Clearing the Cobwebs

Ciao tutti!  If it seems like cobwebs have been gathering on the nest, it is because we have been in transit.  The vagabondi have yet again packed up and moved onward.  How many times are we up to since January?  Anyone keeping count?  I can barely keep it all straight in my memory at this point!

We feared that we would once again be loading and/or unloading in rain, as has been the trend in our lives the past several years.  Those Ohio late "summer" days were downright chilly and full of all-day downpours our last week there.  Very depressing.

My parting gift came in the form of a speeding ticket!  My first in a decade, I think it was a final sign that Cleveland wasn't going to be the place for us (as if the two accidents didn't already clue us in a bit.)  It was a bit hard leaving family behind once again, but job opportunities just weren't developing there, and we knew when we landed it would be temporary at best.  We are actually surprised that we were there for three months (gosh, they flew by!)

So now we're in our latest digs in Alexandria, Virginia.  We are very fortunate to be able to live in my uncle's house.  It has been unoccupied since he passed away, so we're clearing up the cobwebs, shifting and organizing things, and getting unpacked.  We have seen our friend Al, already knew some of the neighbors here, and some Slow Travel friends have contacted us about getting together, so we think we'll feel at home pretty quickly.  Now if we could just make peace with the traffic.  We're used to gridlock that comes in the form of sheep in the road!  This is a new world for us.

The first thing we unpacked was the espresso machine (you knew Bryan couldn't wait even 24 hours for that, right?)  We did find a good Italian wine shop with an out-of-the-ordinary selection at decent prices.  If any of  you know some good Italian or Mediterranean markets, let me know! 

Lest you think that my blog will be changing focus, let me put your mind at ease.  My heart is still residing in Italy, and I'll keep writing about it.  It's where my mind is always focused.

A presto!

A Granddaughter's Tribute

Today is my grandfather's birthday, so I want to give him a rousing shout-out:  Happy Birthday, Gramps! 

We went to my hometown on Sunday to take him out for a brunch celebration.  Sunday was my sister's birthday, and ever since her first birthday they have gone out for lunch as a dual celebration, usually just the two of them.  We honed in this year, since it was only the second time in the past 25 years that I have been in Ohio during his birthday.

Grandpa has never been one of those who is coy about his age; he's 97 and pretty proud of it.  As well he should be, since he has a lot to brag about:  he lives alone in the same house he and my grandmother built 60 years ago; he cooks; he does his own laundry; and is still an avid reader.  He also drives, but limits himself to the backroads in the daylight hours only.

Every morning, just as he has done for more years than I know, he drives to "the barns," the county fairgrounds where the horses are kept.  He and his brother still own and train harness racing horses, just as their father did before them, and as my Uncle Ed's kids are keeping alive in the generation below them.  Grandpa used to give the horses their morning jogs on the track but gave that up on his 90th birthday because he said, "I don't bounce so well anymore."

The horse barn provided me with childhood memories and words of wisdom, Grandpa-style.  Nearly every Saturday morning of my pre-teen years was spent rising in the humid early mornings and driving with Gramps along narrow country lanes, passing cornfields and sprawling tracts of flat farmland, about twenty-five minutes to the town he grew up in.  "Town" being used loosely here, because there is basically one intersection with a traffic light, and clustered there was a general store, a barber shop, a diner-type restaurant, and the post office.  I think the general store and restaurant are gone now. 

Just outside town was the fairgrounds, which provided a grouping of barns and the most ramshackle grandstands you ever want to see.  The area beneath the stands was enclosed, and I didn't like going under there to reach the steps up into the seating area, for fear the whole wooden structure would come tumbling down on my scrawny little self.

In the barn I would be handed a pitchfork, knowing well that my task of the day was to schlep out the stalls before I could be rewarded with a ride around the track.  They usually kept three or four horses, which meant I had to hold my nose and clean them out, then generously sprinkle the stalls with fresh straw.  On the one occasion I whined about the chore, my grandfather boomed, "Hey!  Let me tell you something, kid...shoveling shit builds character!"  which pretty much turned out to be true. 

Afterwards came the pay-off for the pooper scooper as I climbed up on the sulky and rode with my grandfather for the horses' exercise laps around the track.  I still remember the silence of the countryside broken by a train whistle, the breeze of cool, humid air, the sound of the horse's hoofs methodically pacing the gravel track, and the small dirt clods they would kick up in our direction.  As I grew, I was allowed to hold the reigns.  Sometimes they would get obstinate and my grandpa would grab the lines while calling out, "Knock it off," or if they were particularly ornery, "Stop it, ya bastard!"

