An Artichokian Metaphor

I am currently in a love-hate relationship.

Right now it is mostly based in hate since artichokes and I are not in good favor with one another.

Recreating Memories in the Kitchen

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 of bread and soaking up the remnants of gravy or soup or whatever meal leftovers remain.

Upon investigating, I learned that the “shoe” reference is a metaphorical description of the bread. Like a shoe being dragged in the mud, the bread soaks up the sauce and becomes saturated with flavor.

La Carne Non Più: Meat No More

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.

2011: A Year in Review

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.

Keeping Sane Amidst August Craziness

Clearly, I underestimated how busy my month of August would be.

Earlier I wrote about how Italians treat the month of August as an extended vacation, a chance to unwind and relax with family and friends at the beach. For me, I knew there would be no beach time, but I had hoped to enjoy my last month of before school starts with some pleasure.
 

The Perfect Pick-Me-Up

When I was in Italy I ate my fair share of tiramisu. During lunchtime at the Villa, the students eagerly waited to see if tiramisu would be served for dessert. The moments when the “pick-me-up” made its way to the buffet table, everyone would rush into line and proceed to take large spoonfuls. Sprinkled with coffee powder on top, the caffeine is not hidden. Yet despite the espresso laden ladyfingers and coffee dusting, the rich custard and overwhelming portions meant for very sleepy afternoons. 

No Ferragosto for Me

Can someone please tell me where the time went?

It seems like only yesterday the calendar turned to the year 2011, and then suddenly I woke up on Monday morning to the realization that it was August 1^st. Surely the summer cannot be almost over?

Screaming [and Sweating] for Ice Cream

I knew the instant I walked out of my apartment this morning that today was going to be a long day. After waking up to my early morning alarm and grabbing my gym bag, I headed out the door ready to brave the heat. Never could I have guessed how bad it would feel.

The instant I opened the door from the inside to step outdoors, I felt as if I had stepped into a sauna. The sunglasses on my face immediately fogged up because of the dome of the humidity and heat that hovered over the city. My watch read 7:00 a.m., yet the thermometer already spiked past 90 degrees. With this in my mind, I knew that it would only get worse. 

Un Giro a Siena

This past weekend I took a trip to Siena.

While I wish I could say that I was in the Tuscan city that is world-famous for the Palio horse race, its neighborhood rivalries and cuisine, I spent this Saturday evening in a local restaurant, imagining myself transported to the Italian province.

Located in Rhode Island’s Little Italy area known as Federal Hill, Siena restaurant promises diners “authentic Tuscan cuisine in a warm, inviting and lively atmosphere.” Having spent the last semester in Tuscany, I have been on a search for someplace where I could taste the flavors I fell in love with overseas.

When Ravioli was the Enemy

I have a secret I have to admit. Although I now feel like the reigning queen of all things Italian, including food, there was once a time when the idea of something wrapped in a tiny package, stuffed with cheese, and covered in sauce had no appeal to me.

I remember very clearly an evening at the dinner table when I was perhaps four or five years old. On my plate was a serving of ravioli, and there they rested for some time. Because my mom believed in the “you-either-eat-this-or-nothing” philosophy, I had very little choice but to succumb to the pressure of taking a bite of the Italian cheese pillows. I cannot recall what I thought after those initial bites, but I do remember the aftermath: me, isolated in the living room with a grape freeze pop watching as my mother cleaned up what remained of my dinner…on the floor.