The Journey for Food and Culture

James Mark, of Momofuku Milk Bar

2009-07-01T12:33:00.003-04:00

This is my buddy from school, doing his thing in Manhattan. A savory cook turned baker, take a look at what he's up to:

http://newyork.seriouseats.com/2009/05/momofuku-milk-bar-making-of-the-volcano-nyc-east-village.html

Summertime in MAC

2009-06-26T09:41:00.000-04:00

We're pushing it hard.

After 3 months, first course was up to 13 dishes, plus 3 salads. Brad, our pizzaiolo has really stepped it up, a dishwasher convert into a serious chefs’ project now handles the majority of the bar’s needs, and regularly helps to bail me out of the weeds when I’m being bombarded with multiple ticket calls. As the team is tight and fluid for dinner service, the daytime has the ball-and-chain of a dishwasher catastrophe. He’s a young kid, a mere 17, kicked out of high school, which I was under the impression to be next to impossible this day in age, has all the work ethic of a surviving Kennedy who has finally inherited all the riches the far more deserving of his family has left behind. To put it bluntly, he has a 5 minute timer now, to prove to him how excruciatingly slow he is. A walking disaster, he is lazy as can be, and with no sense of self awareness or comparative pride for the work being performed around him.

I guess my fear is that I might see a little of myself in him, perhaps when I was his age, working job after job around hockey, that my nonchalant may have been detrimental to my employers. It has caused me to sit down on more than one occasion to evaluate the potential of my past, and try to enumerate the amount of stressful moments I caused by being more focused on the clock than my work. I’ve questioned how much more I could have accomplished, learned, progressed if I had only spent every moment dedicated to what I was doing, instead of just chasing paychecks. Would I be a 26 year old line cook, struggling, with aching joints, swollen fingers and knees? The answer is a resounding yes. Even through the torment, the part time positions, the long drives, I knew what sacrifice meant. I should have apologized much more back then, but there is no time to dwell on the past. So I write today, with my legs elevated, and stretching my fingers, to loosen up and to get back to business. I am still aspiring, so it’s time to make full use of these sacrifices.

Oh yeah, and we have a WHOLE COW coming in today.

Go Slow, Stay Local.

Not seen: Mortadella Plate, Trippa alla Milanese, Chilled Marinated Mussels.

Bruschetta: Raw fava beans, poached egg, olive oil, sea salt, cracked pepper, Parmigiano Reggiano.

Nick's Italian Cafe

2009-04-26T23:35:00.003-04:00

Nick's Italian Cafe, an evidently iconic institution in the state of Oregon, strangers from as far as an hour away know exactly where I’m working when I explain why I traveled across the country from New England to the Pacific Northwest. This forty-seater is an excellent spot for me, we're working with almost all of our ingredients coming from within 70 miles, minus a few specialty ingredients (Parmigiano Reggiano, Modena Balsamic- but the chef, Eric Ferguson, is making his own, it just isn't ready yet). We're getting in whole lamb, half pigs, and starting next month whole cows. Whole Cows. 5 course tasting menu, and every single thing we serve we make. I'm on starters, working 7 dishes, plus 2 salads, and 6-10 items on the lounge menu, so my speed and execution are being pushed hard when we're pushing full turns on Fridays and Saturdays (30-40 covers per turn) and a busy bar. House cured prosciutto and several varieties of salumi (gentile salami, finochiona salami, mortadella, capocollo, speck, etc) are on my list of charcuterie lessons for my time here as well as being able to really having the opportunity to completely cook with the seasons. There are no Sysco deliveries, just local farmers making visits with the ingredients that they’ve sewn, grown, and pulled out of the ground themselves. First name, personal relationships with the purveyor…wait, not the purveyor, but the farmer. You want farm to fork? Come to my restaurant. Jerusalem artichokes, spring garlic, farm fresh eggs, Oregon Pecorino cheese, Oregon grown and milled flour, Oregon grown and pressed olive oil, artichokes, halibut, oysters, all from Oregon. Offal and lamb chops, fried green garlic, lamb sausage, lamb ‘jus’. Fresh tonarelli pasta, black pepper, olive oil, sea salt, black pepper, BASTA.

Simple, smart, and well, pretty damn good. I need to start taking more pictures!

Go Slow, Stay Local.
Va Piano, Rimane Locale.

PETA Kills Animals? How about that?

2009-04-16T13:51:00.002-04:00

This could be enlightening, and there is some substantial background referenced by the website. I'll be curious to know what becomes of this sort of public inquisition

Cover Letter.

2009-03-22T11:44:00.003-04:00

Eric Ferguson
Executive Chef
Nick’s Italian Cafe
521NE Third StreetMcminnville, OR 97128

Dear Chef Eric Ferguson,

In my journey to become a chef, I have considered myself lucky for the knowledge and experiences I have earned along the way. Each position, progressively more challenging for me as a cook and as a man, have each started to construct the foundation for which my career will begin. It is my intention to strive for more of that knowledge and skill as I can obtain and to study food and culture under those who know it best.

As a student of Culinary Arts at Johnson & Wales University in Providence, Rhode Island, I was taught the fundamental skills of the kitchen, but more importantly, how to learn. Being a young cook, I have worked in several restaurants which have served to affirm my desire to pursue the profession of being a chef. Every lesson that I have subsequently learned has intensified my desire to for more education, to compile as much information as I can in order to genuinely honor the chefs who have come before me and those whom which I will work under as they will undoubtedly influence my individual growth in my continuing studies.

In my pursuit thus far I have become an advocate for organizations such as the Slow Food Movement and other smaller, sustainable agriculture factions like Farm Fresh Rhode Island. In the states, I worked in short term stagier positions under several chefs as a way to expand my food intelligence as well as my exposure to their individually varying styles and approaches. In each of those restaurants or events, I learned the importance of utilization and was able to see first-hand how a chef balances natural relevance with beautiful, inspiring plates. In traveling to Italy, I found this direction is in practice as a commonplace, and used almost no ingredients that are not indigenous or cultivated in Umbria. The significance of fresh, sustainable ingredients has played a vital role in how I approach refining my palate and use of flavors. I hope to continue by surrounding myself with the food products that reflect this fervor and to continue working amongst the talented, driven chefs and other students of food as I have been fortunate enough to thus far in my early career.

I’m very confident that working among the most talented and dedicated of culinary professionals is the best opportunity for me to challenge myself and develop. I would be honored to be a member of your highly esteemed operation.

Sincerely,

David Notartomaso

Go Slow, Stay Local.

Va Piano, Rimane Locale

Post Valentine's Day self reflection.

2009-02-15T11:57:00.005-05:00

St. Valentine was an Italian…

The day after Valentine’s Day, San Valentino (along with St. Patrick, San Patrizio), was an Italian priest for whom the holiday is named for, brought in quite the crowd to Zeppelin. Lorenzo prescribed a 6 course tasting of interesting, unique combinations, as well as clean simple dishes for his dining room full of infatuated food lovers. The show went smoothly, as if it had been rehearsed thousands of times before. Glitches, mistakes were expected, and we remained steady and determined to conquer the evening’s affairs. Many of the A.I. students were in the restaurant tonight, some working front of the house positions, seating guests and bussing tables, while two were dutifully focused in on the kitchen, assembling plates and trying to help the chefs prepare each course. Yet, it seemed that there was a lacking presence or their other peers. One, who had cut himself earlier in the day, snuck out before the rush, another, who clearly couldn’t care any less about food, Italy, culture or, well, much of anything for that matter, hasn’t made an appearance in the restaurant in over 3 days. It leads me to divisively analyze what the purpose of their being here is. Why travel thousands of miles from home, take up time and space in a live kitchen, and be completely ignorant of your surroundings, language, habits and history. It is idiotic to me, that of 8 students, 2 have dedicated themselves in the kitchen. One of them is completely new to food, and she’s growing by the minute that she is here, and likely to gain 10 fold over her fellow students. The other, cannot take criticism, believes that he’s supremely talented, and hasn’t swallowed his empty pride to accept that he’s merely a student, and not nearly a chef.

As I write this, I’m hesitant, because I know that my cocky arrogance only a year ago was met by the hard reality for which I was not prepared, or simply, that I had not yet achieved the knowledge, experience and learned the readily available lessons in the kitchen, but it is appalling to me, to witness from the third person how oblivious these “students” are. They are picky eaters, and complain regularly. They are finicky cooks, who are scared to ask questions. When they are given advice, or even shown a more effective technique for simple knife work, the next day, they’re reverted back to their old ways, passing on an opportunity to improve themselves. This series of repetitive disregard, has forced me to analyze myself more than once, to shine an invasive light on the corners of my intent, to examine my ‘chefness’. As of yet, my self-examination yields no findings other than the very real result of my growing awareness for avoiding, at all costs, working in another environment with people, cooks or chefs who embrace this fraudulent nature among them. One strong proponent scathed with these abhorrent character traits can drain an entire team of strong willed, dedicated, independently motivated people, and over time, transform the troop into a dreary, feet-dragging, shoulder-sagging, slow-moving, pouty, whiney twits.

I cannot allow them to have any effect on me. As a group, the daily routine of cleaning up after their lackluster kitchen performances has, in turn, led me to slowly turn bitter in my work. The plague has a hold on me, but I’m not letting that beast burden me with its self-loathing and disregard for what is truly great about cooking: THAT I ENJOY IT. I’m not the greatest cook in the world, and I don’t expect to be, but I certainly have a better grasp on what I’m doing with a knife and a sauté pan then I did as an associates culinary student. They won’t ask me questions, because I don’t sugar coat my voice. I’m sorry, you’ve aggravated every proud bone of the cook inside me, so you’ll get my answer in the most professional tone possible. I’m not intent on nursing you with lullabies so that your precious little ego won’t suffer from being told in a direct, concise, effective manner how to adjust your knife, or when to put your mirepoix in the pan to sauté. Please, if you’re not a cook, don’t pretend to want to become a chef, it’s humiliating to me and, more so, those who study at your restaurant, educational institution, or other kitchen environment. My diploma says that I learned a lot at Johnson & Wales. My resume, in accordance, mentions my formal education only after the list of real-life learning that I’ve absorbed in the last 5 kitchens in which I have been employed. Neither my studies at school, nor my hard-knocks experience is more valuable than the other, and reasonably, each begets the other, making my degree more prominent in its title to me, because it has allowed me to expand my abilities through putting my hands directly in the mess, and come out relatively unscathed.