My parents were not always humored by the vocabular lessons I garnered from the horsemen, but then I heard just as bad or worse when we left the barns and stopped at my great-grandparents' house before heading home.  Everyone in town called my great-grandpa "Pop".  He had a stroke and most of his language was incomprehensible, except for the cuss words.  He'd mumble along trying to tell a story, which my grandpa seemed to be able to understand but I could make no sense of, until he cursed.  Out it popped crystal clear, which always made me giggle, and Pop would grin and laugh along with me.  My great-grandmother baked the biggest, best molasses cookies of all time; I've never tasted one so good since she passed away.

Grandpa still goes down every morning to rustle around the barns, chat with the horsemen, poke at his "baby brother" (who is 80), and feed the horses.  He catches up on gossip, evaluates the horses' training progress, gripes about the cost of feed, and returns home glad to have a task to look forward to each day.

My grandfather is a big guy with a big booming voice, and strong opinions to go with it. He delights in offering them to anyone who will listen. He has enjoyed intimidating three generations of small children with his deep rumblings like, "Sit up straight, you look like a question mark!" or, “What are you doing sitting in front of the idiot box?  When I was your age TV was called Books!”

My grandparents (on right) with her mother, brother and sister.

But he is also incensed by injustice, especially if an innocent is wronged. His blood will boil and his voice will boom forth, “It just isn’t right, garldammit!”  He may throw out some cuss words as neatly as the rest of them, but you won't catch him using the Lord's name in vain.  He has a long habit of "cripe" and "crimany" and "garldammits" to lean on instead.

He has a tough exterior with a softer heart than he wishes to let on, and he loves deeply in spite of himself. He and my grandmother shared a beautiful love story, and he still gets teary-eyed when he talks about her, 32 years after she died.  His memory is astounding, names and remembrances come easily and flow into enlightening stories.

His favorite pastime is wandering grocery store aisles and swoons when he finds a good deli counter filled with sharp cheeses.  He whistles when he walks, likes a good joke, a clever prank, and a good meal.  He used to say that Grumpy Old Men was written about him.  He is stubborn, outspoken, and politically incorrect at every possible turn.  (But you just gotta love the quirky old codger!)  I picked up a few genetic traits from him, for better or worse.

That is my grandpa, as he was and is today.  He is 97, and still getting along.  Happy Birthday, Gramps.

How Art Can Change The World

Fiona Donovan has a big heart.  Living in Alexandria, Virginia, in the Washington, DC metro area, homeless people are not an uncommon sight to her- on park benches, along the roadsides, or roaming the streets.  She was especially bothered that there are children without homes and wanted to do something to help. That's when she struck on an idea to use her natural talents and create art, sell it and "give the money to kids who need homes".  She went to work painting and drawing, and now sells greeting cards, donating 100% of the profit to a local homeless shelter.

Fiona is five years old. 

Her mother, Amy, said it was all Fiona's idea; Amy and her husband, Scott, only helped her fine-tune the concept and figure out a business model.  Greeting cards seemed like the best idea, as the artwork Fiona created could be mass produced and distributed more easily.  It would also be something that can grow with her; Fiona can add new designs and themes as she produces them.  She is considering a Christmas card theme, but at the moment she is sticking with her original eleven designs.

They put up a website to sell the cards, but let Fiona choose the charity.  "Fiona chose the Carpenter's Shelter because they are in our city, and because they do so much to help children specifically," Amy told me.  They started selling the cards in early June, and last week Fiona delivered a check to the Carpenter's Shelter for $805.  Amy says, "We have surpassed our expectations with the donations and enthusiasm we have received. Many people have donated above the minimum amount."

                             Fiona and her parents presenting a check to the Carpenter's Shelter

Fiona is a talented girl; her mother says she has always been interested in drawing and painting.  "She likes to take art lessons and create her own art at home. She is constantly drawing. The other night, after watching a fashion show on TV, she immediately drew 6 different dress designs."
 

As for the artwork for the cards, Fiona used some pieces she had already created in art class, then made the rest over a two week period.  She told me, "most of them are oil pastels, sharpie markers, and watercolors. Some have paint and chalk pastels."  She wants to be an artist when she grows up, though I think her project shows she already is one.

When I asked her what she would like to say to the Pinon Tree readers, she replied, "Everybody should help each other."  Wise words.

