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 come from visiting at her house by the beach in Rhode Island. Although she lives only 45 minutes away, 45 minutes of travel for Rhode Islanders is a long way. Because of this, I usually only saw my aunt and uncle a few of times a year. Once on Christmas Eve for the traditional Feast of the Seven Fishes and then maybe a couple of times in the summer when we wanted an escape to the beach. 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.
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
18 days into the year and I have already failed.
No, this is not a repost of Monday’s posting about my failed blogging efforts. Regrettably, this is another failure of mine to commit myself to change in 2012.
As I explained in a post earlier this month, I decided to become a vegetarian. With many of my closest friends meat-free eaters and the fact that I ate very little meat to begin with, I resolved to make significant changes in my dieting lifestyle. Continue reading
This is one of my favorite stories to share, so please forgive me if you are someone who is hearing it for the bagillionth time.
As many of you know, last spring semester I studied away from the Georgetown Hilltop and relocated to the hillside of Fiesole in Florence, Italy. During those four months abroad, I commuted from my homestay to attend classes at Georgetown’s Tuscan villa, Villa Le Balze. As a homestay, I lived with another female student from the program in the home of a local family. My host mother was the sweetest, tiniest woman, and, as could be expected, she was an incredible cook. Every meal at Flavia’s table reminded me of those Sunday mornings as a child spent with my Italian great grandmothers. Continue reading