First of all, Thanksgiving went surprisingly well.
I actually got a turkey - the Turkey - into the oven. It was very close and I had to use foil to wrap the wings so they wouldn't burn to the walls of the oven, but the bird fit. If we are here next year, I have the overwhelming urge to tempt fate and try to create a Turduckin (a boned out chicken, rolled inside of a boned out duck, stuffed into the cavity of a turkey.) It might fit...I'm brave.
The electricity even held on for the afternoon! Hooray!
And the turkey tasted good, too, with William eating (in one sitting) a whole turkey leg, a wing, a thigh and part of a breast, PLUS half of his sister's turkey leg. I estimate that amount at around 2 pounds of meat.
Again, next year, turduckin.
In fact, thanks to the boys, I have one piece of turkey left in the fridge right now. I guess I didn't need to worry about where I was going to put everything when we were done!
Unlike England, where I could wrap everything up and store it in the garden shed because the air is cold enough to keep the food fresh, Italy is warm. It rains every day, yes, but temperatures drift between 45 to 60 degrees throughout the day. Would you eat a turkey kept out overnight? Oh yeah, and I have a pigeon problem in my yard....they poop everywhere and they groom themselves on the terrace by the front door...add to that the neighborhood cats looking for a dry spot to hide when the rains come...No storing food on the porch here!
And the next night, we had the babysitters back so Billy and I could go to a Ceilidh. Don't bother checking the spelling: it's a Scottish word! (KAY-LEE) A Ceilidh is the term used for an organized Scottish dance. In our case, two days after Thanksgiving, we met some of the Scots (and Italians who wished they were Scots) who live in Rome for our first ever St. Andrew's ceilidh.
In any case, it was a great event, with real bagpipers (two to be exact) and one bodhran (drum) player. Also fun was watching Italian spouses try to do Scottish dances. Better still was listening to them speak: many of the Italians who attended have learned to speak English through their Scottish significant other. This has left the Italians all speaking very broad Scots with Italian grammer coloring the dialogue. Brilliant.
There is a Burns night planned for the end of January...I'll bet I can get a Haggis in the oven!
However my next challenge is Christmas: how on Earth will I find a ham that hasn't been turned into prosciutto? Very tricky...
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Busy Month...And other stories
The autumn has gone by in whirl. As I type this, we are three weeks into the rainy season; I expect the rain will end in mid-April, just as it did this year. But until then, I can expect regular deluges to ruin my photos.
If I had my way, I would be outside enjoying the sunshine, but unfortunately there is none to be had. And even if the sun does make an appearance, I would have to deal with the mud. Especially as my lovely yard has been turned into something resembling a prehistoric mud-pit.
The drain to our building broke, right at the same time that my mother and her new husband visited. I was very lucky, as it wasn't actually our drain, but the drain to the other three floors in our building which were affected; however, the access to the drain was beneath our lovely garden, which I had been filling with plants and flowers.
Yes, I have contributed yet again to massive plant-slaughter.
To make a long story short, the digging began on November 1 and finished just last week. At one point we had a trench more than 3 meters deep and 4 meters long bisecting our garden. Each time it rained, the crew had to stop and bail out more mud onto our lovely new grass.
It was good that Mom and Joe were here to make us leave the house and stop looking at the carnage!
It was really nice to have Mom visit. She had never before been overseas.
When we lived in England we all briefly discussed having her visit us there. This plan was put off as Mom had the extreme bad luck to be hit by a truck. I know...there is just no planning anything in my family (Mom, that is a joke.)
This time she made it in one piece and brought along her husband, who my children have happily named Grandpa Joe.
Grandpa Joe made quite an impression: never cross, never said no to ice cream, and his idea of giving the children an all finger-food dinner one evening has led to numerous subsequent requests for finger-food spaghetti and finger-food scrambled eggs. Ahh, Grandparents!
It was great to show them around Rome, at least part of the time: no, I am still not brave enough to take my children to the Vatican. I don't need that kind of trouble with God. We saw the Coliseum, the Forum, all the fountains and shopping, the smaller churches and loads of food.
It was an eye opener for me, too: I have travelled so much that I forget how exciting seeing other places can be, especially for people who don't travel internationally often. Watching the open mouths, the dropped jaws and awe in their eyes at each sight - and Rome is full of sights - was probably the most enjoyable part for me.
It also made me realize how lucky I am to be here, to have learned the things I have about Rome and Europe, and how fortunate I am that I can laugh about the shortcomings of international life and know I have a home in America waiting for me.
For instance, electricity is so much a part of our lives in America, that we don't notice it until it goes out in a storm.
In Rome, my electricity goes out every day. More specifically, it cuts out every time I run my dishwasher or oven and more than one light at the same time. If I start the dishes after dinner and have the lights on in the kitchen and living room, BOOM! No lights. If I run the tea kettle and wash machine, BOOM! No lights. If the kids leave all their bedroom lights on and we turn on the tv? Yes, BOOM! No lights.
I suppose in the long run it enforces energy conservation. But it also ensures that multi-tasking on cleaning the house (do the dishes while a load of laundry is washing and I try to vacuum) never happens.
