In Berlin!

Sad news! My time in Italy is almost up. I am currently on vacation in Berlin and will be returning to Firenze next week for a few days before heading to Morocco (for another vacation, I guess?) In the meantime, there won't be many posts (nor any photos), but I will try to get some up once I'm back in Italy and then perhaps a few from the US as well. Ciao for now!

Can You Stomach It?

Apologies for the bad pun in the title, but I couldn't resist, since this entry is devoted to my recent experience with lampredotto, which is the fourth and final stomach of a cow. Not be confused with white honeycomb-esque tripe (trippa, in Italian), which is an altogether different part of the cow's digestive system, lampredotto is wrinkly, brown, and very tender when properly cooked.

In case you were curious (and even if you weren't), here are some pictures of these fascinating innards:

Trippa



Lampredotto



Florentine cuisine is known for using lots of meat, and innards are certainly no exception. I had read about these famed sandwiches before I even arrived in Florence and was determined to eat at least one while living in here. Meat is indeed ubiquitous - all over town, one can find street vendors selling rolls stuffed with freshly stewed tripe and lampredotto (as well as more standard offerings such as roast beef), although I've heard these stands are less numerous than they were in the past, partly due to changing tastes. Still, at 2.50 euros a pop, a tripe or lampredotto sandwich makes an economical and nourishing meal.

Despite the cajoling and encouragement of my host father (who is a big fan of lampredotto), it took me over two months to work up the courage to taste it. Finally, about three weeks ago, I found a friend daring enough to accompany me to the much-lauded lunch stand Nerbone in the Mercato Centrale. (I must thank Emily Wise Miller and her book, The Food Lover's Guide to Florence, for leading me to Nerbone! Her blog, whose name I unwittingly practically stole, can be found here: Florence Foodie )

Nerbone, which serves up piping hot plates of risotto, pasta, and sliced meat to mobs of hungry patrons at lunch time, is certainly more than just a sandwich spot. However, I would estimate that at least half the people ordering had come for the trippa and lampredotto sandwiches (interestingly, most of those who ordered these items were men). The lampredotto, which is kept hot by being submerged in a bath of dark, piquant, broth, is plopped onto a cutting board to be sliced to order.

Lampredotto about to be sliced at Nerbone



When it came time to order my sandwich, I stuck to the ritual that most others seemed to be following: ask for your panini roll to be "bagnato" (soaked in the meat's cooking juices) and then say yes to both the salsa verde and the red salsa piccante.

The sandwich



Before I tucked into my sandwich, I reminded myself that lampredotto would be no different from any other meat I'd had before. The first bite was miraculous. In fact, the meat was like nothing I'd ever had before though - silky, tender, juicy, and flavorful, it quite nearly melted in my mouth. On the second bite, however, I bit into a thick rind of fat and nearly gagged because of my surprise at the unyielding texture. Despite this slight setback, I continued to munch away, happily enjoying the majority of the lampredotto. By my seventh bite or so, I began to feel quite weighed down by the meat and reluctantly decided I wouldn't be able to finish the sandwich. (At this point, my friend also stopped eating, although I think this was because she did not find the lampredotto quite as pleasing as I did.) Perhaps next time I'll have to find someone to share with.

Happy Thanksgiving/Giorno del Ringraziamento!

Clearly, this post is a bit late, but my excuse is that I've been in a tryptophan-induced state of slumber/general daze for literally the past few days. Yes, Thanksgiving did happen in Italy, although it took quite a bit of planning to make it possible. One of my teachers managed to secure a space with a full kitchen where students, teachers, and host families could enjoy Thanksgiving dinner together.

The atmosphere was a bit bleak (i.e.: concrete floors and fluorescent lighting), the weather outside was wet, and the food, while homemade, paled in comparison to most Thanksgiving meals I've had. Given the situation, it was quite good though. All the savory items were prepared by our teacher and her Italian husband, who owned several restaurants years ago. We students made the pumpkin and apple pies (with varying degrees of success).

