Life...Italian Style

A Simple Thanksgiving for 50

Choosing which holiday to spend in which country can be difficult, but after 3 years, I've got it down:

Christmas: USA - Umbria is so lacking in Christmas spirit that it makes me almost miss the commercialism of America, plus, you can't beat shopping the Christmas sales when you are buying with the Euro! 

New Years: Italy - I love the big multi-multi-multi course end of the year dinner! (skip the cotechino though....)

Easter: could go either way - I can definitely live without Easter breakfast in Umbria - a hard boiled egg, salami, lamb-innard stew (which I like, but not first thing in the morning), and the dry dry dry Pizza di Pasqua, which looks like a delicious cheese brioche, but its the driest, worst bread in the world.  Lunch/dinner is another story - whole baby lamb or goat roasted over the fire, fried artichokes, more innard stew, and lots of other good stuff! However, I do like a good honey baked ham, easter baskets, and all things easter bunny!

4th of July:  another either way - obviously the spirit lies in America, but its fun to try to recreate here in Itay - plus it gives Italians a chance to eat a real burger, not the weird gross little patty things they have here.  (and of course the burgers are good - Americans only know how to cook and eat hamburgers anyway, right? McDonalds, right???)

Halloween:  USA - its a new holiday here - and there are no mini-Snickers.

Thanksgiving is one of the holidays that I don't mind spending abroad, because I've found that Italians get just as excited about it as we do.  Who doesn't love the sight of a giant stuffed turkey???  This year at Trattoria Basilikó we even had a turkey carving race!

Here's what you need to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for 50 in Italy:

• 45 pounds of turkey
• 2 old hens for broth
• 10 pounds of butter (unheard of in olive oil-only umbria)
• 12 liters of heavy cream
• 3 loaves of Pugliese style bread - the saltless bread of umbria will not work for stuffing
• 13 pounds of cippollini from Cannara for creamed onions
• 25 pounds of potatoes for mash (actually, more - Italians eat mashed potatoes like they are going out of style)
• 11 pounds of brussel sprouts - special request item
• 10 pounds of sweet potatoes, or "American Potatoes"  - another special request item - and they only have the white kind
• 20 pounds of whatever root vegetables you can find - difficult because everything has the same name - rape (RA-pay)
• cranberry sauce - sent from USA - enough for personal use only - the thought of eating any kind of jelly with meat makes Italians absolutely sick!
• 6 cans of pumpkin puree - also sent from USA - there is no differentiating between different kinds of squash here in umbria - every type is called zucca - trying to ask for butternut or delicata or kabocha is futile - don't even try for sugar pie pumpkins - if they exist here, they exist only to be carved on halloween!
• a good egg nog recipe - the Italians were so-so about the egg nog, some liked it, some just didn't get it - the only person who loved it (and finished off everone's glass at her table) was a tall, thin, model-like girl from Romania - you never know!

Turkey Day at Basilikó this year!

The Year in Review...

One year and 2 days ago, I arrived in Italy and turned a new page in my life - looking back, its been quite a year!   In 2007 I ....

• moved to Italy
• learned to speak Italian, abbastanza bene...
• experienced a little culture shock
• survived working at Il Bacco Felice with Salvatore, and
• probably enlarged my liver a little doing so...
• turned the big 3-0
• adopted 2 kittens, Lilla and 'Cino
• took a month-long motorcycle trip, through the Balkans, and helped orphans in Montenegro learn how to cook (new years resolution:  finish writing about that)
• worked the Trampetti Olive Harvest , and learned that age truly is all in the mind
• got married!
• opened Basilikó Trattoria here in Foligno

to follow along visually, check out my Flickr photo site .

