I can’t remember exactly when it was, but recently I learned an Italian phrase that I had never heard before: “fare la scarpetta.” Roughly translated “to do the little shoe,” the terms refer to the act of taking a piece … Continue reading
My aunt is a stereotypical, older Italian lady. She won’t leave the house without lipstick. She yells at her husband whenever she teases him. And of course, she can cook a mean gravy. Most of my memories with my aunt … Continue reading
I have to admit: going into this week I anticipated that my diet would be on carb-overload. Staying with my Italian relatives, I figured that most of my meals would consist of oversized portions of bread and pasta. Although I have nothing against these food items, especially since I shun the pasta bar at the school dining hall and D.C.’s Italian food scene is nothing like that grandma used to make, a part of me was relieved to see some diversity in my diet during my first few days of vacation.
Like most foodies, I go through periods of food obsessions, and right now my obsession is grapefruit. In the drawer of my aunt’s freezer is nearly half a dozen plump grapefruit waiting to be segmented and juiced. For the past few days, my morning meal has been as simple as cutting up the citrus, sprinkling with sugar and finished with a couple of slices of jam-slathered toast. Even if grapefruit has a reputation as a diet food, I don’t see anything wrong with enjoying it all the time.
If you know me, then you know that I hate doing nothing. Although I might complain about my long to-do list with classes, meetings and homework, I would rather have lots to do than nothing to keep me occupied. I have an unhealthy obsession with checking for the blinking red light on my blackberry and keeping my Ical updated with everything from my workouts to nights out on the town; busy could be my middle name.
Of late, it seems that any break on the academic calendar could not come soon enough. Last winter, I had five papers and one sit-down exam standing between me and winter break, and this past week I had a to-do with countless things tasks and lots of added stresses making me extremely anxious for a vacation.
“It’s been so long since last we met…”
While some readers might not get the reference in the opening sentence, I thought that the Georgetown’s Fight Song fit well in these circumstances. Yes, readers, it has been a very long time since last we met.
In my last post, nearly a month and a half ago, I wrote about my gelatin-wrecked vegetarian diet and my resolution to start anew. Since that time much has happened.
Like the fall semester, the spring term has been equally, if not more, busy. Once again taking a full courseload, I am also working my job at school, commuting to an internship and juggling various extracurricular activities. In light of this, I have come to the realization that 24 hours in a day are just not enough. WIth so much on plate, my resolution for weekly blogging became like the decadent dessert calling my name on the counter. Unfortunately, with so much else weighing me down, giving in to the temptation of blogging would have only put me behind on the things I actually needed to do. Continue reading
Dear readers,
Are you there? It’s me, Bethany.
I know it has been nearly five months since I sat down to blog, and there really is no excuse for it. These past five months have been some of the most challenging, amazing and rewarding times in my life, but writing that does little to relieve the fact that I did not share these experiences. Although I did contribute to the food blogging world with my posts for Small Kitchen College, I failed to keep up-to-date on my own personal blog. This failure is something I resolve to change in 2012.
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It would be fitting that as I watched Woody Allen’s new film Midnight in Paris the only thing I could smell was butter.
Even if the butter was emanating from bags of popcorn, the scent of the fat made me think of all the wonderful French things made with the glorious churned milk. Crossiants, pain au chocolat, sole meunière, beurre blanc. Each of these heavenly items sparked memories of my few days in the capital of France. Continue reading
My sister loves to tell “epic” stories. Whether she is describing her long waits in the driveway of her best friend’s house or the latest gossip from her high school, my sister is a true Italian as she raises her voice to elevate the drama and gestures her hands to emphasize her points.
It seems that not a day goes by when Jackie does not have at least one story to share. The other day, after coming home from a lacrosse game, she proceeded to skip all the details about the final score or her playing time, and instead she talked nonstop for more than five minutes about how she and her best friend became lost in the opposing team’s school and had to ask countless times for directions to the bathroom. She said that the two of them asked multiple times where they could find the bathroom, but repeatedly the instructions failed them. It was only after the third attempt that they finally found their desired destination, a spot the rest of the lacrosse team had seemed to find rather easily. Continue reading
First it was the ancient city of Athens, then it was off to the paradise island of Santorini. Next: Paris, the City of Light and Love. Finally, one week, two countries, and three cities later, it was off to the last destination of my global journey: Barcelona, Spain.
Feeling like a competitor on The Amazing Race, I left Paris on a dreary and cold Friday morning feeling both tired and anxious. Yet despite the gloomy conditions, the outlook was bright: the weather forecast for Barcelona promised clear skies, plenty of sun, and temperatures nearing sixty degrees. After two amazing, but cold, days in Paris, it was fitting that I conclude my break in a city with sun and sand. Continue reading