Regardless of the quality of the food, I think I can rightly say this was one of the best Thanksgiving dinners I've experienced. The fact that my host parents, L&S, attended made all the difference - it was truly like being with family. They even partook in the turkey, potatoes, stuffing, peas, and pie, although I'm not sure they found much of it very appealing.

Perhaps to the dismay of the Italians who attended the dinner, most of the meal was straight-up traditional Thanksgiving food. However, we did enjoy some crostini before the meal and plenty of wine throughout it. Perhaps the most Italian part of the meal, however, was the side dish of Cipolline in agrodolce. In this dish, small, jewel-like onions, bathed in a sweet sauce, are cooked until silky and tender. Their mildly acidic yet sweet flavor makes them the perfect side dish. They contribute moisture to roasted turkey and they add an unexpected textural dimension when piled on top of mashed potatoes, although they stand up wonderfully on their own as well.

I failed to bring my camera to dinner, so I have no photos to share this time around, but I thought I'd post links to a couple recipes for cipolle that I found on the Food & Wine and the Serious Eats sites. Both versions are quite similar and very straightforward, but seeing as how I've never made the dish, I'm afraid I can't recommend one over the other. Use your best judgment!

Food & Wine's recipe for Cipolline in Agrodolce

Mario Batali's take, via Serious Eats

An Ode to Pane

Mangio il pane tutti i giorni per la colazione, poi per il pranzo, e poi ancora una volta alla cena. (I eat bread every day for breakfast, then for lunch, and then again at dinner.)

Perché no? (Why not?)

The bread in Italy, while perhaps not as world-famous as French bread, is not only excellent, but also central, I would argue, to the culture. In nearly every neighborhood I've traveled to in Florence in the past three months, I have found a panificio (bakery) or forno (literally, "oven"). Indeed, bread, the sustenance of both the poor and the wealthy, is central to Italian cuisine and an integral part of everyday life in this country.

Lest you think I'm speaking of Italian bread (that wrongly-named, Wonder Bread-esque stuff found in the States), allow me to elaborate. As with most of Italian food, each region has its own specialty when it comes to bread - Liguria has its focaccia, Puglia, pane pugliese, and Tuscany, pane toscano (not to mention schiaciatta, but I'll save that for another post).

Pane toscano's biggest claim to fame (or infamy, depending on your point of view) is that it is unsalted. It is a somewhat dry, dense bread with a pale crust, quite unlike a crisp, airy baguette or a chewy, mildly piquant sourdough boule.

Pane toscano



The first time I ever ate pane toscana was not in Italy but in fact in New York, at a restaurant in Brooklyn called Locanda Vini e Olii. The chef, as I remember reading in Edible Brooklyn, is from Florence. Hence, she serves classic pane toscana with salsa verde, a green sauce which is not at all spicy and made mostly from parsley. While I had an otherwise very pleasant and memorable meal at Locanda, I was thoroughly disappointed by the bread, because it was not what I was expecting. Just over one month later, I arrived in Tuscany, but this time I was prepared for my second encounter with the region's eponymous bread.

Here in Florence, I eat pane toscana every night at dinner (unless we have pizza, as we did tonight, which I will also save for a different post). Granted, it took some getting used to, but I've now come to savor it. The bread's mild yet earthy, slightly sweet flavor is perfect for scooping up errant pieces of pasta and for sopping up the salty sauce and olive oil invariably left behind after I've polished off my primi and secondi.

Pane toscana at dinner (alongside cod in a spicy tomato-olive sauce and broccoli slowly cooked with olive oil and peperoncino)



Lunch, which is a simple affair for me, also usually involves bread. I will admit I sometimes buy a quarter-loaf of crusty, chewy, and pleasingly salty pane pugliese from the local panificio instead of pane toscano, but pane toscano integrale (whole-grain) also makes a very good sandwich.

Pane pugliese with wild boar salami, provolone, and a nearly-perfect tomato



Pane integrale with sharp pecorino and tomatoes



Today, as I munched a truly-Tuscan sandwich of salame toscano and pane toscano, I realized how much I will miss being able to buy high-quality bread once I return to the States at the end of December. When I told my family this tonight at dinner, I joked that they would have to ship me loaves of bread. Then, in all seriousness, I said that the next best thing would be to learn to make it myself. I'll let you know how it goes.