Buon Capodanno a Tutti !!!!

love and marriage (part 1)

I'm a little late in writing this, but, last week, Federico and I got married!   Don't fret if you weren't invited - no one else was either.  In order for me to stay legally (finally) in this country, and be able to plan my real wedding next summer, we had to do the "courthouse wedding" thing.  And it was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be - I spent hours searching for information about documentation, and reading peoples horror stories on the internet - it made me really nervous...
We began our sojourn in Roma,  which I didn't mind at all because I think it's the greatest city in the world!  First, I had to go to the American Embassy in Roma to fill out a Nulla Osta ( Download NullaOsta.pdf ), which is basically just a sworn statement saying that one is free to marry.  Then the next day (all of this has to be done on 2 different days, because it would be too easy for the offices to coordinate and be open on the same day), we went to the Prefettura in Rome to have the nulla osta legalized.  This means buying the marca da bolla.  I hate buying the marca da bolla - it is a stupid little sticker that one has to buy at the Tabaccheria (cigarette store), costs €14.62, and makes everything "legal."  Then, at the prefeturra, they take the nulla osta, turn it over, stick the marca on it, then scribble something....and presto! you've got yourself a legal document.   Its insane that I had to go all the way to Rome to do this, but, at least I got a 2 day vacation in Rome.
Eating in the Eternal City... somehow this trip turned into the search for innards - and the Romans really know how its done.  We ate nervetti, I think boiled cartiledge from the shanks of the cow; tripa, cow stomach; coda alla vacinara, oxtail, technically not innards, but a little out of the norm; coratella con carciofi, all the innards from a lamb, stewed with artichokes; and animelle in bianco, sweetbreads fried and cooked in white wine.
Back in Foligno, we had to go to the commune , kind of like a town hall, to "announce the intent of marriage."  Before one can get married in Italy, banns have to posted, just in case someone has the legal argument against the wedding.  Here I ran into my only real problems.  Big ones too - the way my name is written.  My last name begins with McI... and this is strange for them here - big C or little c, space or no space between the c and the I...they were really giving me a hard time about this. Also, on my passport (as with most americans) is written my middle initial. This is another problem for them, because it doesn't really exist here.  It took a little while, but we got it all sorted out...
12 Days Later....  we got hitched!  Our friend Joseph performed the ceremony, and Massimo and Alessandro were our witnesses.   Its not so bad having a courthouse wedding in Italy, because like most things here,  its more beautiful - 16th century frescoed walls and ceilings, etc.  The commune of Foligno even gave me a bouquet of white roses.  A few glasses of spumante... and that was it!  I'm finally legal!

Philly Phaves

I took a last minute trip to Philly to celebrate Turkey Day, and to see family and friends before I start my new adventure with Basiliko (I think I'll be lucky to see the light of day in the coming months).  Here are some of my favorite moments:

Best Brews:  Philly is definately a beer-drinkin kind of town...

• Carl's homebrew:  my friend Carl has been homebrewing for about 6 or 7 years now - this year's Oatmeal Stout was by far his best!
• Triumph Brewery:  their Coffee & Cream Stout is almost better than dessert
• Dogfish Head Brewery: dare I borrow from Miller Hi-Life and call Dogfish's Chateau Jiahu the "Champagne of Beers"... its sooo fabulous....

Best Meal: yes, Thanksgiving is always great, and I ate at a few good spots in Philly...but the best was the Grilled Cheese with tomato and bacon from the Keswick Diner in Glenside.  Its a classic.  It was perfect.

• runners-up:   all the asian/indian/mexican food I managed to stuff into my face - I will be bringing Chinese food on the plane back to Italy.

Doggy Style:  the funniest things I saw this trip all had to do with dogs:  a hot dog stand called "Who's Ya Dawggy?";  a dread-locked, rastafarian dog - you could practically hear the Bob Marley; and the Pekinese from the Philadelphia Dog Show - you had to see it - too cute!

Favorite Pastime:  doing laundry - god bless driers - I think I did laundry almost everyday, just because I could....

Couch Potato:  I forgot how good TV in english could be!  I watched marathons of Project Runway, and Top Chef.  My favorite bonehead Top Chef moments...

• the "executive chef" of Oceanaire not knowing how to cook trout in front of Eric Ripert - priceless
• "mohawk guy" saying that, in his opinion, one should put a 10-12 hour braise on venison shanks - dude, you'd be lucky if you were left with dust after 10-12 hours.
• Casey putting some form of fish roe on practically every single dish to make it "fancy"
• Rocco DiSpirito lamely trying to say that he helped prepare the dish by Hung, which Todd English dubbed 3-star Michelin - keep grabbing at straws, Rocco...