It will not be handed to me, nor will it be set gracefully in the palm of your hand for ease of accessibility. Call yourself a chef all you want, but if there is a moment when finding the value of ITALY’s food culture, habits and history is difficult, rethink your self-proclaimed title. When selecting your produce, sustainability, locality, freshness and quality do not retain their need-no-introduction, self appreciating value, perhaps you may have overlooked some detail in your process. If (and this is enormous for you meat-eaters out there, those of us who are passionate about pork, bonkers for bacon, cheery for chicken, fanatics for foie gras, and boosters for beef) you have the slightest inclination to ignore the outstanding purpose and value of witnessing and or slaughtering yourself, every type of animal you ingest, then not only are not a chef, you’re a member of the ignorant, self deprecating, declining moral majority of western humanity. There is a greater disconnect than ever between us, the predator, and our 4-legged dinners, our prey, which allows major market players to manipulate, inject with hormones and other un-natural drugs into the food which we rely on every day.

This is our reality. The lackluster education leads to the absent minded consumer and then completely destroys that which we rely on; our own self sufficiency. Selfish, lazy students, who become selfish, lazy ‘kitchen managers’ are not going to heed the warnings. It has become the responsibility of the limited number of self determined, self educated, which I use in the manner that our learning does not cease and desist upon exiting the classroom, to reconstruct the foundation of healthy food by supporting agricultural advocates who know how to and proudly do it properly. This is the extent of my self-imposed internal inquiry into my motivations and determined affairs. I am dedicated, and driven to become a true chef, who respects the seasons, and who wants to understand the complete value of every piece of food that I place on my work station. I have 9 days left in Italy. I need to find my next place to land. If it’s Castle Hill, I’d be elated, but one thing I’ve learned from being in Orvieto is that I need to see more, and if that means passing on an excellent job, to take the risk of adventuring to a new location, to broaden my cultural horizon, then so be it. I like Oregon for their attempts at sustainability. I like San Francisco (besides the cost of living) for the extensive seasonality displayed by their restaurant scene. I like NYC, but am skeptical of my readiness for, what I like to call “The Show” in American food. Where will I end up? All I know is that come February 25, 2009, I’ll be stateside, and on the prowl, looking where to hone my skills, to refine my abilities, and maybe it will be in a kitchen near you!

Go Slow, Stay Local
Va Piano, Rimane Locale.

as the deadline quickly arrives

2009-01-30T11:53:00.001-05:00

Time is moving slowly, becoming a reprehensible foe in my ventures and my spirit. I say so because my allotment of well organized, scheduled, delineated permission here is creeping closer to its ending date and I’m not prepared, as a student to return home. I am, instead, entirely entranced by the notion of seeing my friends, my family, my dog and ethnic foods again. So here we go.
Italy has left me wanting more, the way a great meal, film or relationship does. I have such an abundance of activities to look forward to on a daily and momentary basis that while I’m occupied, which, is about two thirds of the time, the clock is spinning recklessly towards tomorrow. I’ve not seen, experienced, nor learned a fraction of what I came here for. I don’t speak the language, I don’t know where my family is, and I don’t know what a truly Italian lifestyle is. I can’t. I’m not Italian, I’m an Italian-AMERICAN. I’m coming to terms with my reality, and it spreads further. Food is an oral-tradition, it transpires and progresses through the generations, through manipulative palates and variances in dedication, pride and passion. So, in other words, tradition is impossible to discover, because all recipes and methods have become modernized, through the generations. It’s not to say that the approach isn’t at all alike, or that the flavors don’t continue to elicit the same satisfaction, because each taste I find screams of predestined glory. I have submitted my resume, my list of perhaps relevant work experience to a world class establishment in order to sustain hope for a second chance in my long awaited trip to the ‘motherland’, but it is a complicated scenario that I will delve into in a future episode. Separately from the food is the culture, in which I am a lowly outside observer. Not to degrade or minimize my own individual significance, but the reality remains that as an outsider, and these days, being an American, has a detrimental response to social interaction. We are politically blasphemed, and publicly protested against. My politics do not represent that of my government, but I am irrevocably proud of my country, even through its perpetuating struggle. This brings me to my next point…
…I am anxiously awaiting February 25, 2009 to arrive so that I can fly to the States. I will likely come home “empty handed”, that is, without auxiliary packages. I will likely return to a state of inner chaotic confusion which will lead me to wondering why I hadn’t stayed in Italy and traveled through Europe, avoiding customs and government agencies for the next 3 to 5 years. It is, without question, a choice that either answer will cause me great disappointment. The United States of America does not represent me anymore, nor do I represent it. Italy does not have a government, on the other hand, that I would invest any of my effort in trying to rationalize, so politically, a contorted U.S. takes a slight lead. The food here is precisely what I needed in my professional career, and I will be hard pressed to find a community, never mind an entire country, that plays with the same philosophy of agriculture and culinary quality the way the EU seems to. Italy, and the rest of Europe, all win in overwhelming dominance for my food knowledge diatribe over the US of A. What cannot be replaced, what I had been convinced I could live without for 24 years of my life were my social dependencies. It is the hardest aspect of living this far from home for me to handle, that I have a family back home who are finally all getting along, and I have trusted friends that I had become accustomed to seeing and talking with and trusting in for the first time in my life.

I am coming home, eventually. Whether it is February 25 or at another date and time. I am torn between the nature of the two cultures I’ve been a part of and in the next 3 weeks, I’ll be forced to determine, with certain micro-analysis, what my next step will be.

Go Slow, Stay Local
Va Piano, Rimane Locale.

Students are Not Prepared...

2009-01-25T10:27:00.009-05:00

This blog is unrelated to my trip in Italy. This weekend yeilded further growth and understanding of food through tours at a Parma Prosciuto plant, having witnessed the Parmigiano Cheese process and touring a cantina which produces Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale. One step further in my journey, but this post is about something equally significant. I am proud to admit that I am unprepared, even with all that I have learned in the past 4 years as a student and as an aspiring chef, so this is a disclaimer, and me pleading my case to anyone who will listen:

Students are not Prepared to be Chefs upon Graduating from Culinary School.

This is an e-mail I received from a Johnson & Wales Chef/Advisor today:
C4 STUDENTS-----THIS OPPORTUNITY IS NOT FOR EVERYONE, BUT IT IS A GREAT OPPORTUNITY…………………..

General Information :
_______________
Hôtel, Restaurant et Boutique de vins

Who we are: The _____________ is an independently owned, small, charming and authentic hotel and restaurant located in the center-west of France in the Poitou-Charentes region. It is owned by a French wine consultant and an American hotel-restaurant manager/translator. Our location 3.5 hours south of Paris in a rural setting, in one of France’s ‘Plus Beaux Villages’ known for its medieval architecture and stone buildings as well as its Magdalenian era rock sculptures (Roc aux Sorciers). From a tourist’s perspective, the region is most appreciated for nature, bird watching, biking, hiking, fishing and roman art and architecture, and its variety of specialty zoos.

With 11 guest rooms, a restaurant that seats up to 50, and two outdoor terraces seating up to 70, we are physically able to welcome far more clients than we actually do. That said, we serve as a first priority our hotel guests though we are open to outside clients and have quite a few regulars during the season. We average around 25 to 30 covers per dinner service during our busy season, the focus being on quality before quantity. If we do not have the staffing to correctly service our clients, we do not over-commit. With 7 of our guest rooms overlooking our central court yard where dinner is served weather permitting, we accept reservations from 7-7:30 pm until 9 or 9:30 pm at the latest, to insure our hotel guests find the peace and quiet for which they come here.

One of the most important features of our establishment and one of the features which make us unique is wine. We have a small, but extensive wine list (110 or so references) and guests that come here for the wine list, not necessarily for the food. We are also a wine boutique selling wine to go.

We serve dinner every day and are occasionally open for lunch, either for groups (~15 to 40 guests) or on public holidays when we have sufficient demand to justify opening. For groups, a single menu is proposed.

For more detailed information on our location visit __________________

Our philosophy: Fresh, organic when possible, and ‘du terroir’ which means using a maximum of locally produced products. The region is known for duck/goose and its foie gras, lamb, and goat’s milk cheese, etc. We bake our own bread. We do not use frozen or already prepared products (with the exception of baked goods for breakfast). Our cuisine is traditional French with flair and our clients typically do not appreciate ‘science’ on their plate. Our menu, most recently consisting of 3 or 4 of each course-starter, main course, and dessert, changes frequently as we often have guests staying for 5 nights or more. And, daily suggestions are always possible.

The Chef de cuisine: This is the perfect role to put into play everything you should have learned during your studies-and more. From the technical cooking side of the game to the practical and essential business aspects, you will use your education in a working restaurant (with supervision, of course), working primarily alone. You should be independent, creative, organized, adaptive, and most certainly open-minded; ready to work with new products and products not found commonly in the US (raw milk cheese) and ready for a challenge.

The French language is not a must, though making efforts to learn ‘working French’ is a vital part of any international experience. If you do not speak French, there will be some limits to the role such as communications with suppliers and placing orders, other than that you will be responsible for managing stocks, preparation, execution of the service, costing, and cleanliness-meeting at minimum French norms. And, of course managing your time is imperative. Of course this list is not exhaustive. A typical day will start around 4 pm depending upon the amount of prep work to do and finish at the latest around midnight. Obviously there are exceptions.

