring me back to the US, and I didn't quite know what I would do. Suffice it to say that I had an adventure in France with some of my Irish friends that had the end result in me walking nearly 600 miles across France and Spain, meeting the love of my life, and moving to the Italian Alps.
During that French adventure, I found out about the Camino de Santiago. It's one of those rare events in life that COMPLETELY changes your life- everything from your perspective on humanity, your spirituality (or lack thereof), your muscle tone, direction in life, etc. It's a 1000+ year old spiritual pilgrimage across southwest France and northern Spain, and you walk the whole way, carrying all of your belongings on your back. All day you walk, rain or shine (and it rained....), and then at night you stay at what is basically a rough hostel. It's one of those experiences you just can't put into a few words, but it changes you. I basically did this walk on a whim; I'm a lifelong agnostic with Jewish roots, and didn't really know why I was doing it except that I simply felt that I must. So, exactly 2 weeks into my walk (out of a total of 5 weeks), I met the man who would 3 years later become my husband. Gianluca, an Italian engineer, and a person with an exceedingly beautiful soul. We walked the last 400 or so miles together, until we reached the Atlantic ocean on the western coast of Spain, and then instead of going off to work on a French farm like I had planned, I spent most of the rest of the summer in Italy with him. Somehow we made the following two years work, when I was back in the US getting my masters degree, and I said that I'd move to his hometown of Aosta if there was a medical physics job for me there. And somehow, there was!
So this fall I moved to the tiny village of Charvensod, a 20 minute walk from the city center of Aosta, which is Valle d'Aosta, Italy. It's right on the Swiss and French borders, and it is an amazing place. I can see a glacier from my kitchen window, and I can see Switzerland from my bedroom. I've discovered that Italian bureaucracy is the world's most complicated labyrinth, and takes a lot of patience. So, now you know more-or-less how I got here. For now, I'll leave you with the recipe for the lemon-cake-pie I made last night because it is really good and you should make it, too. It can make any man fall in love with you, I promise! Oy yoy yoy, it is good. Seriously. It is from my mom's book, 'The Lost Art of Pie Making, Made Easy', which you can buy here.
Lemon Sponge Pie (also called Lemon Cake Pie), from 1915
1 cup sugar
2 eggs, separated
3 Tbs. softened butter
1 lemon, juice and rind
3 Tbs. flour
1 cup milk
(I also add a splash of vanilla, which I think makes it better)
You'll also need an unbaked pie crust. Please don't use one of those fake store-bought ones, because that is cheating. On a later post at some point I will tell you how to make the best crust ever, if you so need.
Beat sugar, egg yolks, and butter. Add lemon juice, rind, and flour and mix together. Add milk, then fold in the egg whites, stiffly beaten. Pour in an unbaked crust and bake on the lowest shelf at 400 degrees for 10 minutes, and then turn oven down to 300 degrees for approximately 30 minutes more, until firm.
*This pie likes to burn. So, once it starts to brown, 'tent' a piece of aluminum foil over it so that it stops browning, and it is ready to come out when you move it back and forth a little and it doesn't jiggle like liquid or jello anymore. Let it cool down before you eat it and prepare to go to heaven :).
Signin' off-
Annie
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