Most Ridiculous: 

• getting the bill at Coquette in Philly - $120 - I don't know who they think they are, but that is ridiculous - good, but nothing special French Bistro food (I think there are almost as many "french bistros" in Philly, as there are Starbucks.)  Oh, and I was served raw potatoes twice.
• I paid $2.68 for an espresso
• CNN showing a split screen of breaking news:  on the left were wild fires in California - there was no sound for this.  However, on the right, was footage of shoppers at the malls - obviously more important than forest fires burning down people's homes, is hearing about the freaks who line up at the mall at 4am, and the "hottest" "must-have" useless gadget.  Only in America...

Re-Opening Soon! Basiliko!

...stay tuned for updates as i take over a restaurant here in Foligno....

Rotten Fruit & other Autumn Delights

autumn delights
Originally uploaded by jennifer mcilvaine

There's not a lot of middle ground here in Italy, things tend to be pretty black and white: you are Italian, or you're not; there is only the pasta of "mamma" or Vissani; you are sporting the latest Fendi bag, or you're not; there is Alberto Sordi. there is Benigni. there is Ferrari. punto. punto. punto...
And so it goes with fruit: they like it underripe and hard, or practically rotten with flies swarming.
For example, last summer I worked on an agriturismo with a woman who would only eat the quasi-rotten figs that the birds had already started pecking at.
This summer, at my local fruttivendolo, there were always 3 bins of tomatoes: green ones, perfectly ripe ones, and split overripe ones. The green and split tomatoes were always sold out first, leaving the perfect (in my opinion) tomatoes to me and the late-comers. Why??? Because Italians don't like to eat tomatoes in their peak perfect ripe state (like us americans). For eating, they prefer their tomatoes a little green and very firm. For sauce, obviously, the overripe, splitting tomatoes will work just fine. The others...middle ground...left for me.
The other day, I almost got in a fight with Fede because he was eating the hard, underripe pears (as he had done with peaches and nectarines all summer) instead of the ripe ones (which were, by the way the best, juiciest, most delicious pears I've ever had - why on earth would one choose to eat them hard and flavorless?!?!?)
That brings us to fall delights: persimmons and pomegranates. I was scolded for buying pomegranates that hadn't split open. Yes, in this mode they are very sweet, but also, I think a little flat. I like a little tartness in a pomegranate - somewhere in the middle...
Persimmons, or kaki, as they are known here, are maybe the perfect representation of Italian culture. There are two types: Vanilla, which is yellow and always eaten hard; and the regular, orange variety which is always eaten after it splits and starts to ooze (let me tell you, it is not easy to get these things home in one piece!). No middle ground here - last year I ate a less-than-oozing persimmon and my mouth felt like it was turning itself inside-out...a "grey area" gringo allergic reaction....like I said - its a black and white kind of place.

drying rack blues...

drying rack blues...
Originally uploaded by jennifer mcilvaine

Winter has finally arrived. Its been raining all week. The worst part about this kind of weather in Italy is doing the laundry. No one has dryers in Italy, and if they do, usually they don't work very well and are extremely expensive to run (electricity). Its one thing in the summer, when everything dries in an hour outside...but these clothes I hung up yesterday, and I don't think they will be dry until tomorrow. Boo to winter ;-( For now I'll count the days until summer arrives, and dream of warm, fluffy towels...