For more reading on Tuscan bread, check out this informative article from the New York Times.

Apple Pie, Italian-style

Apple pie may not be the most logical thing to make while in Italy, but I found myself with a craving for it as soon as a chill came into the air, and the first rosy apples appeared in the market. My host mother, however, insisted that I not turn the oven on as long as it was still slightly warm outside, so I patiently waited until temperatures began to dip into the 40's at night to ask her permission to bake. Finally, last weekend, as I was sitting in my room upstairs, wrapped in a blanket with my hot-water bottle on my lap, I decided it was time.

First, I had to find a pan. As much as I wanted to make apple pie, I knew it would be difficult to find the appropriate pan in Italy, since Italians really don't make pie. (Pie is not particularly pretty, and as I have discovered, Italian desserts are infinitely more elegant in appearance than American ones.) My host family offered their pans, but they were mostly too large or too deep for a pie. Worried, I began to consider other options - an apple crisp, perhaps? Apple cake? Apple tart? Apple galette? Skip the apples and make something else?

However, I decided I might be able to buy a fitting disposable aluminum pan, so I set off on an expedition to the Esselunga supermarket near my house. After wandering the aisles for what seemed like half and hour, I was bewildered, quite ready to give up, and, frankly, looked like a crazy person. At that moment, I caught sight of the aluminum pans, tucked away on top of the meat refrigerator case, and retrieved a set of three 8 or 9-inch pie-esque pans. They would have to do.

Next came the recipe. My sometimes-employer back in New York, food writer Melissa Clark, had sent me her recipe for the perfect all-butter pie crust. I was excited to use it until I realized I would have to double the proportions in order to make a double-crusted pie. As delicious as it sounded, I didn't want to make my host family pay for all that butter, so I opted for a slightly less rich crust, ultimately melding Melissa's recipe with one I found on Epicurious. The recipe for the filling was essentially improvised.

Then came the time to convert my mish-mash of a recipe into metric units. This was not a difficult task, although, as I knew from one summer of converting an entire cookbook for Melissa, it can be tedious. Using this website (http://www.gourmetsleuth.com/gram_calc.htm), I calculated how much flour, butter, sugar, etc. I would need by using the chart of common baking ingredients toward the bottom of the page. (A simple unit conversion calculator does not work when baking, since a cup of butter and a cup of flour have very different weights.)

Finally, I had to write the list of ingredients in Italian so that my host mother could go to the supermarket to purchase them.

This is how it turned out:

280 g burro, senza sale
315 g farina
100 g zucchero bianco e 50 g zucchero di canna (o solamente 150 g zucchero bianco)
1 limone
1 cucchiaio cannela
un'po del sale
1 chilo delle mele verdi (7 o 8 mele)

Pretty straightforward, right?

After all those obstacles, everything else came together quite nicely. I laid out all my ingredients (except for the apples, which were outside) on the kitchen table, and my host mother came to sit and watch.




She had just made a typically beautiful apple dessert that morning - it was composed of a golden crust topped with pastry cream and rings of thinly sliced apples, all of which were then baked. She found the amount of butter in the pie crust somewhat appalling, and the whole concept of a dessert made of basically plain fruit plus sugarless dough seemed to perplex her a bit. "È strano" ("it's strange"), she said. We did share some good laughs, however, when my roommate and I made a mess while cutting the cold butter into the flour and struggled to peel the apples with serrated dinner knives (she helped us a bit with this part).

The crust didn't hold together terribly well, so the pie was pretty much the epitome of a crude American dessert. The Italians, however, would call it brutto ma buono ("ugly but good", which happens to be the name of a classic Tuscan cookie).

Freshly baked pie (before)...



Clearly it was molto buono, because we nearly decimated it minutes after I took the photo above.

