Hiatus in Oregon

Happy Holidays Blog Followers! I am on hiatus in Oregon at the moment. Hopefully, I will actually see most of my blog readers over the upcoming weeks. I look forward to starting up the blog again when I return to Rome which should be about mid-January. I will send out an email to let everyone know when I'm back to writing. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time out of your busy schedules to spend a few minutes reading what I have to say.

I wish all of you the happiest of holidays, with good friends, good food, and most of all, joyous times with your families.

With love,
Irene

Pasta Making

This is the third and final blog post about cooking school. I don’t mean to drone on about it, but I just have to tell you about pasta making day. We start the day with something new for breakfast; fresh ricotta on toast with jam. Very delicious. (I’ve since bought it from one of my cheese men and shared this wonderful delicacy with Dennis.) I try not to eat too much of it that morning as I know it will again be a big eating day. Maybe just one more bite before we go out the door. I do need energy for making pasta after all.

Susan, our host, drives us to a restaurant way out in the middle of nowhere called “Maria Fontana”. It is a wonder that anyone ever eats there. It takes us nearly forty five minutes of countryside driving to arrive. As it turns out it is listed in the Gambero Rosso, the Italian version of a Zagat dining guide. The owners of the restaurant are participants of the slow food movement; where everything is purchased from local vendors, made from scratch, and cooked at the moment it is ordered. Waiting for us is the pasta lady. Her only job at the restaurant is to make pasta. She speaks not one word of English, so Susan translates for us. Everything is done by approximation, but of course turns out perfectly every time. She has won awards for her “maccheroni” which is similar to what we think of as angel hair pasta.

We watch her expertly crack eggs into her “well” of flour, and begin mixing by pulling the interior of the “wall” of flour to the center being careful never to break the wall and thereby losing her eggs. She kneads and kneads and kneads, and I point to her arms, noticing how strong they are, then point to my own puny arms. She smiles in acknowledgement of her strength. I can’t imagine doing this all morning every day, but this is her life and she is quite proud of it, and you would not want to arm wrestle with this lady.

Eventually, she creates several small disks of dough. But rather than whipping out a rolling pin, she fetches an unpainted broomstick. She will work each small disk into such a large, thin circle of dough, that no ordinary rolling pin would have worked. The 6 inch disk quickly becomes a 30 inch paper thin circle under her fast moving broomstick. She folds the huge circle of dough over her broomstick, carries it over to another table to dry, turns to us, and motions that it is now our turn.

Barbee and I look at each other…..okay, it’s our turn. She hands her broomstick to me, and turns to fetch another one for Barbee. It is obvious that Barbee has more rolling pin experience than I do. She quickly begins on her disk, and slowly it widens. Mine is growing, but somehow, it is also growing quite wrinkled. The pasta lady reminds us that we are supposed to be making circles. I point to my wrinkles (in the dough), and shrug my shoulders in question. She grabs my broomstick, works her magic and my wrinkles quickly disappear. I get back to work and the wrinkles quickly reappear. Oh well.

The pasta lady shows us how to fan fold our giant circles so we can get ready to start slicing into ribbons. She grabs a very sharp knife and begins to slice her stack into thread-thin “maccheroni”. I try to take a picture, but her hand is moving so fast, I have to reset my camera to “sport mode” in order to capture the action. We begin to slice our stacks. No need to use the sport mode setting. She reminds us that we can just cut the pasta wider, and make fettucine out of it instead.

After the maccheroni lesson, we get a gnocchi lesson from the owner of the restaurant. The pasta lady says goodbye, and we thank her profusely for her time. The owner brings in a large plate of potatoes which she has already cooked, and roughly mashed. She slides the mass onto the pasta making board telling us that she uses a combination of red and yellow potatoes. She sprinkles the pile of potatoes with a good dose of grated parmesan cheese. She tops this with a generous helping of flour. Again, the kneading begins. This time, there is less finesse involved. It’s more like working with Playdough. After it is well kneaded, we slice chunks and roll them along the board into “ropes” just like we used to do as kids with pink and blue clay. When the rope is about the thickness of a finger, we simply chop off little chunks and the gnocchi is done!