Fiona's parents are rightfully proud of their daughter and her efforts to make a change in her community.  As Amy pointed out, "Not every kid on the first day of Kindergarten can answer the 'what did you do on your summer vacation' question with 'I raised $800 for homeless families.'  It's remarkable."

Indeed!  You can buy Fiona's cards or make a donation to the Carpenter's Shelter through her website, Fiona's Greeting Cards for Charity. 

I've never met Fiona or her parents (we have a mutual friend who told me about Fiona's project), but Bryan and I will be relocating to Alexandria in the coming weeks, so I hope to have the opportunity to meet them soon.

Brava Fiona!  As they say in Italy, "Hai fatto bene!

Do The Artusi

Last night, for the first time in about three years, I went to a movie. With so many other things to do in Italy, we didn’t spend much time at the cinema. Truth be told, I’ve never been a big movie-goer anyway, so it wasn’t much of a sacrifice, especially when there were concerts in the piazzas, plays in the opulent opera house teatro, and various festas to attend year round.

But, having just finished reading the book, Julie and Julia, and being interested to see how it was adapted to the screen, my sister and I walked down to the neighborhood cinema.

Let me just say that we loved it. The dual storyline was woven together nicely, and Meryl Streep inhabited Julia Child’s persona. It almost made me want to purchase a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, which is obviously a desire that has seized millions of others, because the book has skyrocketed to the top of the best-seller list for the first time since it was published nearly 50 years ago.

I’ve never owned a copy, nor has my mother (or, at least if she did, I’ve never seen it on her kitchen bookshelf), because quite frankly French cuisine has not held great appeal for either of us. That’s not to say I don’t acknowledge and laud the woman who brought it to the masses; Julia Child is an icon, and even I watched her on TV occasionally. Who couldn’t like her and her enthusiasm, and her ability to make a complicated cuisine accessible to casual Americans?

I do have my own cooking legend to revere, however. I’m devoted to Artusi, the Italian cookbook author who did for Italian cooking in Italy what Julia Child did sixty years later for French cooking in America.

If you're not familiar with Artusi, let me introduce you. He's so famous only one name is necessary. Every Italian regardless of age knows immediately who you're referring to, and will normally tell you about their favorite recipes or witticisms. In the butcher shop, it was enough for me to tell him that I was making Artusi’s Filetto colla Marsala for him to give me the right cut, and truss it for me, as well.

That is because Pellegrino Artusi wrote the book on Italian cooking, literally. His cookbook, La scienza nella cucina e l’arte di mangiar bene (Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well) was the first to be made available to the masses, and the first to unite regional specialties of the peninsula into one tome. It was also the first one to be written in Italian. Up until Artusi, cookbooks tended to be written in French and distributed among the upper classes, or they were penned as booklets in regional dialects, focusing on the local dishes of a small, provincial area. Cooks from Lombardia couldn’t read a booklet from Sicilia, and vice versa. His book was considered to be an excellent example of the usage of modern Italian language.

Artusi’s book was first published in 1891, and has been in continual circulation ever since. He couldn’t find a publisher for it, so he financed the printing himself. After a couple of years, word spread and he was printing more and more runs. By the time he died in 1910, he had sold more than 200,000 copies.

Even today, there is hardly a household without one, but the most prized copies, with treasured hand-scrawled notes and splatters, are passed down as heirlooms from mother to daughter.

Artusi expanded the book through the years, adding recipes that were sent to him by readers. It grew to a hefty 790 recipes, though he seems to have included only those that he liked personally, leaving out popular regional dishes that apparently didn’t suit his palate.

Pellegrino Artusi was born in the central region of Emilia-Romagna, then moved to Florence at the age of 32. His tome is very heavy on recipes from Emilia and Toscana, which is understandable, but he did take care to include the dishes from other regions, such as ossobuco from Lombardia, riso from Veneto, maccheroni from Napoli, and sorbetto from Sicilia. This was completely unique, and in doing so, he cracked the kitchen window to the air and aromas of the diverse regions of the country.

Like Julia Child, who made French cooking accessible to “servantless American cooks,” Artusi made Italian cuisine doable by all: “With my book, if you can hold a wooden spoon in your hand, you’ll be able to make something,” he wrote.

But it's so much more than a mere collection of recipes. Artusi gives advice on hygiene, on proper digestion, and practical wisdom. “Excessive salt is the enemy of good cooking,” for example. And, “Those who don’t do physical labor should eat more sparingly than those who do.” He also implores readers to “stop eating the moment you feel full,” and says wisely that the day after a meal of heavy, filling food, you should eat lightly.