The Kitchen: Our kitchen is extremely spacious. As for the equipment, we have a walk in cooler, two table refrigerators, a chest freezer, a combi oven (electric), a 2 burner range and a spacious piano (all gas), microwave, vacuum seal machine, and other small equipment.

The Menu: For a few examples of menu items that we have proposed:
Starters: Roasted red pepper, basil and goats milk cheese ravioli with pesto
Foie Gras
Foie gras flan
Agnolotti, tomato sauce and tapenade
Main Course: Risotto with escargots and a parsley cream
Rack of Lamb seasoned with cumin and white beans
Brazilian rubbed salmon
Roasted duck breast with lentils (local specialities)
Desserts: Chocolate molten cake with custard
Peach, chocolate and lavender
Stuffed red wine poached pear
Candied Figs

So, as I begin reading this, I’m excited that Johnson & Wales is opening up more doors for international educational and work programs to its students. As much as I’ve grown in the past 2 months, I encourage all of my colleagues and classmates to take advantage of opportunities to travel with the excuse of learning their trades, and the stimulus of a rural French resort certainly piqued my interest. Unfortunately, this passage quickly turned my emotion from enamor to despair. Instead of the position offered being one for a commis or apprentice, it is, in fact a CHEF’s title and role. Increasingly concerning, the prerequisite experience for this role does not include knowledge of traditional French cuisine, nor the ability to speak and communicate in the native tongue of the land, and furthermore, this institution, whose name I have removed for their own privacy, suggests that the education received from Johnson & Wales is sufficient to operate a fine dining kitchen, nearly SINGLE HANDEDLY. To my Chef Instructors who may be reading this diatribe; you have each provided me with invaluable knowledge and information through the education afforded me from the University, I cannot thank any of you enough for your personal input into my career and future endeavors, but I, nor any of my classmates, are prepared to be Executive Chefs. The select few who have the insight, the desire, and the practice to succeed in this role are not the students I believe will respond to this offer, because they, like me, appreciate that our education gave us one decisive skill above all else; the ability to learn. Therefore, we are still learning, under the guidance of chefs, co-workers and other passionate souls in our trade. I feel as though we are the ones who are effectively putting to use our Four-Year degrees, because we have accepted that as much as we have learned, it only constitutes the foundation for us to perpetuate our education through experience in the working-world.

It is not my intention to admonish those who are intrigued by this offer, because it would undoubtedly be a phenomenal experience. Instead, I write this with a heavy heart, knowing that only one year ago I would have likely believed I was capable of fulfilling this position. Many of us, my contemporaries, have yet to feel the embarrassment or humiliation of learning the value of our program of study, to feel the humility of being blatantly wrong simply because we are unprepared and under-qualified. This is not a flaw in the methodology of Johnson & Wales, but in the students, who learn pride in their abilities as they progress and can observe the rapid growth through the short years spent in Providence or Miami, but often are not able to relate their growth to that of professional chefs who have spent years, or decades defining themselves, refining their technique and further expanding upon their internal knowledge of food, service and experience.

As a representative of JWU in Europe, working now and in the past with students from other American culinary institutions, I implore the faculty of my esteemed institution to redefine the intent of this position, because as the Johnson & Wales name grows, and as graduates spread throughout the world, they are a representation of me, and my peers who are struggling and perspiring in the hot, busy, relentless kitchens as entry level cooks, commis, apprentices and the like. I would want to put our best foot forward, and instead of searching out current students, perhaps put the word out to some of our Alumni who are a few years ahead of us, the current students and recent graduates. This group is far more prepared, and will be representative of the driven, well rounded and passionate atmosphere that is fostered in our kitchen classrooms. Their experience will likely provide them with a higher probability for success, and in return, will aid in boosting the value of my own and my fellow graduates’ degrees, which not only insures further successes, but will provide us an advantage especially in this time of economic crisis.

I am writing this as an apprentice, an aspiring chef, with culinary experience at “Providence’s Best Restaurant” for the year in which I was employed, seven months at the only Relais & Chateaux property in Rhode Island, a current apprentice for an Italian chef who has hosted 5 events at the James Beard House, and with a pending application (which I intend on succeeding in earning a position) at a resort on the Amalfi Coast of southwestern Italy which boasts a rating of a Michelin star and Relais & Chateaux designation since 1988. My journey has only just begun, and I intend on carrying the institution of Johnson & Wales with me throughout my time as a commis and a chef, but even with the growth and knowledge I’ve earned in my studies beyond the classroom, there is still far more remaining for me to learn before I can effectively actualize that role.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I’m a proud member of the Johnson & Wales University family. I have, and will always put my heart and soul into my work in order to achieve my personal goals and serve to polish the University's notoriety for the sake of myself and those who will certainly follow after me in their own pursuit to study and discover the world’s food and culture.

Go Slow, Stay Local
Va Piano, Rimane Locale

So...what if i were to work here...

2009-01-21T12:05:00.002-05:00

... and by work here, i mean live in one of the most pristine, coastal communities in the known universe. Positano has a Michelin Starred, Relais & Chateaux resort called Il San Pietro di Positano. I have aquaintences here that not only know the resort, but both worked there, and one was the General Manager for 7 years. Check it out, I'm working on my resume and other important documents, and i'll keep you updated on how it goes.

http://www.ilsanpietro.it/english.htm

I can't believe that I live in Italy, but I'm finding it harder to believe that THIS could be a potential next step for me.

Ciao Tutti!

Go Slow, Stay Local
Va Piano, Rimane Locale

...watching for Pigs on the Wing

2009-01-18T19:47:00.002-05:00

18 Gennaio 2009

I love pigs. I’ve said it before, but throughout these last 2 months of self realization and exploration of the Italian perspective of proper foods, my genuine infatuation with pork products has been resoundingly engrossed. To try to word this with any form of congruent verbiage would result in me being ever so dissatisfied with the language I could choose. I don’t think that the behavior is unhealthy, but addicts don’t usually identify themselves as such until at least Step 5, so I may be in denial. Regardless of that fact, I was fortunate enough to visit and tour a pig-plant in a small town outside of Umbria. Scianca provides us with all of our pork, and they know how to treat tasty mammals. Their building was immaculate, and was without the regularly overpowering odor that meat markets or butcher shops are infamous for. Instead, I found this nirvana, white walls and floors, glistening (probably with pork fat) and room after room, hanging carcasses tantalizing my predetermined weakness for that tender, tasty, trotter-bearing beast. These pigs are seen cut in half, and then broken down into each individual piece, separated, so that each could receive the love and affection from their brethren before being packaged and adorning the plate of a very privileged diner somewhere in central Italy. All raw parts are available, but the fun doesn’t end there. Sausage, cured meats, lardo, copa di testa (head cheese), all sprawled out in their retail display case, but mostly kept at a separate location for the aging process. It’s my hope, and full intention, to spend a few days living the life of the Scianca meat-cutters, packers and processers, so that when I return home, I’ll have the skills and knowledge to introduce these salivary stimuli to the American public. Guanciale (gwohn-ch-yahl-eh), as prepared by Sciana, has taken the place of BACON in my favorite food column. I never thought that would happen, in fact, when I discovered this sensuous, piccolo-prosciutto-looking thing, it took only one taste to sway my loyalties.

The pig still wins, but I won’t be bringing home the bacon, it’ll be Guanciale, and you will be glad I did.

Go Slow, Stay Local.
Va Piano, Rimane Locale.

5 - Gennaio - 2009

2009-01-07T17:30:00.002-05:00

Decembre, no, 5 Gennaio 2009

What a long strange trip it’s been. To quote the late, great, Jerry Garcia, I’ve found myself close to 3 weeks out on my update. To try to do this logically would be irreconcilable in common sense, therefore, this go-‘round will be a little loose in its structure. Bologna, Parma, Christmas Eve, Christmas without the family, New Years, UmbriaJazz, Americans, Italians, and Romanians. I’ve got some work to do here, and not so much time. This is going to be a compilation of installments, so if it seems scattered, that is more than likely the reason why. As it stands, I’m starting this and have to leave to go to the restaurant in 10 minutes, so there is not a gasping breath of opportunity for me to write even a fraction of what needs to be said.
To start, my experiences here have led me to believe one thing. I am coming back, for as long as I can, both by permission of the government and by the patience of my conscience. The food and structure of agricultural sustainability is exactly what I want to incorporate into my professional career.

Bologna. Another of the ancient cities adorned with a history in itself could fill an entire text book, and intertwined with some of the most sought after food in the entire country. Home to the famous mortadella salumi, tortelli in brodo, and a slew of assorted cured meats, salumi, and fine foods that have been a part of a food revolution for years, Bologna yielded a fantastic meal, after a small treasure hunt to find it, and very well incorporated modern metropolis among the well maintained historic buildings. After we ate lunch, we were supposed to meet with Leo, a concierge of sorts, for wealthy clientele renting Italian Villas. Unfortunately he didn’t make it, so we, Kevin, Erica and I, thought we could use the opportunity to venture to Modena and Parma.

Modena, the famed home of the world’s finest balsamic vinegar, and a manufacturing plant for Maserati, was, without question, the most uninteresting and frustrating waste of time in years. We saw nothing, mostly because there was nothing to see. They have, in the town of Modena, the Italian answer to Wal-Mart, called Iber-Coop. In a mall, is this exact replica of a Super Wal-Mart, except with a much better selection of produce and other food-stuffs…but not by a whole lot. It was a tragic American influence, a gross abundance of nonsense items in a shopping center that was mobbed by Christmas shoppers. Materialism has stretched it’s poisonous veins into the heart of the ancient world, using the guise of religion once again.