We then get to walk through the restaurant kitchen, watching all the preparations that are going on. We see the brother of the owner cleaning mushrooms fresh from the forest. Another employee is making a “pancake” in a sauté pan out of potatoes and chicory with lots of garlic and olive oil. They show us giant jars of antipasti that they make themselves: pickled zucchini slices, pickled carrots, and eggplant. We see the huge pot of pasta water that is always boiling waiting for a customer’s order of fresh pasta which only takes a few minutes to prepare.

We are told to go wash up and to take a seat at the table that has been prepared for us, as we now must eat what we have made. Today, we have worked hard for our lunch, and we are ready to eat. We start with some ravioli they made earlier, served with a very simple tomato sauce…..so tender; it melts in your mouth. Next up, comes our gnocchi, also served with tomato sauce. Darn! We make good gnocchi! We are getting full after two pasta dishes, but they insist on serving us a third with the other pasta we made, this time served with a fresh mushroom and asparagus sauce that is so different and delicious. Oh no, they’ve forgotten to serve us antipasti…..don’t worry, they’ll go get some for us. Out comes a platter with the various pickled vegetables, and oh yeah, you should have some sautéed chicory as well. Here, eat this too.

It’s time to go. Barbee and I can barely move. We thank the restaurant owners for their generosity and time, take lots of pictures, eat the parting pastry they insist we taste, and finally roll out the door. It’s time to move on. We have a train to catch back to Rome, but we still have an artisan chocolate shop and an olive oil mill to visit! The olive oil mill is simply fascinating. The smell of pressed olives assaults our nostrils the moment we enter. We see the giant bins of olives brought in by various olive growers. We get to watch the huge stone wheels turn to grind the olives, and witness the beautiful green oil spewing from a spigot. We now know what “cold pressed” means, we can talk about an olive oil’s acidity and we know how to warm it with our hands for ultimate flavor. Our final stop is the chocolate shop where we purchase WAY too much chocolate, and make a mad dash for the train station. We’ve had a very busy couple of days. We learned a lot, ate a lot, and met a lot of great people! I highly recommend cooking school in Italy!

We continue. Lunch being over, Barbee and I roll our way out the door and into the van so we can take a look at the nearby town of Rieti. The upside (one of many) of paying for cooking school is that you don’t have to do the dishes. Rieti, like many towns in Italy has its charm concentrated in its old city center. Susan shows us the marker which denotes the very “center of Italy”, an old church with a lovingly restored crypt area, and she points out to us other interesting little tidbits as we walk along; the benefit of having a local person as your tour guide. After stopping at a grocery store for pignoli (pine nuts) which Chef asked us to pick up, and a wine shop where all three of us purchase several bottles each, we head back to the house for our dinner lesson.

Upon arrival there is Chef Maurizio again waiting for us with all ingredients for dinner laid out. We start by making an orzo and chick pea soup. This is not the pasta orzo as I know the word “orzo” to be. It is a grain similar to pearl barley. And of course he does not use canned beans. Susan has been presoaking dried chick peas and kidney beans overnight as per his instructions. He has already cooked the presoaked beans over a low flame for about 45 minutes with a little salt. In a soup pot over high heat, sauté chopped onion, carrot and celery in extra virgin olive oil along with a whole garlic clove, and half of a dried chili pepper. Set a tea kettle of water on the stove to boil. When the vegetables begin to brown, add 2 large ladles of stewed tomatoes to the pot. Add 150 grams of orzo, about a cup of hot water and some salt. Lower the heat to simmer. After about 20 minutes, add another cup of hot water. When a lot of the water is absorbed, add the cooked beans with their cooking liquid. After simmering another 15-20 min, add another 2 cups of water. Simmer and taste for seasoning.