...and after




My host parents even gobbled up the tiny apple "tart" I made with the leftover crust and apples. They insisted, however, that my roommate and I take the leftover pie to our room and eat it for breakfast (which we very willingly did). Somehow, despite all the olive oil they consume every day, my host family was still too scared by the butter in the crust to consider eating pie two days in a row. For those who would like to try it, though, here's the recipe:

Very Basic Apple Pie

Crust:
295 grams all-purpose flour
250 grams unsalted butter, chilled, cut into small pieces
3/4 teaspoon salt
4 to 8 tablespoons ice water

Filling:
Juice of 1/2 to 1 lemon (you may need more or less depending on the tartness of your apples)
6 to 8 medium apples (a combo of Granny Smith and Golden Delicious or any crisp baking apples, such as Macouns), peeled, cored, and sliced (toss the prepared apples with the lemon juice in a large bowl to prevent them from browning)
75 grams granulated sugar (you may also need to modulate the amount of sugar depending on the tartness of your apples)
50 to 75 grams Demerara sugar (or light brown sugar)
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon (or to taste)
2 to 3 tablespoons flour
Pinch of salt


Combine flour and salt in a medium bowl, then work in butter with a pastry cutter, two knives, or your fingertips until mixture resembles a coarse meal. Sprinkle with ice water, starting with the minimum amount, and mix lightly with a fork or your hands until the mixture just becomes together. Add more ice water if needed, but be careful not to over-mix, or the dough will be tough.

Divide the dough into two parts, and wrap each one in plastic wrap, flattening into a disk as you go. Ideally, you should chill the dough for 30 minutes. If you don't have time, proceed to roll out the dough now, although it will be a bit difficult to work with and will result in a tougher crust.

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Toss the apples with the sugars, cinnamon, flour, and salt in a large bowl and let sit. If you haven't already done so, roll out one piece of the dough on a lightly floured work surface, then drape it over the rolling pin and transfer it to a pie pan. Leave a generous inch or two of overhang and gently press the dough into the pan. Pour the apples into the crust, then roll out the second piece of dough and lay it on top of the apples. Cut off the excess dough (use this to make a mini-apple tart or cinnamon roll), crimp the edges, and cut a few slashes in the top crust.

Place the pie on a cookie sheet to catch any juices and bake for 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to 350°F and continue to bake for 45 minutes to an hour, until crust is golden and filling is bubbling. Allow the pie to cool for at least 10 minutes before eating, although it's best enjoyed while still somewhat warm.

Pasta, Pasta, Pasta

As something I eat every day in Italy (and one of my favorite foods to cook and eat for as long as I can remember), I think pasta deserves a post all to itself. It is practically the core of the Italian diet, as the giant pasta aisle at the supermarket can attest to. Every night my host mother cooks a small serving of pasta for me and my roommate, and every night we wonder what new she dish has concocted. Although all her cooking is excellent, my host mother's pasta dishes are almost certainly the best part of the meal. Presented in a simple white bowl, the pasta appears understated, almost minimalistic. It is always judiciously sauced, sometimes with jewel-like bits of vegetables nestled throughout, or at others with a silky coating of sage-butter, a flurry of grated cheese, and a sprinkle of black pepper. There is never a dull moment with pasta, and certainly the endless array of possible pasta and sauce combinations are part of what make Italian cuisine so interesting and satisfying.

The primo piatto is something I eagerly anticipate, but it is a pleasure that seldom lasts long enough. Although I make an effort to savor my pasta slowly, deciphering its nuances, usually very little time usually elapses between the first bite and the last. Before I know it, my bowl is spotlessly clean and white yet again. Eating the perfect plate of pasta is only a fleeting pleasure, but in its simplicity it is a truly sublime experience.

And now, onto the photos and recipe...

Penne con ragú



Farfalle with zucchini and saffron (Farfalle con zucchine e zafferano)



Penne with tomatoes and basil (Penne con pomodori e basilico)



Rotini with tomatoes and tuna (Rotini con pomodori e tonno)



Casarecci with zucchini, cream, and cheese (Casarecci con zucchine, panna, e formaggio)



Spaghetti with Spicy Tomato-Olive Sauce (Spaghetti con salsa piccante al pomodoro e olive)

This pasta, I think, comes closest to providing the most pleasure with the least amount of effort as any I have tasted. It is also excellent when tossed with some tuna (the olive oil-packed Italian variety, not the bland American stuff in water). Use the highest quality ingredients you can find and afford.