But I digress. As the fog sets in over North-Central Italy, we continue onto Parma. A 45 minute drive turns into 4 hours and by the time we arrive, our stomachs are screaming to be satiated by rich, delicious, Parma cuisine. Locals leading us in all different directions, most that look to be tourist traps, so much so that we nearly missed the hidden gem of the city. Gallo D’Oro, a flat out stunning meal, the most amazing prosciutto I’ve ever had, a phenomenal bottle of Lambrusco that was sweet and tangy, yet slightly astringent, it’s an effervescent red wine that opened up the flavors of everything we ate. And we did eat. A giant plate of prosciutto, a good amount of formaggio di Parma, a bowl of fried bread, 3 courses, 2 plated courses, dessert, and an additional bottle of wine. Absolute bliss, although utterly gluttonous in nature, I think that our sincere appreciation for ever mouth full of food we eat helps to ease the stress of indulging in such a guilty pleasure. So, the 4 hour drive home resulted in me, a complete corpse in the backseat, food-comatose, and by no means comfortable. The first time I can say that I needed to walk off the food I had just eaten, but we were, as I said, 4 hours from home, and it was nearly midnight.

There will never be a true, passionate fan of salumi, prosciutto, cheese, pigs or food until these two cities are traveled to. I encourage all of my friends, colleagues, contemporaries, inspirations, muses and all other misguided readers of my ranting diatribes to push you to move out of the world we think we know and understand. To trek through the boundaries, the red tape and ropes that have unwittingly kept our thoughts and experiences trapped and to flourish in eviscerating the poisons forced upon us by our reliance on third party knowledge. No one can give these places, these experiences any more value than I give them myself. No picture, no words, no stammering stuttering shuddering or flustered wordlessness could elicit the true potential of having set food in ancient city streets and buildings, eating centuries old traditions through the cuisine and simply being dumbfounded by the atrocious miscommunication of those who have tried to justify this place with anything other than the words;

“You must see this for yourself and experience its value first hand.”

Go Slow. Stay Local.
Va Piano. Rimane Locale.

Roma

2008-12-19T09:38:00.001-05:00

19 Decembre 2008
Since I arrived, about 3 weeks ago, this kitchen has undergone at least two transformations a week. Between small projects, and large alike, rearrangement of furniture and reorganizing storage spaces, tiling walls, hood fans, new ranges, ovens and soon to be floors, I’ve seen this property evolve, nearly instantaneously into ideal work space. After the work is completed, it would be an ideal setup for Lorenzo to push the realm of his cuisine into a higher paced, more complete restaurant experience, fine dining throughout. This space, effective, charming and appropriate as it is, has the potential to grow in any direction Lorenzo should choose. It’s a great time for me to be here, to be a witness to the labor that goes into the redesign, the thought process that goes into the development of his future operations as well as the anticipation of his newest venture; the culinary school. I’ll be a first hand witness, aid and hopeful recipient of his knowledge and experience

Rome. Spent the day there, and walked the majority of the city. I walked everywhere south of the Villa Borghese, which means I missed that and the Olympic Village, not much else. The pictures are posted, and they speak volumes, but I should be honest in saying that Rome is not nearly as inspiring or fascinating as I had hoped. History is everywhere, and the architecture that remains from the days of the Empire can garner my interests, yet it was tainted by the modern interventions put in place, both for means of preservation, and to prevent idiot tourists from hurting themselves. What these apparatuses do, therefore, is to eliminate the genuine article, making the most intriguing and fortunate surviving artifacts of the last, true, world encompassing Empire seem as though they’re only replicas of their true identities. Don’t take my word for it though, well, at this point there may be no other option, but to be fair, it just wasn’t up to my standard. The pictures are fantastic, but they only represent those specific spots. To have to tread through the metropolis of modern structures, tourist restaurants, pubs/bars, retail stores, busses, cars, and throngs of people significantly admonished my sense of inspiration for the city my ancestors assembled. So, amidst my journey, with which I made with an acquaintance, Erica, also an apprentice at another restaurant in Orvieto, we stopped at an “osteria” near the Pantheon. Here, I believe, I was treated as an ignorant American client, because I ordered a pasta dish called “Amatriciana” which is a tomato based sauce, traditionally made with only red onions, pancetta and olive oil, and served with Pecorino Romano, but, this is not what I was served. Instead, I was given a sauce that I am quite positive was an “Arrabiata”, which is a tomato based sauce with garlic and peperocini, which together, impart a very spicy flavor to the sauce. A flagrant difference between what I had expected, but, none the less, a tasty plate, even through my disappointment at the proprietor’s apparent disregard for authenticity. So at this point, the days’ travels have included an hour’s train ride, several piazzas, as well as the home of the prime minister, the Trevi Fountain, the Coliseum, the Basilica de San Bonaventura and the Spanish Steps. After lunch, which took a bit too long, perhaps, we ventured our way to the Vatican. Arriving promptly at 4 o’clock, I asked at an information booth where I could find the Sistine Chapel, when I was abruptly confronted with the punishment of my snail-paced eating habits. The Vatican Museum closed exactly as we had arrived, 4pm. I snapped a few photos, and in my frustration, simply chose to turn and set course back to the ancient city to find the Pantheon. So, as the sun is quickly setting, we’re navigating the streets alongside the Tiber River, and back into the main section of the city, we come to the point on our maps that indicate the location of the Pantheon. It’s a dilapidated, structure, being referred to as a Basilica of some sort, and honestly, I didn’t even go inside. I was not, at any time, sure that I was actually looking at, what I was under the impression of, one of the most important structures in the government of the Roman Empire. Unfortunately, my lack of recent research leads me to the current understanding that the Pantheon is in fact a sacred burying ground, for its prime purpose, and originally constructed as a temple to the early Roman Gods. Needless to say, I’m quite disappointed I didn’t inquire, nor explore further the internal relevance of the building, and fell victim to assuming that because the external façade was in such a state of decay, that the interior would surely was the remainder of my evening. I will have to pursue its investigation when I return to see the Vatican, when next I have the availability.

After 10 hours of walking, my knees swollen and feeling grossly abused, Erica and I purchased some beer and snacks for the train ride home, and enjoyed an extended state of repose while we rode to Orvieto. I slept like a rock (anche, mi dispiace, Professoressa), and woke energized for work the following morning. I arrive at work, thanked Carlo for his clairvoyance in meteorology, find that we will have little work to do for the next week. We’re closing Sunday-Wednesday’s lunch, opening for dinner on Christmas, then closing Thursday. During this time, I’ll be trying to make arrangements to travel to Bologna, while moving to our new house, off the hill.

The evening that followed left me with an opportunity to share one of my favorite kitchen techniques, as was handed down to me from Chef Kelly. Now, this is a French method, that I’m creatively giving its just value, to traditional Italian chefs. The method: Triple Tombage a Glace, and it’s my intention to introduce it as a method of building a storage of delicious flavor bases for stocks during these slow months in order to have them available through the busy summer. It’s a process of rapidly reducing stocks to a glace, or base form, cutting the storage space down to a fraction of what it would be for a full stock or even demi, while improving its flavor profile through the process. I think it went well, Kevin was receptive, and it’s just a matter finding a way to implement it efficiently. I have my hands full right now trying to get a compost system started, so I’m going to focus on my first mission until that is at least underway.

Ok, enough’s enough, and I think nearly 1,200 words will suffice for now. There’s more to say, but it will be incorporated in the future (i.e. Lorenzo’s television segment this morning, live no less). To you all, I bid adieu (which is French, mi dispiace).

Ciao Tutti.

Go Slow. Stay Local.
Va Piano. Rimane Locale.

13 Decembre 2008

2008-12-13T12:01:00.001-05:00

13 – Decembre – 2008
We turned over the party last night with our eyes closed. Josh, working like plow horse, on his vacation no less, helped Carlo hammer out some prep for our big Saturday, 3 private parties, two off premise, one in the restaurant for dinner. Speaking of Josh, this afternoon he purchased himself €350 worth of truffles. Now, for those of you who don’t know, truffles are arguably the most highly sought after ingredient in refined cooking. I have pictures, my culinary proficient colleagues will be insanely jealous, and the rest of you are going to see a pile of “rocks” on a scale, but I ensure you, the aroma, flavor and even the sight of this rare, hard to find fungus are enough to send a foodie into overdrive. So for family meal Saturday night, he’ll be preparing a couple selections with white truffles to show his gratitude, even though, it should be us praising and basking him in glory for even coming through on his round-about way home. He’s a great kid, with a good head on his shoulders, an amazing work ethic, and excellent taste and skill in handling, preparing and enjoying food and its labors. So back on track we are (I know, very Yoda), we’re going out after work, we hit a German Bar that serves god awful pizza made with soy flour, and beers that take 15 minutes to pour. After that we head back to the Corso (the main drag) and stop at a very reputable bar called Bar Barique (as in barrels for aging wine in). I ordered a neat 10 year scotch and I might as well have been drinking iodine. Needless to say, I placed the drink on the bar, and will not ever return to that venue to flush my gullet. Now what do we do. Josh has been raving about these two bars, one he calls the “Burp-aria” because when he lived in the city, he used to go there to harass the locals. It was closed, so the other, he had been calling the “Champagneria” and I thought it was another fabled story I would have to imagine instead of experience. Thankfully, we I was surprised with a beautiful little neighborhood bar, with a fantastically entertaining, beautiful blonde hostess, an American apprentice from Texas and a great selection of wines, liquors and entertaining conversation. These are good people, all of whom struck several chords with my personal interests, directions with food, culture and politics, while being completely down to earth, funny and truly inspired by their work and trade. We close the bar and follow our breadcrumb trail back to the apartment at an early 3am.

