Tag Archives: italy

The Secret Sauce

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I’ve lived a fine life. When I was 16, as many young American Hebrews do, I took a trip to Israel to explore the motherland and deepen my connection to the religion. For me it worked in the other direction. I saw so many secular Israelis, seemingly fulfilling the Zionist mission, yet absent of piety and reverence. They just were. People connected to their history but not wrapped up in god or dogma. I never looked back.

Then came college. Somehow, I cannot recall how I wound up doing my final year abroad in Italy. Seriously, I don’t know what led me to this decision. I knew nothing abut the place, had no connection (other than my mother’s half-Italian heritage, which merely meant good spaghetti and meatballs in our house). But there I was, deep in the experience of learning Italian history, culture, language, art, archaeology… I never looked back.

After I graduated college my first and only job was in the travel industry. I stumbled upon it while looking for anything I could do after moving to Boulder, Colorado on a whim. I was planning to study nautical archaeology at CU, as there was a professor who focused on Roman ports in Israel, the perfect marriage of my passions. To pay the bills, I took a position with a tour company specializing in adventures in Southeast Asia. I was a Mac guy that could work magic on their Filemaker database. Soon I was spending months a year in Asia building their sales division and becoming a noted expert on travel in Asia. I never looked back.

I’m fortunate to say that travel is my greatest passion that I’ve continually fulfilled. It’s my familiar. I slip it on easily. Throughout the ups and downs of life, I always seek to create new experiences by discovering new lands. In fact, I really live for the next trip. No matter what I’m doing, I want to know that I have two or three weeks in the not so distant future that will recharge my batteries. It the only way I know how to accept and manage the doldrums of normal life (ok, it’s not so bad, really…but you get the point).

Now, on the road in Argentina, discovering a new place, yet again, with a life very different than my last trip to Spain in 2010 and Greece in 2009, I’ve noticed a trend. First, it doesn’t matter where life has taken us, when we travel we reconnect with ourselves. Without the pressures of our daily grind, the expectations we set for ourselves, the routine…it’s easier to get to the root and be present. Moreover, when we experience another culture a traveler will relinquish his predisposition, ignorance and fears and become more receptive to what the universe offers. We let go a little easier, we experience a little deeper.

On this trip I’ve already found a deep connection to Argentina. I know it, even after just a few days. The formula adds up – they have the secret sauce. It’s not hard for my readers to see that my favorite places in the world are Thailand and Italy. I speak both languages passably and have returned time and again, something I haven’t done in many of the other lands I’ve visited. When I look at the commonalities between the places, and now add Argentina to the mix, there is a pattern: I like places that have a broad geographical diversity, Thailand’s north and south couldn’t be more different. Italy’s have practically seceded from each other. Argentina has Patagonia and wine country and Buenos Aires and more. There’s a casual elegance about everything here. Its not Europe, but it’s got the same charm. Then there are the people, friendly and welcoming all across the board. In each of these places you really feel like you can get a sense of their true experience. They welcome you to participate.

But most importantly, and I wouldn’t be the Zealot if it weren’t so, each country reigns supreme on their continent for food. Sure, you can argue that Vietnamese is better than Thai or French is superior to Italian or the Brazilians or Chileans outdo the Argentines. But this is my blog and I’m the one ranting. So, I’ll say it. Thai, Italian and Argentine food sensibilities speak to me and I consider them the best. I dream of Thai noodles and curries. I lust after handmade pasta and regional Italian cuisine. And so far, I’m quite impressed with Argentine seafood, empanadas and of course the beef. I’m looking forward to two more weeks of exploration.

I love that there are common threads in these places. I am glad to be uncovering this secret sauce of my own. I’m positively certain we all have our own secret sauces. It helps me to understand me a little better. It gives me joy to have places that I can return and feel at home, so far away, yet so familiar. I’m loving being present. And, I’ll never look back…

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Ring of Fire, Part 1

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Give me a fire and I will cook! My mantra for the summer is going to be something like this. I’ve never put it into words, but I am fanatical about cooking over a fire, ideally outdoors, even better in the wilderness. There’s something primal about taming the wild fire and coaxing a culinary concoction and the more challenging the environment, the more satisfying the results.