Legends in Our Own Time: The Trampetti Harvest

I am taking a much needed ripose from Il Bacco Felice, and the "multi-dimensional" Salvatore Denaro to help with the olive harvest of Trampetti this year. I am joined by my good friend Joel Cox (of Lark and Kurtwood Farms in Seattle). I think this is one of the funniest situations either of us has ever been in: we are the youngest (me at 30, Joel at 23) in a group of 12 pickers, men and women - the next youngest is around 60, and the oldest, the boss, is 93, and let me tell you - we can barely keep up with them! They live for the olive harvest every year, and they truly love to climb the ladders and sit in the trees all day. By the end of the day for us, Joel and I are practically dead, and this little group of workers seems like they could just keep going for a few more hours. I can only hope to have half that energy when I am their age.
The first day we were high in the hills over Trevi, and they were very suspicious of us - they hardly let us touch a tree. We are Americans, and to these people "American" = "lazy" = "person who lives on a street paved with gold" (most Italians think this way, regardless of age). Anyway, those of you who know Joel, know that he is extremely tall and strong - and so, his job for most of the day was to haul bags of olives down the hill. My job, I dubbed, "the sweeper" - pick up all the branches that people cut from the trees, and pull the olives off of them - very, very exciting. When we returned to the frantoio with the first day's harvest, Alessandro (the boss) told Federico that we "did a good job, but they just don't know how, they need to learn." Joel and I were horrified at this statement, but determined to show those old folks how its done the next day.
The next day we arrived dead tired - we had been out till one o'clock the night before, and were supposed to be in the field picking at 8:00 sharp! - we were late, of course. Because we were obviously tired, and late, they worked us extra hard. I took on a new title, "net girl", which meant that I had to help Alessandro set the nets under all of the trees to catch the olives as they are raked off of the trees. This is not an easy task - in fact, I hate it. The nets are at least 25 sq feet, and there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason (though I'm sure there was) as to where Alessandro wanted them. And so, I dragged these heavy, dusty nets up and down the steep rocky hills on command, all day.
Day 3, we once again arrived late. I barely had time to say buon giorno before Alessandro was directing me to empty and move the nets. We were only about a half hour late, and this little group of 70 year olds had already picked about 75 kilos of olives! Poor Joel - that's where he comes in. And, unfortunately for him we were in a different field, working from the downside of the hill up. Nothing like hauling 50lb bags of olives up steep hills first thing in the morning!
Since I speak Italian (well enough, at least), they started interrogating me, in heavy, quasi-incomprihensible dialect. For them, it is completely strange that 2 young people, let alone from America, want to pick olives with them. Some of the more popular questions were: Is America hot like it is here? Does America get cold like it does here? Are you tired? Were you tired last night? Are you tired now? Why doesn't Joel speak Italian? Why don't you speak in Italian with Joel? How can you understand each other so well? So you like to work? Do you work like this in America? Are there olives in America? How tall is Joel?
When they are not questioning me, they are either singing and laughing, or cursing like sailors. They love to talk about politics, sex, Berlusconi, and the lastest in medical discoveries, cursing all the way... I am learning a new word every day - bravo!
Nicknames:
Jennifer and Joel are names that do not exist in the Italian language. So 'Lissa (Alessandro) created easier-to-remember names for us. I am simply J, though some of the ladies call me Genoa, and Joel is Jo. Its funnier because when 'Lissa calls us, he always says "oh" first (its very Folignate slang), so its "O, J!" or "O Jo!" And if we don't answer immediately one can always hear him saying through his semi-toothless grin "Menaggia...!" Kind of like g*d, dammit.... but really drawn out... its so funny!
Jo and I have created a few nicknames of our own - according to us, the group consists of: the old man, red hat, viagra, hot pants, singing lady, grandma, slo-mo, camo, blondie, pinky and the dreamettes, dressed to kill, and the daydream nation.
Today was Friday, our 5th day, and last day of the week. I think today we finally proved ourselves. One new guy asked me if I had done the harvest last year, because I seemed to really know what I was doing (its not rocket science folks), and 'Lissa, let me be almost in charge of the nets (an honor I don't necessarily want, its hard to drag those nets around, but an honor the same). In the morning, I overheard Viagra saying to new guy how it was so much better with i ragazzi, the kids, because they could keep chit-chatting, and not have to stop to move the nets and haul the olives. And the ladies are now on a mission to find a nice girl for Joel - una bella ragazza. At lunch, we were offered some of the home-made wine that was being passed around. But best of all, Genga, told me at the end of the day that I am really a classic Italian woman, I'm not an American. And by "classic Italian" he means like the old ladies. What could be better than being compared to a hardworking Italian grandma?

See Trampetti Harvest photos here.