This morning, now Saturday, I’m scheduled to work a f.o.h. (front of the house) shift for a buffet event. 30 people, and I’m lookin’ sharp! I’m laughing outloud here, so bare with me. I’m working in pin-stripe black pants (because that’s all I have) a white button down shirt, and my kitchen clogs. I don’t much mind, but certainly not the ideal outfit for my day. So, 10am, Jasmine and I are ready to go, loaded up her car and deliver the goods. We get set up, organize the room, and just on a side note, she smells quite ripe this morning, and she doesn’t even have the excuse of having a hard night at the bars last night. Just good ol’ fashioned European hygiene. So there we are, 1pm, standing at attention, I’m trying not to breathe too hard, and she’s trying to give me instructions, all in Italian. She understands next to no English, and she has great difficulty slowing down her speech so that I can translate her slang. Now that you have a more accurate depiction of the scene, we’re still waiting. Finally, guests start to arrive. We’re prepared for 30, although I think we have food for 60. The first couple enters, and do the normal, drop their things and dart to the food. Normal, except there isn’t anyone else coming. All together there are 6 guests that come and eat. SIX that is all. A ghastly amount of food is left over, and the hotel staff takes anything they can get their hands on, and even try to steal 4 bottles of wine. I don’t really understand it, but we stole back the wine, and let them get away with just about everything else they wanted, except cheese and salumi. Back to the kitchen. Elisa, an on call server asked me if I was married when I was cleaning and breaking down the mess from the private parties. I can only laugh and walk away. Oh, which reminds me, there is a FACEBOOK PARTY in Orvieto tonight. Yes, that’s right, the American imposed social retardation has spread its roots to Europe, and from what’s being touted as a community festa, there are supposed to be 6,000 people in the Piazza del Popolo tonight, which is a ridiculous number. 10 times the population that lives on the entire hill, in one square, so this is going to be one for the books… or the blog. So with that, it’s back to the grind stone, to sharpen my knives (thought that was going to be a cliché, didn’t you). I miss my family, friends and Koti, but I’m starting to do better with the distance, so here’s to another good night!

Salute!

Go Slow. Stay Local
Va Piano. Rimane Locale.

11-Decembre-2008

2008-12-12T11:22:00.000-05:00

It was another day of rain. Eleonora (in case you don’t remember, she’s Lorenzo’s wife), says to me right when I get to work that this weather is very unusual. 2 days of sun out of 11, and it’s not looking any brighter for the next 3 either. Winter is a dismal time of year, even amongst the classic backdrop set by the city. A former intern, on his roundabout way home to the States from England, stopped in for a few days and spent the day with us. Josh is his name, and he’s a phenomenal worker, quick, agile and focused, while being light spirited and jovial throughout the day. He’s coming from a Michelin two star restaurant in Oxford, and the name is escaping me at the moment, but his story is a brave one, and I admire him for his dedication and perseverance. As the renovation continues in the kitchen, we’re working around a tradesman and the chef, while re-arranging and protecting the food from construction debris. It’s an unusual complication, but with a little common sense, and enough history with how these events proceed, I have no problem accomplishing my necessary prep and service responsibilities around the perpetual rearrangement and temporarily discombobulated surroundings. With a party of 20 for lunch, we ambitiously sit down for family meal and are interrupted shortly thereafter to begin service. Smoothly progressing from relaxation to action, all four courses go out without a hitch and we execute, clean and eliminate all threats in what felt like record time. Only one or two more projects left on the board for the day, we set in and focus on ending the morning without haste. Gnocchi was my last task, a traditional, delicious and authentic; another recipe to add to the collection. Lorenzo proceeds to tell us that we’ll be closed for the evening and we’ll be going out to dinner together instead. Nothing to complain about.
Dinner is at a small restaurant, event facility about 20 minutes outside the city. It appears that the proprietors are a family who live in the building, on the floors above the restaurant. An open fire flares in the kitchen as we wait, and commiserate with the owners. It would seem that there are three generations at work in the kitchen and the will be putting their best foot forward. Antipasto, then crostini, followed by tagliatelle, chased by the meat course which consisted of fire roasted pork, lamb and cured sausage with potato chips and salad. The final course from the kitchen was a trio of desserts: crème brulee, tiramisu and ricotta gelatin. Josh provided some Italian cigars, and we enjoyed them (in the restaurant) as we talked and finished our drinks. The food was good, but it was not the purpose of this meal. This was the family of the restaurant, the fraternity, because the numbers are predominantly composed of men, besides Sra. Polegri and one female waitress, which is eerily similar to my own family, so we could enjoy each others’ company while we filled our stomachs with food and wine. To call it a bonding experience would not be fitting, because this is not so much a strategy as much as it is simply a lifestyle. Food, friends and/or family, and the joyous, rambunctious, surrender of self that is inevitable at these events are not imposed, yet enjoyed and relished, nearly unknowingly while it is underway. I had a great time, and found myself exhausted following the meal, so had to decline the offer to go out for drinks following. Perhaps it’s my sense of dismissal, in keeping my distance from people, or the financial concerns of overburdening my budget so early in the trip, but it’s more likely due to the fact that I have not had a good nights’ sleep since I’ve been here. I’m hoping for a change of pace. A relaxed, upbeat, social evening, a moment with my thoughts to reflect on the day and my experiences in the last week and-a-half could, I certainly hope, be the key to a night of deep, greatly deserved sleep.
Buona Notte.
Go Slow. Stay Local.
Va Piano. Rimane Locale.

Day 8

2008-12-09T06:26:00.002-05:00

8 – Decembre – 2008
Day 8
Ok, so I’m switching up the format on you. For the first few days, I had been heading back to the apartment during siesta, but that is no longer the case, so from here on out, I’ll be writing to you on the time period from afternoon to afternoon, instead of each individual day. That was becoming too difficult, and as I start to partake in the social life here after work, it’s challenging to organize a day’s thoughts and events. Today, as you read, begins yesterday, with dinner service and finishes with today’s lunch service, and anything that comes between.
Service started slowly, in a similar fashion as earlier in the week, and at about 8:15 we were preparing to shut it down for the night. I would have been completely content with that, as I was completely exhausted, and a slow night does nothing to stimulate, inspire or produce adrenaline for energy. I was ready to sleep, and then we sat a 7 top, followed by a 3 top. As we’re preparing to close, at just about 9 o’clock, Eris enters the kitchen, groans a very perturbed Italian correspondence to Kevin and returns to the dining room. I give Kevin the curious eye-ball and he lets me in on the news, the town drunkard has stumbled in and he routinely sits, regardless of the time or the state of affairs in the restaurant, for well over 2 hours. He’s with a date, they order 3 courses, and enjoy themselves for 2 and-a-half hours, at the expense of our patience and required hospitality. So be it, we had settled in, and were at least emotionally prepared for his encumbering nature. We were cleaned and changed well before he chose to end his stay, so by the time I arrived home, I was already half asleep.
I woke up in a state of anger that I have no explanation for. I was FURIOUS, a series of dreams last night produced a feeling of curious rage that coursed through me for the first hour or so of the morning. I’m not entirely sure how to explain the root of it. Certainly I’m under stress, I have been experiencing the full scope of emotion yet have felt, more or less, in tune with myself the entire time. Other than the need for companionship, which is becoming less and less of a factor, as Kevin is a good guy, and we’re building a reasonable friendship based on the circumstances here, I am not angry. It spoiled my rest, I did not rise from my bed in a relaxed manner, I shot up, looked at my alarm clock and was fuming at having awoken seconds before it was to sound its alarm. I instantly questioned my state of mind, briefly analyzed the subconscious stream of thoughts from the night, and decided that this, although concerning, state of being was an anomaly to be attributed to the transition. I don’t have a reference point for this sort of lifestyle adjustment, therefore, I will only continue to worry if it persists.
My distraction is work, and today there is plenty to be done. With a private party of 60, scheduled for 4 courses, as well as a la carte service simultaneously, this was the most intensive morning thus far. I was hurried through every plate and process I had been assigned to, and it was a relief. Through this rush, while being exhausted from the restless sleep, of course, I felt an emotional connection to the food being served for the first time here. It wasn’t like having been a part of the dinner crew on the first night at Castle Hill, where I was on the line, and I was side by side with Gomez, taking mental notes of each of his movements. Every plate there I grasped and appreciated, here took some time. I don’t know if it’s because of Chef Lorenzo, Kevin, the food itself or whether I am truly passionate about the work I’m doing, but this morning alleviated much of the concern I had been feeling about this apprenticeship.
Tomorrow is a day off as the restaurant is closed for renovations. They’re adding more equipment for prep and the Art Institute is sending students here for classes starting in January. Lorenzo encouraged me to take it off, even though I would be happy to come in and see what work goes into restaurant renovation and construction (or reconstruction for that matter). I’ll likely just sleep in a little later and find myself in the dining room to watch and lend a hand if it’s needed. My first day off… no idea what to do, we shall see though!

Dinner was spectacular. We sit, the only guests in a three tiered dining room, which any modern city would try to emulate, the minimal décor melding with the ancient structure formed a congruence that NYC designers would drool over. Two floors, dedicated to the a la carte kitchen, and the third, a special event floor, that, in my opinion could comfortably accommodate 100 people. The menu is a blend of traditional and modern foods that compliment the style of the dining room, and clearly the chef. He introduced himself to us, and explained the menu, in detail (in Italian, but I caught the majority of it), but you should try to think of the last time an American chef took himself onto the floor to verbally delineate each of his creations. Better yet, try to find an American chef who stays in the restaurant for a party of 5, instead of calling it an early night and heading to the bar for a drink. It is a customary sequence to order Antipasto, Pasta, Carne and finally Dolce. I ordered a Truffle Flan with a parmesan crisp and a spinach puree, then Ravioli stuffed with potato and pancetta in “pomodoro salsa fresco”(pan sauce made from quartered cherry tomatoes). Following that I may have had the best pork I’ve ever eaten. A beautifully seared saddle (yes, with the rind still on, crispy and fatty and oh-so-delicious), which was accompanied by a braised cabbage and a few hard fought tears of joy was my meat course. One last course, and after 5 bottles of wine between the 5 of us, throughout the evening, I was in trouble. Once again the chef appears, and we sing him our praises, while he promptly discusses his dessert finishers. I did, ashamedly, try to pass, but in his best English and a genuine smile, he explains perhaps something light like a Limoncello Gelato would fill the final space in my already bloated gut. I couldn’t say no, a creamy, citrusy, tart and sweet champagne flute filled with house made ice cream was, in fact a delightful complimentary end to my first full Italian meal. I hope I’ve been able to explain it so that you can grasp my enjoyment, but you truly need to sit here and enjoy yourselves first hand, I think I may be in need of repeating that over and over here for the next few months.