That said, I’m starting a short series on the subject. Upcoming posts will be about backyard grilling, followed by car camping and then backpacking. In each case, I will share some recipes, techniques, tools and tidbits on how to maximize each experience to the fullest.

But for now, I want to share a story about one of my favorite dishes to cook over fire and how I learned it…

I was working on an archaeological excavation in Israel in the early 90′s at a place called Caesarea Maritima. The location couldn’t have been more idyllic, perched on a flour-white sand beach on the Mediterranean Sea. The Israeli Olympic team had headquarters that provided us accommodations and there was a welcoming town nearby. The volunteers on the excavation were college students from across the country and you couldn’t imagine a more exciting and alluring environment to spend a summer. I often recall it as summer camp for adults.

Throughout the summer I had the good fortune of working in a trench that turned out to be one of the top archaeological finds of the year. A wonderous Byzantine mosaic floor of a marketplace scene was identified in our trench and we spent weeks carefully removing the dirt and then chipping away a layers of oxidization to reveal the art beneath.

Zealot the Archaeologist

Zealot the Archaeologist

Our average day was as follows: Wake at 4:30am and have first breakfast. Dig at sunrise and return for second breakfast around 9am. By noon the sun was so hot that we’d head to lunch and call it a day. The afternoons were spent poking through the shards and tidbits we uncovered or just hanging out on the beach, surfing or napping. Early evening was time to classify our finds and we’d spend hours underneath tents of mesh netting picking through pottery bits. In the evening we’d have classes with the professors and usually wind up at the bar to get piss-drunk. Wake up – start over.

When it was determined that our mosaic floor was of significant importance, a team of Italian preservationists were called in to take over. The site was too delicate to leave in the hands of students any longer. Because the Israelis didn’t speak Italian and the Italians barely spoke English, let alone Hebrew, I was asked to stick around and translate as necessary between the crews. It was a wonderful opportunity. And mostly because I got to hang out with the Italians!

Which brings me to the relevance of my tale. Despite having lived a year in Italy, I had never had proper bruschetta (and let’s clear this up again people – it’s pronounced Bru-Schket-Tah or Bru-Sket-Tah, depending on where you’re from – please stop with the Bru-Shet-Tah!) The Italians showed up and immediately adapted their lifestyle. It wasn’t hard for them to track down the right tomatoes, the right cheeses, the right pasta. It just seemed to magically appear, as if we were in Tuscany. And it was often cooked over fire.

When Bruschetta is done properly, it has a balance of flavors that combine to create a treat for the ages. Many cultures mimic the form, like Pa amb tomàquet, the Catalan bread where they rub tomato on toast and season with olive oil and salt. Or, Lathovrekhto, the greek style bruschetta that may include vegetable spreads or just oil and salt.  But, it is the Italian variety that reins supreme.

The origin comes from the word bruscare, which means to roast over coals. In it’s purest form the bread retains the smokiness and char from the grill, which is then rubbed with garlic and coated in olive oil and salt. By rubbing the garlic you get the essence without any bitterness. The play between the smoke and the sweetness of the oil, drawn out by the salt is just perfection.

But where it really gets interesting for me is when you top the bruschetta with some Roma tomatoes, cut to a brunoise size, tossed with olive oil and salt and heaped on top. Add some basil if that’s your thing (I like it chiffonade if so…) Of course a shot of fresh-cracked pepper is essential. The cool-sweet tomatoes add a another layer to the experience and it all just comes together. Something so simple, yet so perfectly right.

The Italians would end their day and set up their grill on a nearby golf course as we watched the sunset – drinking, singing, dancing, joking and eating. And eating. And drinking! I learned bruschetta here. It didn’t take much. It will last a lifetime.