Joe remarked as he left that he hoped we would finish getting settled in soon after he and Mom returned to San Diego; I asked what he meant and replied that we were all unpacked. He said, "Well, you know, your landlord can finish getting you lights and fix the electricity."
No, in Italy, tenants buy their own light fixtures, I replied, and it takes several months to order them and get them shipped to you; there are no Home Depots to buy cheap lights here, so you have to order them direct from the manufacturer and wait for them to be built. And the government limits the power supply to residential dwellings so that no one can use too much power.
It's good to be an American and know I'll have lights and power when I get home.
However, it makes my upcoming challenge of making a Thanksgiving Turkey much more exciting! Imagine the challege of wedging a 15lb. turkey into a tiny European oven (the size of perhaps 6 shoe boxes, two wide by three high) and praying the power doesn't go out in the 3+ hours it takes to cook the bird...
I usually don't make stuffing for the turkey, since no one but me eats it. However, this year I will attempt, once again, to make a stuffing that my family will try to eat: It is Chestnut season.
Not truly a nut, at least in the American sense, chestnuts are the texture of a heavy bread and slightly sweet after roasting. They are excellent in gelato or boiled in a sugar syrup then dipped in dark chocolate. But I have found a recipe for Chestnut dressing and will attempt it.
Ten bucks says I put on five pounds from having to eat all the dressing on my own instead of eating ice cream every other day.
But all the talk of food reminds me of another thing that I noticed when Mom and Joe visited: Americans like food, but we mostly like our own versions of it.
Joe, in his younger years, was friends with a Sicilian family who owned a restaurant. He was very spoiled on American-Italian cooking (which tends to be excellent, by the way.) So when he got to Rome, he was just dying to try real, Italian Spaghetti.
To an Italian, spaghetti is only the pasta, a long and thin dried pasta that can be tossed with various sauces or oils. To Joe, spaghetti is American-style pasta, with marinara sauce and meatballs.
At this time, I need to point out the difference between American-Italian food and Italian food. First of all, Italian food is really a misnomer: there is no quitessential 'Italian' cuisine. Rather, Italy is full of regional cusine and every meal, every dish, varies from location to location.
A friend in Sicily told me how she made eggplant parmesan one way, but her friend, from Calabria, would layer it with whole pieces of basil, chunks of salami and whole, peeled hardboiled eggs.
Second, American Italians had the luxury, upon reaching America, to have good food available year round; while Italians in Italy have depended on seasonal ingredients until only recently. This has meant that certain dishes and prepared ingredients (salamis, cheeses, wines, and even pastas) are only available at certain times of the year.
And lastly, the Italians in America found they could make their ideal, best-ever dishes on a regular basis because there was always a steady supply of the good food: mozarella may not be as good as Italian Mozarella, but you can always get it year-round. Basil may not be from the garden, but you can get it shipped from Mexico. Parmesan may not be the best quality, but you can find it at any store.
The result is that many Americans think they know what Italian cuisine is, and when they arrive in Italy, they find you can't get sausage on a pizza; Pizzas in Rome are all thin crust and no one will make a Chicago-style deep dish no matter how you beg and plead; and most mom-and-pop trattorias will not substitute anything.
But if you try a dish prepared the Italian way, you'll find that Spaghetti with Cacio e Pepe (hot spaghetti tossed only with olive oil, shredded Provolone and pepper) is excellent. No red sauce needed.
Dying for a red sauce? You won't get marinara here unless its thinly spread on a pizza crust. Try bucatini al'Amatriciana instead (a bacon and onion flavored tomato sauce with spaghetti-like long, hollow pasta.)
I don't think Joe ever got his Spaghetti with Red sauce. But I don't think he ever had a bad meal, either.
If I had my way, I would be outside enjoying the sunshine, but unfortunately there is none to be had. And even if the sun does make an appearance, I would have to deal with the mud. Especially as my lovely yard has been turned into something resembling a prehistoric mud-pit.
The drain to our building broke, right at the same time that my mother and her new husband visited. I was very lucky, as it wasn't actually our drain, but the drain to the other three floors in our building which were affected; however, the access to the drain was beneath our lovely garden, which I had been filling with plants and flowers.
Yes, I have contributed yet again to massive plant-slaughter.
To make a long story short, the digging began on November 1 and finished just last week. At one point we had a trench more than 3 meters deep and 4 meters long bisecting our garden. Each time it rained, the crew had to stop and bail out more mud onto our lovely new grass.
It was good that Mom and Joe were here to make us leave the house and stop looking at the carnage!
It was really nice to have Mom visit. She had never before been overseas.
When we lived in England we all briefly discussed having her visit us there. This plan was put off as Mom had the extreme bad luck to be hit by a truck. I know...there is just no planning anything in my family (Mom, that is a joke.)
This time she made it in one piece and brought along her husband, who my children have happily named Grandpa Joe.
Grandpa Joe made quite an impression: never cross, never said no to ice cream, and his idea of giving the children an all finger-food dinner one evening has led to numerous subsequent requests for finger-food spaghetti and finger-food scrambled eggs. Ahh, Grandparents!