Go Slow. Stay Local.
Va Piano. Rimane Locale.

Day 7

2008-12-07T12:09:00.001-05:00

6 Decembre 2008
Day 7

One week complete. And let me apologize in advance, this is going to be a brief one. Tonight we were busy, 23 covers, none less than 3 courses, and for all intents and purposes, 1 cook, Carlo. I washed dishes, cooked some soups/pastas, and built a couple antipasti, but mostly washed dishes. We didn’t get out until after 11pm and of course, as any other Saturday night, we went to the bars. Kevin and I shared a bottle of wine at Vincaffe, and then each had a beer at Café Cavour. Doesn’t sound like much, but we were out until 3am, we had a great time, but I don’t see myself having too many of those nights any more. This morning, we had the party of 50, back at the hotel, and Chef Lorenzo came with us. He’s a pretty funny, animated guy, and knows quite a lot of English, which is great. Sarcastic, laid back, Chef’s an all around good guy. After we packed up and got back to the restaurant, tied up a few loose ends, I ended up staying at the restaurant for the entire day, again. After having expired my interest in the internet, I cooked some family meal; roasted chicken thighs, charred cherry tomatoes and lemon risotto. Not bad, should have deglazed the pan with the chicken and made a sauce though. This brings us to service, and in an bass-ackward way, I’ve given you an accelerated recourse of the day. I’ll try to be more thorough, or well, interesting tomorrow, but there just isn’t time at the moment.

Ciao Tutti,

Go Slow, Stay Local
Va Piano, Rimane Locale

Day 6

2008-12-06T09:52:00.002-05:00

5 – Decembre - 2008
Day 6
I can count on work today, for the first time. Not just prep, but work. A party of 20, well, they dropped down to 10, off premise, at a hotel in Lower Orvieto. 4 courses; rigatoni con salsa funghi e salsiccia, gnocchi e ragú tagliate, capocollo spinaci, patate puree e salsa magia, and torte cioccolato con pera. First, there’s a touch of prep to be done. Pork tenderloin stuffed with peaches and herbs. We butterfly the tenderloins, which come in cryovac in half. An herb mixture of prezzemolo, rosmarino, salvia, e aglio is spread over the meat, then 3 or 4 slices of pesche (peaches) before they’re rolled, then trussed with the salumi net. Roasted over mirepoix for an hour, more or less the same process as the Capocollo. Then it was time for the catering event, which went exactly as any other catering job I’d done before, except we had the use of a beautiful, new, large kitchen. Plates, glass and silverware all provided, so no lugging of heavy boxes, just the food. So far, I’m satisfied, and that would maintain throughout the morning. Lunch was served, without a hitch, we cleaned up and were out the door before 2 o’clock, just over an hour and a half. Va bene, I can get used to this. Back at the restaurant, there are only a few small chores before siesta, quick clean up and I’m on my own.

With the whole computer debacle last night, I spent a fair amount of time typing the blog (which I’ve typically been accomplishing at night, after work), but the machine was certainly out of commission, and is still in recovery. So, an hour or so later, I’ve caught up on my work, and my due diligence to you, my loyal family, friends and instructors. At this point, it’s on to the “social life” if you will. E-mail correspondence and the like. I find out that the items which I had to leave behind in New Hampshire will likely stay right where they are because it is simply too expensive to ship. That includes, but is not limited to, some clothes, all of my cds, all of my books and cooking tools. I am frustrated, but have to grin and bare, as this is truly an exceptional situation. Economics aren’t worth quarrelling over, nor are they matters to be taken frivolously. I take a deep breath, inhaling anxiety, exhaling the expiring patience and temperance which I’m relying heavily on. It’s raining again, 5 out of 6 days, for those of you who believe in karma, omens or superstition of any kind, your concerns would reflect my depreciating excitement. The rain is impeding on my desire to explore, wearing me down, slowly like an old-age river pass over a jagged stone, gradually polishing it into a harmless rendering of its former self. In order to evade the inevitable alone time at the end of the night, I tried to download some video entertainment, but am encountering technical difficulties, all which require money that I don’t have to resolve. So it goes, as Vonnegut would have said. And here, I feel somewhat like Billy Pilgrim, in his cage on Tralfamador, slowly learning where his boundaries are and how to confront his newly impinged freedoms.

I did not encounter any specific words to inquire about today, so it’s time for a review of some of the important basics: Days of the week and numerals.

Monday Lunedi
Tuesday Martedi
Wednesday Mercoledi
Thursday Giovedi
Friday Venerdi
Saturday Sabato
Sunday Domenica
1 Uno
2 Due
3 Tre
4 Quattro
5 Cinque
6 Sei
7 Sette
8 Otto
9 November
10 Dieci
11 Undici
12 Dodici
13 Tredici
14 Quattordici
15 Quindici
16 Sedici
17 Diciasette
18 Diciaotto
19 Dicianove
20 Venti
30 Trenta
40 Quaranta
50 Cinquanta
60 Sessanta
70 Settanta
80 Ottanta
90 Novanta
100 Cento

E tutto sta sera. Avete un buon giorno oggi, amici. Ci parliamo a piu tarde.

Go Slow. Stay Local.
Va Piano. Rimane Locale.

Day 5

2008-12-05T11:02:00.001-05:00

4 Decembre 2008
Day 5
After a morning shower, and organizing my things for work, Kevin mentioned that on Thursdays and Sundays there is an open air market in the Piazza del Popolo. On one end there are vendors selling clothing and material goods, while on the other is a farmers’ market, dedicated to fresh produce, cheeses, salumi and all other things to stimulate your salivary glands. Most of these items I am familiar with, but there are some local, indigenous vegetables that I will have to play with and tell you about in the future. I’m excited about this market, it will give me a feel for the value of goods in comparison to the States, besides the obvious availability of fresh food right around the corner…although I’m being told that I’m moving and about 3 weeks.

So, after strolling through the market, stopping for a cappuccino, we arrive at work and I am finally introduced to Chef Lorenzo. He imparts the traditional European kiss on the cheeks maneuver, and I more than likely look mortified. This is no small gentleman, a former body-builder, he has a very imposing presence. Needless to say, I was shocked and am moderately embarrassed by the whole ordeal. After introductions, it’s right to work. There is a small party of 20 tomorrow and then 50 on Saturday. I make Mousse Riccotino (Ricotta Mousse), a dessert that is local to Umbria. We don’t use dairy cream, instead, a hydrogenated form of vegetable oil that whips and holds like cream does. I’m not sure how I feel about it from my perspective on slow, natural food, but it functions just the same. So after I whipped the mousse and folded in the egg whites, I had to pipe it into tins… I hate pastry bags, they make a mess, and I’m not nearly talented enough with them. After that, Carlo showed me how to make a traditional lasagna, and I just may have learned the secret to my grandmother’s just the same. He used beef ragú and béchamel between 4 layers of pasta, and hand crumbled fresh mozzarella. Not in a hotel pan, but just a full sheet pan, and baked it in the oven for 20 minutes until it was browned on the top. Simple, I’m hoping to try it tomorrow or Saturday.

I posted a link to the pictures I took yesterday on the right side of my blog, so take a gander at them, they’re worth a few minutes. While I’m here, some tourist traps I’ll likely enjoy will be the mandatory venture to Rome, hopefully the Amalfi Coast, Venice, Florence, Parma, but in Orvieto, there is an underground tunnel system from the days when the city was first constructed. I think it would be pretty entertaining to take the tour and get a glimpse of what these tunnels were built and maintained for, and, well to ask questions about what kind of folk lore is associated with their history. Oh yeah, also think I’ll be able to go truffle hunting. THAT should be worth coming to Italy all on its own! Dinner was slow, and by slow I mean we served no one except ourselves, as per usual. Afterwards, I spilled a beer on my computer, and one of the shift keys is malfunctioning, so I determined that I needed another drink. We, Kevin, Eris and I, returned to Vincaffe and I discovered that most of what I learned about wine really doesn’t apply. So, now I listen, and learn, all day, every day. Language, food, wine, culture, it’s all new. When we finished the bottle of wine, we proceeded to Café Cavour, about a block from the apartment. Thirty beers from around the world, not the greatest, but at least a few selections I could delve into and enjoy. There was a group, a flock, a gaggle if you will, of American girls there, and the fact is, American girls are just the same, no matter where in the world they are, or where in the States they’re from. No surprises here, but worth noting. Chances are, the women in my life are going to be offended by this, but none of you reflect what typical American women represent, that’s why I like you!

Well, sleep tonight will come easily, that much is for sure. Tomorrow, I actually have work to do for that private party. I expect it will be similar to off premise catering gigs I’ve done in the past, but I’m expecting. Be sure that anything new will be forwarded promptly, because my intuition is leading me to believe that this will not be what I’m used to.

Parole del giorno:

Guonciale Cured Pork Jowl
Gram Grammo
Milliliter Millilitro
Liter Litro
Kilo Chilo
Gym Palestra
Exercise Esercisio
Move, to Muovere, Spostare
Hate Odiare
Pastry Bag Sacco di pasdoso
Back Pack Zaino
Better Migliore

Arrivaderci Amici!