Sweet Addiction: Talenti Gelato!

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A few months ago an attractive container lured me to the frozen case at my local Whole Foods. This is a place I tend to avoid. You see, I’m a gelato fan. And when you are a gelato fan, most ice cream won’t suffice. Sure, I love a good scoop of Chubby Hubby or Häagen Dazs Coffee. Even the local Ciao Bella Gelato has a few passable flavors. But real gelato…….ah real gelato…….there simply is nothing (and I mean no other frozen treat on this planet) that compares for me.

As with many of my epiphanies in life, this one started when I was living in Italy.  We used to frequent the famed Giolitti, located around the corner from the Pantheon. With my fresh-off-the-boat eyes, the realm of the exotic was off the charts at this place. As you made your way through the throngs of well-dressed onlookers, the freezer cases appeared as works of abstract art. Mounds of colors and textures were piled impossibly high as busy uniformed workers drew slabs of the gelato (not scoops), mixing and matching flavor combinations. Then they would slap a dollop of whipped cream (panna) on top for good measure.

Adding to the exotic was the ordering procedure. I learned on my first visit that you paid at the cash counter before approaching the goods. Your receipt was the ticket to paradise and the impatient staff added a ‘soup-nazi’ vibe to the experience while you decided. It took many visits to master the flavor translations. When my cono gelato (con panna of course) was handed to me I was transported back to my childhood where I used to dwell over a tower of banana split on hot summer nights at Two Cents Plain on Ventnor Avenue in Margate, NJ. Now, I was similarly lost in the indulgence of Straciatella, Nocciola, Baccio and Pistacchio.

The first thing you notice about proper gelato is the temperature. The consistency is never too hard and never too soft. It seems to hold its form at the perfect temperature for the duration of its consumption. The panna is rich and sweet, but not too sweet and provides a lovely contrast to the frozen. It’s important like icing on a cupcake but never outshines the main event. The fat content is gelato is actually lower than ice cream, which is surprising, because to me it tastes significantly richer than most watery varieties I’ve tried elsewhere (latin countries really seem to blow it).

Then there is the flavor. Last year in Greece I demonstrated to Julie the difference between a Greek-run Gelateria and a true Italian artisanal product. Our son was clamoring for ice cream so we relented at the nearest place we could find. I was holding out for the real Italian place on the other side of town. The difference between his bright green pistacchio and my pale variety were night and day. His tasted like extract, bright and sugary – way too much of a bad thing. Mine was subtle, yet dense with real pistachio flavor and the cream flavor always played along with the nuts (I told you I was gelato fan). No contest.

Pregnant Julie Keeps Up with my Gelato Fever

Pregnant Julie Keeps Up with my Gelato Fever

A great way to introduce yourself to gelato is with Straciatella (vanilla with chocolate flakes) and Baccio (chocolate and hazelnut combined). You really cannot go wrong. If the place offers panna (here in the states that’s a rarity), you know you’re doing ok. Also, gelato is best consumed in a gelateria.

Except…..back to Whole Foods, frozen case, cool container. I stumbled upon Talenti because I loved their clear plastic containers (don’t put them in the dishwasher – I learned the hard way). I gave it a try. First vanilla. Then pistachio. Both were really good. Probably the best I’ve had outside of a gelateria. But then I tried the Double Dark Chocolate. For fuck’s sake! Little tiny nibs of spectacular chocolate float in a perfect chocolate gelato. Leave it to sit for 10-15 minutes and you’ll hit the desired temperature. The sides should be soft yet still stick to your spoon. While the flavors aren’t traditional, I still dare you to eat only one or two bites.

I stopped going to Giolitti when I discovered smaller, less touristy places. But I won’t discourage you from the experience. For that alone, it is one of a kind. But, if you can’t make the trip across the pond, and you haven’t found the perfect gelateria in your town (I’m still looking), give Talenti a shot.