Serves two as a main course or three as a first course

4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 clove garlic, thinly sliced
Hot red pepper pieces, powder, or flakes, to taste
1 t. dried basil
5 to 10 (or more or less, depending on your taste) very good green or black olives, pitted and halved lengthwise
1/2 to 3/4 cup skinned pureed canned tomatoes (if you can find bottled Italian tomato puree, use it)
Salt, to taste
1/3-1/2 pound paghetti (or penne or other short pasta)
1 tablespoon fresh basil leaves, torn into small pieces

In a medium saucepan, warm the oil over medium-low heat, then add the garlic, hot red pepper, and dried basil. Cook, stirring, until fragrant, then add the olives and tomatoes. Reduce the heat to low, and stir to combine. Let simmer for 5 to 10 minutes, making sure that the garlic does not brown. Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and add the pasta.

Simmering sauce



When the garlic is soft and beginning to turn golden, remove it and the hot red pepper pieces, if using. Season the sauce with salt to taste and remove from heat until the pasta is almost done.

When the pasta is still somewhat undercooked, drain it and add to the saute pan with the sauce. Turn the heat up to medium and toss the pasta to coat it with sauce, then add the fresh basil and toss for 1 to 2 minutes more, until the pasta is just cooked but still somewhat firm to the bite.

Transfer the pasta to shallow bowls and serve with good bread to soak up any excess oil.

Back in Florence

Having just returned from an eight-day sojourn in Vienna and Prague, I'm a bit melancholy but frankly quite thankful to be off the diet of meat, potatoes, bread, and beer. However, it wouldn't be fair of me to completely skip over the fare I consumed in the north. Although it was heavy and perhaps "unsophisticated" to some palates, the food was certainly hearty and sustained me during the many hours spent exploring the museums, churches, and streets of those beautiful cities.

I consumed my fair share of "traditional" Austrian food in Vienna - bratwurst bought on the street, wienerschnitzel, a taste of goulash, and plenty of good beer (no pastries, sadly). The brat was particularly tasty, perhaps because all I'd had to eat that day was some stale bread from Italy and an apple. Mine was doused in plenty of curry powder (so it was actually currywurst), splashed with a bit of sweet ketchup-like sauce and served with a nice hunk of soft, squishy bread.



The definite culinary highlight of Vienna (and perhaps the whole trip) was the Naschmarkt - a giant, sprawling outdoor market that gave the two-story Mercato Centrale here in Florence a serious run for its money. There were stands overflowing with fresh produce - unusual greens, exotic fruits, vegetables of all sorts, fresh dates, etc., as well as barrels of sauerkraut, chocolate shops, purveyors of Italian cheeses, olives, meats, as well as many kebab and bratwurst vendors. I bought some fresh dates as a snack, but otherwise I simply ogled the dizzying array of available foods and wished I had more room in my suitcase and stomach (not to mention more money in my pocket) to try more things.

Spices



Olives



Fruit



Viennese architecture






Onward...




Prague is not a city known for its outstanding cuisine, but we certainly enjoyed the change in pace from Italian food. Portion size was a whole other matter – meals there are huge! Our first night we sat at a communal table and watched a quite portly group of Czechs down many slices of fried bread rubbed with raw garlic and smeared with raw ground beef.

On the second night, we enjoyed some unusual beer and filling Czech specialties (including the fried brad and garlic, sans beef) from a brewery my Czech friend had recommended. My nettle beer was quite grassy and refreshing, though it didn’t pair very well with my potato dumplings, sauerkraut, and smoked pork. It was quite a satisfying meal after all the exploring we'd done that day though.

Prague's cathedral







View from the top



Nettle beer



Pork, 'kraut, and dumplings




As we do in Italy, we ate bread and pastries for breakfast, although the offerings tended to be lightly sweetened and either filled with poppy seeds or cheese. This particular roll was somewhat like challah, though less dense.