Go slow, stay local
Va Piano, rimane locale

Day 4

2008-12-04T08:34:00.001-05:00

3 Decembre 2008
Day 4
I’m late. Not terribly, but definitely late. Apparently my cell phone alarm clock doesn’t function when I’m out of service range. It will keep the time though…what can you do. So I’m 15 minutes late, and well, Carlo is fine with it. Mi dispiace, bisogno comprare un orologio a sveglia. Now that I’m situated, I’m getting to it, a loin of beef that is. First time I’ve done this since Andreozzi , freshman year, four years ago. It went well, Carlo portioned the tenderloin, sirloin and rib-eye and the rest of the meat was ground and we made a beef Ragu. Not Ragu the way you know it, this is a traditional sauce, slow cooked for hours and treated with care and love. That was about it for the morning, so with all of my unspent energy, I spent the afternoon roaming the city, because the sun decided to make an appearance for me. Two and a half hours of climbing and descending the hilly streets, walls and landscapes, I have pictures. Tomorrow I will toy with uploading, although I’m finding the internet to be intolerably slow for such processes. I’ll tell you what though, this city is devastatingly beautiful. I’m not sure many of my contemporaries appreciate stonework, classic structures, or even a simple orange tree sprouting out through a medieval back drop. Distant castles nestled in the trees at the base of the valley, foggy mist masking the modernized structures yielding a panorama from a time I never knew. There are landmarks worth noting, particularly the Museo da Duomo dell’Opera. This magnificent structure will take an entire day of photography in order to give it due diligence. I was no more than a 15 minute walk in any direction to the outskirts of this elevated city and the views were all spectacular, each direction boasting its own value: a walkway along the ancient walls that stretch, in my estimate 80-100 feet in some places, or perhaps the aforementioned castle, and otherwise the simple countryside, with a vista of hillside vineyards on the opposite slopes of the valley. My wandering today was well worth the wait, and certainly my pictures will aid in telling the story, but do not, by any means, depict the true value of what this country is capable of portraying itself.

At work tonight, it took a long time to upload the pictures to an online community I am a member of, and if I have trouble loading the pictures here, I’ll be sure to pass that along to you. My dependency on the internet is starting to wear on me. In the States, I would use it, but not rely on it, not for a long time anyway. Now, I’m leaning so heavily on it to communicate with friends and family and it’s not working out well enough for me. I want to talk to everyone, tell them what this is really all about. I want to hear stories from home, and listen to someone bitch about work. My friends and family are out of reach for the first time and I’ve no means of appeasing my anxiety. Work is not engaging me, not draining me of my excess of energy. A hobby is what I need. Exercise, a mountain bike, a gym, something to exhaust me, so I don’t have the time or energy to focus on how out of touch I am, rather than having too much time to examine and think. Thinking has always been my nemesis and my greatest advantage just the same. At some point, and maybe this is the time, I need to resolve that conflict, but there are too many conflicting emotions here, and too many people I care about back home…I’m going to chalk this up to adjusting to a new situation, but you hear my venting none-the-less. Moving on, today’s new words:

Enough Basta
Certainly, Certain/Sure of Certo
Side of Beef Fianco de vacca/tagliate
Loin Lombata
Ragout Ragú (just a spelling adjustment)
Alarm Clock Orologio a sveglia
The Best Il Migliore
The Worst Il Peggiore
Last Scorso
Last Year L’anno scorso
Ready, willing Pronto
Boil Bollire
Simmer Cuocere a fuoco lento (cook on a slow flame)
Shoes Scarpe
Wet Bagnato
Quick Rapido
To be ready to do something Essere pronto a fare qualcosa
Reduce Ridurre, Ridursi

Sono le mezzanotte, e non ho sonno. Non ce fare niente, ma, non sono frio, va bene, no?
Well, I’m wrapping it up. Ciao tutti, mi mancate!

Go Slow, Stay Local.
Va Piano, Rimane Locale.

Day 3

2008-12-03T08:00:00.000-05:00

2 Decembre 2008
Day 3

It’s WARM! I was so excited when I woke up this morning, I didn’t have to debate peeling the covers off for the first time since I arrived. Heat in the hotel room, wow, it’s almost too good to be true! I honestly couldn’t sleep because I was so excited. So I showered, finally, it felt good to wash away the stress of the traveling and adjustments. So at quarter to 10, I stroll down to the lobby, drop off my room key, under the impression that everything has already been paid for (seeing as how I had the room arranged prior to my arrival, but that was not the case. Already my zeal has gotten the best of me. After a very poor exchange, mostly because I was unprepared to have to explain myself, an exchange of papers, and a phone call to the restaurant (which I thought would be a complete waste, because I was under the impression that no one would be there) the situation was resolved and I was back on my way, chipper, but certainly somewhat centered. 10 o’clock, I change into my whites and present myself to Carlo, “che posso fare?” He has ‘capocollo’ cut of pork on the prep table. To my best assessment, it appears to be a boneless Boston butt or picnic shoulder. They are in cryovac, so I cut them open, and split them down the center, lengthwise. Then I stretch a salumi ‘net’ (for lack of a better term, it’s a roll of elastic-type string, woven to truss the meat) over a 5” plastic pipe. Then I truss each of the halved ‘capocollo’ by passing it through the tube and lettering net run down the length of the meat. After this, I cut mirepoix to oven roast the pork…and THAT is the extent of my work. I watched Carlo make pasta for tagliatelle and taglialine and it looks nothing like the past I’ve made before. It’s drier, crumbly, almost like 3-2-1 dough after only adding a fraction of the water. Passed through an extruder though, it made fantastic dough, with great texture and density when it was cooked. And then we waited…for a reservation of 4 that arrived an hour late. Having only 4 covers, I washed dishes for the rest of the day and inquired about a few new paroli:

Carrot Corota
Celery Sedano
Onion Ciba
Refrigerator Frigorfero
Freezer Congelatore
Dry Secco, Asciuto (ex. Dried fig)
Blood Sangue
Window Finestra
Trash Bag Sachetta di rifiuti

For siesta today, Eris invites me to his apartment because while my electricity has been turned back on, my heat still does not work. We follow Jasmine (yahs-meen-uh) to her car and cruise through the city to his dwelling. It is quite nice, with a GREAT view of the opposite side of the valley, I can’t wait for some sun so I can take some pictures! I’m getting frustrated, I’m sure you all are too! So I spend some time there, figuring out some problems back in Providence with the tenants in my apartment, enjoy a great bottle of Cote du Rhone that Eris’ roommate just brought back from France. He was there for an independent winery show, and came back with 10 bottles, all with proprietary labels and AOC classifications. Not a bad way to live, this I can get used to. So now, we go back to work…for family meal. I wrap the roasted pork from the morning and learn how to make “magic”. “Magic” is the rendered fat, mirepoix and residual wine from the roast, reduced, then pureed with an immersion blender. Watch out David Blaine, Davide Notartomaso is comin’ up quick! Anyway, we cleaned up that mess, pulled up a chair and I tried, with moderate success, to decipher the Italian being chattered back and forth between Eris and Carlo. Nothing extravagant, just everyday war stories about drinking, vomiting profusely, and then getting right back at it, as if the Italian prohibition were on the horizon. Needless to say, we closed promptly at 9pm, and I called home. First time in nearly three complete days. It’s unsettling to know how we take for granted friends and family when they’re so available to you. It was good, unfortunately too much business, and not enough time to really talk. That being said, Eris is really coming through for me here, making me feel welcome and letting me converse in English, which I’m not sure he’s too keen on. We went to a wine bar after work called ‘Vincaffe’. It is very well lit, which I mentioned to him was unusual to me, but it was warm, inviting and the bartender didn’t scoff at our all English conversation. After one glass we returned to the Via, and made our way home, respectively.

Back at the apartment, I have LIGHTS! I have HEAT! EXCEPT IN THE ROOM I PICKED TO SLEEP IN!!! Even I can’t believe my luck on this one, so now, I’m going to move into another room (it’s now 1am) and try to get a goodnight’s rest.

Ciao Tutti!

And I’ve been forgetting this, mi dispiace;

Go Slow, Stay Local

Day Two

2008-12-02T07:31:00.002-05:00

1 Decembre 2008
Day Two.
Starting the way yesterday ended was not my hope. It was cold, and the apartment, still empty. In my best estimate, I woke nearly every 2 hours to the sound of shutters being thrashed against the façade of the centuries old structure, in what appears to be a typical breeze through this high hilltop city. At about noon, local time (6am for my body clock mind you), I sat up, cocooned in 3 blankets and two layers of clothes to explore the city. Still without a shower, I give myself a once over, and am surprisingly preserved (HACCP works! 40-140 people, that’s Fahrenheit). So, layered up, expecting the worst, I step outside…IT IS WARMER OUTSIDE THAN IT IS IN THE APARTMENT! Apparently the drafty windows filter out increased temperatures in order to maintain safe storage of live protein. Thanks, but next time, I’d prefer normal body temperature. As it were, I ran upstairs, partially disrobed, down to one layer, with my computer and strolled the streets to find the restaurant. After losing myself once or twice through the narrow streets and winding dead-ends I finally get myself on track and locate the restaurant. I step inside, at no surprise to Erio, my surrogate host while Chef Lorenzo and Kevin are touring North America. He tells me that I was misinformed about the internet access at the apartment, and I will have to access it in the restaurant only. Fair enough, I’ll have to find a way to creep in early to satisfy my needs to communicate with friends and family (hopefully you’re all commenting and giving me your updates here and in my e-mail(s) as well!). Anyway, after posting my first blog, writing e-mails and having expired my computer battery, Erio ushers me out of the restaurant because it is 2 o’clock and we’re closed until 7:30. 10-2, 7:30-close. It is the slow season, so I imagine the schedule reflects that fact. So, in the rain/hail, I scamper back to my refrigerated abode and explore what I can do to keep me warm…and then a fuse blows. No lights. No POWER. The fuses in the hallway dictate that all is well. The Fuses in the entryway reflect the same. I can’t help but half laugh and fully curse this predicament, wondering what exactly I’m going to gain from this adventure. Even now, I am engulfed in this experience as a COMPLETE page turner (sorry for the cliché Professoressa!) but I genuinely cannot wait to know what is in store for me next. So here we are, the descending sun, the cold, my empty stomach, and my Italian-English Dictionary:

Alloro Then
Tagliate Beef
Para But (which is SPANISH, too, and here I thought that would only confuse me)
Ma Then
Asciugamano Towel
Coniglio Rabbit
Peperone Bell Pepper
Melanzana Eggplant
Zucchina Zucchini
Repose (rest) In Reposo
Roast Arrosto, Arrostire(meat, also the infinitive)
Braise Brasare

A much shorter list today, but, there wasn’t an 8 hour flight involved, and I spent as much time as I could sleeping to pass the time. At about 5pm, Eleonora, Chef Lorenzo’s wife, let herself into the apartment to assess my predicament. It is at this point that I should have called Rosanne Innes, my high school Italian teacher, to praise her up and down because I could understand nearly every sentence and phrase that Eleonora used to express herself. I was stunned at my own cognoscente abilities, and it proved worthwhile. Using as few words as possible, I explained that I had stayed in these conditions the night prior and was prepared to do it again. She insisted that I pack a bag for the evening and repeated three times that she would arrange a place for me to stay. I was to meet her at the restaurant at 7 (mealtime, d’ora di mangiare ) and she would have news for me. Grazie Mille! Dinner was delicious, Rabbit in the style of porchetta, roulade stuffed with potatoes, olives, herbs and rabbit liver. Simple, well seasoned, as were the peperi, melanzani e zucchini. All finished with a drizzle of olive oil. I can get used to this. I brought my knives, and my computer, so I sharpened my most used tools, and updated my parents and one of my brothers on my news. Eleonora used Erio to translate, and booked a hotel room for me. It has HEAT! and HOT WATER! So, now I’ve showered, written, learned and am ready to sleep to recover, instead to avoid hypothermia.

Ciao Tutti!

Italy: Day 1, Traveling and Settling in...maybe.

2008-12-01T07:15:00.004-05:00

30 Novembre 2008
To sum up today is going to be difficult, so this may stretch itself into a bit of a diatribe. Say goodbye to my family was more difficult than I could possibly have been prepared for and they all showed zealous support throughout the process and I am fortunate to have you all. For the past 2 weeks, my mind has been rapidly shifting from excitement to nervousness, sleep had been scarce and restless and yet I still found the time to prepare and execute this move in reasonable time. The flight was as smooth as I could have hoped for; besides a screaming toddler throwing tantrums throughout the flight. I managed to distract myself by composing a list of vocabulary that I believe will be useful to me in grasping my ability to communicate. It looks a little something like this:
Words/Phrases Parole/Espressioni
Seat/to sit Sedirsi/Sedere
Food Cibo
Cook Cuocere
To Change Cambiare
Train, the Treno
To train Fare Practica
Track(rail) Binario
Station Stazione
Schedule Orario
Remember Ricordare
Possibly Forse, se possible
Put Mettere
Chef Capocuoco
Soup Zuppa, Minestra(soup course)
Salad Insalata
Appetizer Struzzichino
Entree Prima portata
Saute Saltato, Soffrito (saltare, inf.)
Grill Griglia
Fry Friggere (fritto?)
Meal(time) L’ora di mangiare
Understand Capire
Prepare Preparare
Taxi Taxi, posteggio dei taxi (taxi stand)
Teach Imsegnare
Learn Imparare
Unclear Non Chiaro
Underdone Poco Cotto
Knife Coltello
Ladle Mestolo
Spoon Cucchiaio
Fork Forchetta
Pot Pentola, casseruola
Pan Casseruola
Oven Forno
Stove/Range Fornello
Convection Convettore
Cut Tagliare
Fat/Fatty Grasso, cicionne
Oil Olio
Flour Farina
Pepper Pepe
Salt Sale
Spice Spezzia
Vinegar Aceto
Acid, Acidic Acido, Acidita
Herb/Herbaceous Erbette/Erbaceo
Basil Basilico
Oregano Oregano?
Thyme Timo
Rosemary Rosmarino
Sage Salvia
Parsley Prezzemolo
Bay Leaf Foglio D’alloro
Chervil no translation
Apprentice Apptrendisto
Sugar Zucchero
Piglet Porcellino
Right Destro
Left Sinistra
Up/Above Su/Sopra
Down Scendere
Inside Interno, interiore
Outside Esterno, esteriore
Trash Rifiuti, Spazzatura
Trash Can Secchio della spazzatura
Type Tipo
Variety Varieta
Local Locale
Import Importare, Importato (imported)
Sauce Salsa, Sugo(with meat/fish)
Beef/Cow Manzo/Vacca
Veal Vitello
Chicken Pollo
Fish Pesce
Deer/Venison Cervo, carne di cervo
Boar/Pork/Pig Cinghiale/Porco/Maiale
Wild Selvatico
Fresh Fresco
Farm Fattoria, Coltivare
Farmer Coltivatore
Need Bisogno
Chop Spaccare
Combination Combinazione

That’s it so far, but that practice will continue.

Unfortunately, following the airport, things started slipping. After gathering my bags, I found my way to the Stazione dei Treni and purchased a ticket to Orvieto, where I am staying. This goes reasonably well, except that the next train in this direction was in two hours. So I waited. 2 hours later, that line ended in Orte, and the next train to Orvieto was delayed by an hour. So I waited. I tried calling the contact numbers I was given to arrange a ride from the train station and found that the cell phone number I was given was incorrect and the phone line at the restaurant was out of service. Wonderful. I pick up my bags and head to the track to wait for my train when the strap on my suitor (you know, the luggage that you can hang your clothes in) tore right off. Now, at this point, its feels like 10am and I’m running on minimal sleep. I’m hungry, famished, in need of a toilet, and now I need to carry well over 100lbs to the track, onto the train, off of the train and into the restaurant by hand. I did not speak a word to anyone, trying to stay calm and to appear to be as much the same as the rest of the frustrated passengers being forced to wait for their steel chariots. So, finally, I’m in Orvieto. A taxi is at the stand and quickly rushes me up the hill, winding through centuries old streets, houses and landscapes. This is absolutely stunning, and, weather permitting, as it is raining now, I should have some amazing pictures tomorrow. I arrive at the restaurant and they are in service, the bartender, Eris, tells me to bring my bags into the foyer, and walks me to the kitchen to wait until he can bring me to my apartment. I meet Carlo, and he immediately offers me food and a bottle of water. Things are looking up. A simple dish of linguine, mushrooms and pork, almost as if they already knew me! A nutmeg semifreddo leftover from service was my dessert and I at last was satiated and at ease. Finally, Eris tells me to gather my things, throw them in the back of a tiny car and we meander through the streets of Orvieto. I am a bit delirious at this point so in my head I’m hearing “This is the End” by the Doors, feeling a bit Kurtzian in this masonry jungle. We pull down this narrow alley, unload my bags and I’m presented with this skeleton key(as a keychain for the apartment key, but it is fitting). It opens the 7’ door into a stunning apartment (also pictures to come). Tile floors throughout, balconies, fair sized kitchen, ornate furniture, I’m stunned. Eris leaves me saying that Kevin, the sous chef, has a room, but the rest are available. As my excitement starts to fade, I notice that it is cold, but I cannot find a thermostat. I start running hot water, because I’m craving a shower, but there is none. I turn on my computer to contact my family and friends, but there is no internet, and I think that one of my power converters has already failed. You have just walked through my 16 hour day. I found blankets and pillows, have wrapped myself in as many of them as I can and am waiting, aggravated. I want so much to be excited for this. I am ready for this adventure, but right now I feel trapped, cold, hungry and dirty. I want to communicate with my family, let them know I am safe, but I don’t even know where to go to accomplish that. This is day one.

An Introduction

2008-10-15T09:12:00.000-04:00

An overview; 25 years in a few lines. Born a handful of miles north of Boston, Massachusetts, into an Italian-American, blue-collar family of 7, my parents, and 4 brothers. At age 3, I began my first career, as I like to call it, playing amateur, competitive ice hockey. I grew up side-by-side with the most talented players in the U.S. and played with great success throughout North America. After 21 years of chasing the elusive dream of professional sports, I buried my skates in the basement to forge on into my second career as an aspiring chef.

After years of working in independent quick-service restaurants (pizzerias, delicatessens, sandwich shops, seafood take-out, etcetera) I studied at Johnson & Wales University in Providence, Rhode Island and am completing my bachelors degree in Culinary Arts with an apprenticeship in Orvieto, Umbria (about an hour outside of Rome). In my journey, I have found my interests relate to more the holistic nature of food, unscathed by the technologies we have developed which are growing more harmful to our bodies and to the earth which we depend upon. The sustainable agriculture movement, in combination with the slow food movement have been the motivation behind my growth and research thus far in my young career, and with the current political and economic dilemmas in perspective, I believe this will be the new direction for every facet of business in the coming years. I'm proud to currently be employed by an organization that implements these ideals and is helping to raise the standard and expectations of the restaurant industry. I am currently cooking at Relais & Chateaux rated Castle Hill Inn & Resort in Newport, Rhode Island and consider myself a commis ("coh-mee", an apprentice, or in my words, a student of food) although my title reflects otherwise based on my educational background and brief industry experience. Here I am exposed to food in its pure beauty, organic Elysian Fields Farm lamb, natural, grass fed Hereford beef, locally harvested produce, fresh New England Atlantic fish and minimal use of ingredients using the "international community" perspective. It is true that some products are only attainable from certain parts of the world, and perhaps it makes me slightly hypocritical, but food is a work of love and passion, and sometimes the lines are crossed as a result.

Reading:
The River Cottage Cookbook, The River Cottage Meatbook - Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall
The Whole Beast - Fergus Henderson
The French Laundry Cook Book - Thomas Keller
Art Culinaire - quarterly subscription
Food Arts - monthly subscription

...and a list of others on the wish list, but I'm working with what I can for the time being.

I'm a new blogger, so hopefully this opens a new door, for both my own venue of thought and creativity, as well as insights shared by those who may stumble across this diatribe and share their own views with me.

Salute. Go Slow, Stay Local.