He spins stories, tells anecdotes, has rather humorous notes -such as saying that lentils are “less thundering” than normal legumes, and gives such basic instructions for the dishes that you can’t help but feel confident that anyone can prepare them successfully.

There are a few translations available in English. The one I prefer is edited and translated by Kyle Phillips, a great expert on food in his own right, who lives in Tuscany. It is, sadly, out of print, and like the treasured used copies in Italy, this translation can be hard to come by. Phillips’ editorial side notes are of immeasurable help; he explains some of the finer points and historical references we would not otherwise understand, and helps to refine the recipes to the American mentality of measurements, something Artusi –and many Italians - rarely use. (I’ve never once seen my chef friend Giorgio measure anything!) Cooking all'occhio, by the eye, is the norm around the peninsula, and Artusi assumes the cook knows how to do this, so Kyle Phillips provides some explanation.

Artusi also included a helpful section on the varieties and seasons for fish, an interesting thesis on coffee, and a chapter on meal-planning by the month, so that you eat what is fresh and appropriate for each season.

I have a collection of Italian cookbooks, but this one is the stalwart, the point of reference in many respects. It's not only full of fantastic recipes, but is a good read, to boot.

*Find my favorite Artusi recipe, and more scrumptious goodies, at La Cucina.*

Tour del Gelato

The weather has finally turned hot; good grief, it took long enough! I was starting to think that 'summer' was not on the northern Ohio calendar year and that only two seasons existed here: winter, and not winter.

Seizing the opportunity to get some sun and some Italian atmosphere, we headed down to piccola Italia (Little Italy) for the blow-out party of the year, the Feast of the Assumption. Just like la vera Italia, the holiday known as ferragosto is the highlight festa of the season. But I'll let Bryan tell you more about that.

No, I'm here to talk gelato. Or, maybe more aptly, the lack thereof. We tried some; it was only so-so. Obviously made from a starter mix and lacking in the fresh fruit pieces or real nuts that give so much 'oomph' to real gelato. And that got me pining for my favorite gelateria in all of Italy, which is very conveniently located in the heart of Ascoli Piceno. (Maybe a little *too* conveniently located near our apartment!)

Yoghi is a narrow piece of paradise right on the Piazza Arringo. But don't let the name fool you. Sure they serve up yogurt three ways (frozen whirled with mix-ins; frozen soft-serve with toppings; or fresh yogurt with toppings). What you want here is the gelato.

Let me warn you: avert your eyes from the chocolate cases as you walk in the door. Yes, they're decadent and decoratively beautiful. Yes, they're made on-site. But don't let that side-track you from the gelato. Because we're talking home-made from the freshest of ingredients, flavors changing daily kind of gelato.

Since the master gelataio is always concocting new taste sensations, each visit is a treat. And because she is also a master chocolatier, there are always at least two gelati incorporating that (which I consider to be nature's most perfect food). The "plain" chocolate is anything but mundane; it is so rich with so much pure, quality cocoa that you must "cut" it with another flavor alongside. Other chocolate flavors I've selflessly taste-tested include milk chocolate-cinnamon, ciocco-cocco (chocolate-coconut), and white chocolate-cherry.

But you're going to want to try more than one flavor. Trust me. While the creamy and sweet-nutty nocciola (hazelnut) is a good stand-by, if the noci (walnut) is on offer, I choose it every time. The taste of crushed walnuts packs a palate-pleasing punch (especially next to the chocolate). Their stracciatella takes vanilla-chocolate chip up a few notches, as it uses an insanely good fior di latte as its base and comes with abundant, optimum chocolate pieces (remember, she's a chocolate maker, too!)

I've enjoyed cannolo, pistachio, blueberry, strawberry, sacher torte, vaniglia (which is surprisingly hard to find in Italy), and Kinder (based on a chocolate-hazelnut children's snack). None have disappointed. Seriously; never (and I've spent a lot of time in this place!)

Because Yoghi is also a pastry shop, chocolate shop and yogurt shop, they offer only eight to ten gelato flavors a day, but they are always fresh. Besides, it gives them the chance to rotate flavors more often, giving us more variety to try. It also means that you can order a nice piece of cake or a chocolate brownie and get it topped with gelato! They make only the creamy kind (no dairy-free sorbetto, at least I've never seen any).