Charles Bridge



The old Jewish cemetary




By the third night, we were in the food for something lighter, so we nibbled on some hummus, baba ghanouj, and stuffed eggplant from a small tea lounge/hookah bar near Old Town Square. On our fourth and final night, we took the tram with my friend about half an hour from our hostel to a restaurant that served some tasty Balkan specialties. I dug into a nicely charred patty of beef and lamb, served on top of heavenly home-made bread with some raw onions on the side (a “Balkan burger”, perhaps?)



I did purchase one food souvenir while there – a small bag of red sauerkraut from the produce stand near the hostel.



My host family is very curious about “the kraut”, so I’m planning to cook them dinner with it in the not-too-distant future – most likely braised sauerkraut with apples, pork chops, and mashed potatoes. There will, of course, be pictures to follow!

Upon our return, we enjoyed one of the best Italians inventions to grace the planet - pizza. I splurged and got the "Caprese", with fresh tomatoes and mozzarella di bufala, though it was a bit watery due to the cheese.



The pies from Il Pizzaiuolo, a bustling restaurant on Via de' Macci, are good but not great Neapolitan-style pizza. The dough is deliciously salty and chewy and nicely charred, but the pizzas have a very large crust that tends to get in the way of the toppings, which are judiciously applied, though almost to the point of stingyness. Next time I think I'll stick with the classics (or just try a new pizzeria!)

Eye Candy

Tomorrow I'm headed Vienna and Prague for eight days, so there's not a lot of time to write a very in-depth post before I leave, so I think I'll just provide a little writing and some fun pictures. Two days ago I went to the Mercato Centrale to pick up some tomatoes for lunch and then remembered that I'd also wanted to buy some nibbles to sustain me on my upcoming travels. Dried fruit and nuts seemed to work the trick while I made my way down from Denmark to Italy by train in August, so I decided I'd purchase them in the market. I'd heard rumors of a supposedly legendary purveyor of all sorts of dried and dehydrated fruits on the second floor of the market, which was where I was to begin with. This is what I encountered:



Well, needless to say, I got a little carried away and snapped a ton of photos after I had purchased an etto (about 100 grams) each of dried apricots, dried pineapple rings, dried sultana raisins, and almonds. Sort of a boring selection given all that was offered, but I'd had some more exotic fruits (slices of kiwis, limes, and starfruit as well as whole kumquat and baby oranges) from a vendor downstairs that were very underwhelming. These, however, are delicious (yes, I sampled some, but I'm trying to save the rest for my travels!)









As long as I'm on the topic of fruit, I had to add an photo of the oranges that were temptingly hanging off of small potted trees in the garden of the Palazzo Medici-Riccardi. They may look green, but they are definitely oranges. Most oranges are not perfectly orange when ripe and are instead gassed so they will look more appealing to consumers. Yep. Oranges are green.

An Autumn Meal

After more than a month of blazingly hot sun and mosquitoes, things are finally cooling down here. The cooler temperatures, coupled with the fact that Italian houses (many of which have large windows and tile floors) are designed to stay cool in the summer means it can get quite chilly indoors at night. (Oh, did I mention that the heat won't be on until November?) You can imagine how thankful I was, then, when we received this beautiful dish of risotto and lentils for dinner last night.



The rice, interspersed with earthy lentils, golden onion, and bits of sausage, was toothsome and hearty; it was the perfect meal for a dark, blustery night. The best part, however, was that I was able to watch Linda as she cooked it! Some time ago, she noticed that whenever she serves risotto, I absolutely devour it. I had also told her that I wanted to learn to make risotto properly, so she called me downstairs last night around when she had just begun to heat up some oil, onions, and sausage in a pan...

What follows is my attempt to write a recipe for Linda's Lentil Risotto (Risotto e Lentiche)

Serves 2 as a main course, 3 as a starter

In a saute pan over low heat, heat about 3 tablespoons of olive oil and add 1 1/2 tablespoons of thinly sliced white onion and 1 1/2 tablespoons of crumbled sweet Italian sausage. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until the onions are soft and golden but not brown.