It was great to show them around Rome, at least part of the time: no, I am still not brave enough to take my children to the Vatican. I don't need that kind of trouble with God. We saw the Coliseum, the Forum, all the fountains and shopping, the smaller churches and loads of food.
It was an eye opener for me, too: I have travelled so much that I forget how exciting seeing other places can be, especially for people who don't travel internationally often. Watching the open mouths, the dropped jaws and awe in their eyes at each sight - and Rome is full of sights - was probably the most enjoyable part for me.
It also made me realize how lucky I am to be here, to have learned the things I have about Rome and Europe, and how fortunate I am that I can laugh about the shortcomings of international life and know I have a home in America waiting for me.
For instance, electricity is so much a part of our lives in America, that we don't notice it until it goes out in a storm.
In Rome, my electricity goes out every day. More specifically, it cuts out every time I run my dishwasher or oven and more than one light at the same time. If I start the dishes after dinner and have the lights on in the kitchen and living room, BOOM! No lights. If I run the tea kettle and wash machine, BOOM! No lights. If the kids leave all their bedroom lights on and we turn on the tv? Yes, BOOM! No lights.
I suppose in the long run it enforces energy conservation. But it also ensures that multi-tasking on cleaning the house (do the dishes while a load of laundry is washing and I try to vacuum) never happens.
Joe remarked as he left that he hoped we would finish getting settled in soon after he and Mom returned to San Diego; I asked what he meant and replied that we were all unpacked. He said, "Well, you know, your landlord can finish getting you lights and fix the electricity."
No, in Italy, tenants buy their own light fixtures, I replied, and it takes several months to order them and get them shipped to you; there are no Home Depots to buy cheap lights here, so you have to order them direct from the manufacturer and wait for them to be built. And the government limits the power supply to residential dwellings so that no one can use too much power.
It's good to be an American and know I'll have lights and power when I get home.
However, it makes my upcoming challenge of making a Thanksgiving Turkey much more exciting! Imagine the challege of wedging a 15lb. turkey into a tiny European oven (the size of perhaps 6 shoe boxes, two wide by three high) and praying the power doesn't go out in the 3+ hours it takes to cook the bird...
I usually don't make stuffing for the turkey, since no one but me eats it. However, this year I will attempt, once again, to make a stuffing that my family will try to eat: It is Chestnut season.
Not truly a nut, at least in the American sense, chestnuts are the texture of a heavy bread and slightly sweet after roasting. They are excellent in gelato or boiled in a sugar syrup then dipped in dark chocolate. But I have found a recipe for Chestnut dressing and will attempt it.
Ten bucks says I put on five pounds from having to eat all the dressing on my own instead of eating ice cream every other day.
But all the talk of food reminds me of another thing that I noticed when Mom and Joe visited: Americans like food, but we mostly like our own versions of it.
Joe, in his younger years, was friends with a Sicilian family who owned a restaurant. He was very spoiled on American-Italian cooking (which tends to be excellent, by the way.) So when he got to Rome, he was just dying to try real, Italian Spaghetti.
To an Italian, spaghetti is only the pasta, a long and thin dried pasta that can be tossed with various sauces or oils. To Joe, spaghetti is American-style pasta, with marinara sauce and meatballs.
At this time, I need to point out the difference between American-Italian food and Italian food. First of all, Italian food is really a misnomer: there is no quitessential 'Italian' cuisine. Rather, Italy is full of regional cusine and every meal, every dish, varies from location to location.
A friend in Sicily told me how she made eggplant parmesan one way, but her friend, from Calabria, would layer it with whole pieces of basil, chunks of salami and whole, peeled hardboiled eggs.
Second, American Italians had the luxury, upon reaching America, to have good food available year round; while Italians in Italy have depended on seasonal ingredients until only recently. This has meant that certain dishes and prepared ingredients (salamis, cheeses, wines, and even pastas) are only available at certain times of the year.
And lastly, the Italians in America found they could make their ideal, best-ever dishes on a regular basis because there was always a steady supply of the good food: mozarella may not be as good as Italian Mozarella, but you can always get it year-round. Basil may not be from the garden, but you can get it shipped from Mexico. Parmesan may not be the best quality, but you can find it at any store.
The result is that many Americans think they know what Italian cuisine is, and when they arrive in Italy, they find you can't get sausage on a pizza; Pizzas in Rome are all thin crust and no one will make a Chicago-style deep dish no matter how you beg and plead; and most mom-and-pop trattorias will not substitute anything.
But if you try a dish prepared the Italian way, you'll find that Spaghetti with Cacio e Pepe (hot spaghetti tossed only with olive oil, shredded Provolone and pepper) is excellent. No red sauce needed.
Dying for a red sauce? You won't get marinara here unless its thinly spread on a pizza crust. Try bucatini al'Amatriciana instead (a bacon and onion flavored tomato sauce with spaghetti-like long, hollow pasta.)
I don't think Joe ever got his Spaghetti with Red sauce. But I don't think he ever had a bad meal, either.
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