Once you've eaten your swoon-worthy gelato, you're free to peruse those chocolate cases. The artful and tasteful truffles and filled treats are some of the best you'll ever eat. Free-trade coffee is also served here.

Yoghi - Gelateria, Pasticceria, Yogurteria, Cioccolateria

Piazza Arringo (between Bar Ideal and Bar Delfino)

Ascoli Piceno's centro storico

Tell Gregorio and Giusy we said hello!

Find more tempting gelaterie over at Ms. Adventures in Italy, the brain behind the Tour del Gelato.

La Buona Notte di San Lorenzo

Today is San Lorenzo, the feast day of Saint Lawrence, a popular festa throughout Italy. He is the patron saint of librarians and is called upon by comedians and cooks, owing to his famous quip during his martyrdom, "I am roasted enough of this side, turn me over now". He is also one of the patron saints of Rome. The notte di San Lorenzo is widely celebrated, though I suspect it is because his feast day falls in August while the entire peninsula is on vacation and in a party mood.

Why notte? San Lorenzo coincides with the Perseid meteor shower, the most predictable show in the sky. The shooting star event arrives like cosmic clockwork, littering the nocturnal heavens with a glorious light show that inspires romance, awe, and the hope of wishes come true. As kids we would lay down in the backyard, braving mosquito bites, and wish upon the falling stars. When it was a particularly active shower, we called it stardust, which wasn't far from the truth, since meteor showers are the stream of debris shed from a passing comet.

The experts are saying that best viewing will begin at about midnight tomorrow night and continue into the early morning hours on August 12. (But do they *really* need to point out that laying down in the middle of your street is not recommended?!) It is supposed to be a good year, with about 30 shooters per hour.

In Ascoli, the feast of San Lorenzo is the biggest bash of the year as it is designated la notte bianca, or "white night," which turns the entire centro storico into an all-night street party. Shops and museums stay open. There is a communal aperitivo hour in both of the main piazzas, and music and dancing are lined up in various venues all over the historic core of town. In one street you'll hear blues, while another stage boasts tribal music, and yet another cranks out ska. The acts and genres rotate all night long. This year there is one dance spectacular scheduled called Orgasm of Flamenco (do I want to know?).

The party peaks at 3:00 AM with the high-flying antics of a theatrical troupe called la Compagnia dei Folli, or the company of crazies, which in fact they are, as they "dance" and perform while suspended from bell towers and church domes.

The night caps off with a concert at dawn, then everyone traipses off for breakfast before bed. (And you wondered why we couldn't sleep during the summer while living in the heart of the centro?)

While Ascoli's notte bianca is headlined as the festa di San Lorenzo and stars do feature prominently in their logo, there really isn't any attention given to the actual feast day, so I didn't put it together with the Perseid showers or know how that fit in with Saint Lawrence until I read about it on Bleeding Espresso last year (thanks Michelle!). Sometimes Italians take it for granted that you know your saint's days and their signficance.

This year we'll be missing out on the party in the piazza, and, knowing the crazy weather around here, it will likely cloud up, but late tomorrow night we'll go outside, brave the skeeters, and turn our eyes heavenward just like when we were kids, hoping to bask in the stardust and cast our wishes on a star.

Photo credit: Flickr flattop341

A Rose in Barcelona

My grandmother’s name was Rose. She had a cousin Rose, who traveled to Italy a couple years agoto meet us, accompanied by my cousin Celia. We all spent a wonderful week on the beautiful Costa del Cilento, hanging out together, cooking together, and visiting the Motherland together.

Both of these Roses were named for their aunt Rosa, who was the sister of my grandma’s mother, and who is referred to around the family as Great Aunt Rose for clarification purposes. If you think that is confusing you should try to keep track of things in my step-father’s family. His mother was named Katherine, his step-mother was named Katherine, and he has two sisters named Kathy, each dubbed for their respective mothers. Yeah, I know. You can't make this stuff up.

Cousin Rose is quite a gal. When she decided that retirement wasn't for her, she took a short-term job in Barcelona teaching English. That was twenty years ago. She is still there, living la vida loca, which keeps her a very young 85.

It also keeps her a cool 85, as you will see. Always a beauty, Rose has done some light acting work through the years. Her most recent role is in a music video...where Rose gets the guy! (You go, girl!)

Watch her whoop it up in Hasiendo el Amor. The catchy song is annoyingly redundant and gets lodged in your brain. Don't say I didn't warn you.