Add 1 1/2 cups arborio rice, stir to combine with the onions, and cook until the rice is toasted. Raise the heat to high, add 1/2 cup of dry white wine, and let cook until the wine has completely evaporated (the mixture should bubble vigorously).

At this point, add 1 cup hot lentil broth*, stir, cover the pan, and cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally (contrary to popular belief, there is no need to constantly stir risotto). When all the liquid has absorbed, add another cup of broth, but this time add some of the lentils (about 1/2 cup) with the broth. Taste a bit of the rice and season with kosher salt as needed, then stir, cover, and continue to cook over low heat, stirring occasionally. As before, when the liquid had absorbed, add another cup of broth (and more lentils) and a few dashes of ground hot red pepper (about 1/8 teaspoon). Stir to combine, then cook, covered, over low heat, until the liquid has absorbed. Test the rice for doneness - if it is still crunchy or too chewy, add up to 1 more cup of broth, season with more salt if needed, cover, and cook as before.

Before serving, season with more salt to taste. It is important not to add too much broth or the rice will be overcooked. When done, the risotto will be creamy in consistency, but each grain of rice will still have some bite. Before serving, let the risotto sit in the pan, covered, for 5 minutes, then garnish with snipped Italian (flat-leaf) parsley. Buon appetito!

*In place of chicken or beef broth, Linda cooked the risotto using the liquid from the lentils, which contained carrots, celery, and sage. (She also added a dash of soy sauce.) The lentil "stock" is easy to make and imbued the whole dish with a lovely flavor. As long as you're cooking lentils, you might as well throw in a few aromatics into the water. That said, you could just as easily substitute any other kind of broth. You will probably need about 4 cups of broth in total, although it may turn out to be less.

A Primer on Italian Meals

Figuring what my first "real" post should be is proving to be a bit perplexing, so I think I'll begin with a quick overview of how meals are structured in Italy.

Breakfast ("colazione"), is very simple in Italy and usually consists of some sort of starch (bread or a pastry) and some source of caffeine (coffee with milk or capuccino). Often, it is more convenient to purchase breakfast in a bar, where the coffee and pastries are almost guaranteed to be delicious. Where I live, my roommate and I each receive one white roll, which we spread with butter or jam (or, lately, "crema alle nocciole", better known as Nutella) and wash it all down with a cup of coffee or black tea (I'm beginning to think I should switch to coffee, since good tea in Italy is hard to come by). This, of course, isn't really a stick-to-your-ribs meal, so I usually supplement my breakfast with a piece of fruit.

The Ubiquitous Nutella



Lunch ("pranzo") used to be the main meal of the day in Italy, when everyone would come home from work or school and enjoy a leisurely meal together. Nowadays, many Italians take a light lunch in the form of a sandwich or salad, much like we do in the US. My host family, however, still eats a large midday meal around 1:00 in the afternoon, complete with a pasta dish (primo piatto), a meat dish (secondo piatto), and a vegetable or side dish (contorno).

Dinner in Italy is consumed considerably later than in the US, so an afternoon snack ("merenda" or "spuntino") around 4:00 is almost necessary. This is especially true for young children, who, like me, favor bread or bananas with Nutella.

Finally, dinner ("cena") is eaten around 8:00 (perhaps later but usually not earlier). For Italians who make lunch their main meal, like my host family, dinner is generally very light - perhaps a bit of meat or other protein, a vegetable side dish or salad, and fresh fruit for dessert (dolci). I, on the other hand, have class all day and tend to eat lunch on the go. When it comes to dinner, though, Linda prepares a veritable feast, complete with primo piatto, secondo, contorno, and dolci. The following photos are gathered from some of my first meals with Linda and her husband, Sergio.

Penne with a subtly spicy tomato sauce and green olives



Pan-fried pork chops with rosemary, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar



Potatoes sauteed with olive oil and seasoned with plenty of salt and rosemary



Late-summer Italian fruit: pesce, prugne, e uve