Next up on the menu is Pollo alle erbe Sabinese or Chicken with Herbs Sabine Style. This was my favorite dish. See the recipe column for details. I was so excited to make this when I came back, but I must admit I was a little disappointed when I did. I’m having a hard time finding canned stewed tomatoes. Every time I think I’ve bought them, when I open the can, they turn out to be little cubes of tomato with lots of sauce thereby changing the texture of the dish I’m trying to make. When I made this it tasted good, but ended up being a pasta sauce rather than a stew, and it definitely tasted better the next day. I will keep searching for stewed tomatoes but even if I don’t find them, I would make this again.

Our side dishes were grilled pumpkin and swiss chard. The pumpkin, he simply sliced about ¼ in thick (takes a sharp knife and lots of muscle), grilled on the stovetop, and drizzled with olive oil (what else?) just before serving. The swiss chard was very interesting. I always thought chard was a bitter thing, one step worse than cooked spinach. Turns out, it’s quite mild, and when cooked the way Chef Maurizio did, it’s become one of my favorite new veggies. I made it last week and it turned out great.

I went to my local veg market and found a gigantic bundle of swiss chard. I asked to buy half of it. The vendor looked at me like I was crazy and simply shook his head “no”, stuffed the whole thing in a big plastic bag, and charged me a whopping 95 centimes for it (about $1.25). Upon bringing it home, Dennis undid the tie holding it together and it exploded into what appeared to be enough swiss chard for about 20 people. Dennis diligently washed it all…..it being very dirty…….a sign of being fresh from the field, and sliced it crosswise into about one inch strips. It took two large bowls to hold it all. It looked like we were going to be eating swiss chard for a week. I boiled a pot of water, and as I added handful after handful of chopped chard to the water, it shrank and shrank just like spinach does. I needed to serve 5 people for dinner, and there was barely enough!

After it wilts, strain through a colander, and press out the excess liquid. In a small saucepan, bring some water to a boil, throw in a handful of raisins, and remove from the heat to let the raisins soften and plump up. Drain. In a skillet, over high heat, melt some butter, (no olive oil!) add in the drained raisins and a handful of pine nuts. Saute to brown the pine nuts a little, being careful not to let them burn. Turn down the heat, and add the well-drained swiss chard. Stir it around to warm it up, and that’s it. The chard is soft, the pine nuts are crunchy, the raisins are sweet….it’s a lovely combination of goodness. And the nice thing is you can cook the swiss chard ahead, and do the reheating with raisins and pine nuts when your guests arrive. Just be sure you buy enough chard.

Well, Barbee and I managed to eat all of the above, along with bread and wine, on top of the lunch which I discussed in last week’s blog. Truly, a phenomenal eating day! We really felt that we could never eat again. But the next day was our pasta making lesson! And once again, we were expected to eat what we made.

Next week:

Barbee and Irene hit the pasta table with broomsticks. Really!

I have so many places in Italy that I want to write about; Perugia (where I had an art epiphany rather than a wine one), Siena (where I realized I’m a little claustrophobic), Florence (from where I’ve most recently returned with visiting Barbee), and I want to tell you about my two (soon to be three) hiking experiences on the outskirts of Rome. But, no, those will have to wait for future editions, because everyone has been emailing me asking about: Cooking School!

As most of you know, my dear friend Barbee was visiting me here in Rome for a week from Nov. 12-19. Since she had been here as recently as last May, we wanted to do something different than see the sights of Rome again, so I went online and found us a cooking school to go to about an hour north of Rome. As a result we spent two days in Rome, two days in Florence, and two days with an Italian family learning to cook Italian food. It was a wonderful experience with a peek into the daily life of a local family.

We arrived by train to Terni on the afternoon of Nov. 16^th from Florence. We were greeted by Susan and her husband Bruno. Susan is an American who married an Italian about 40 years ago, and has been living in Italy ever since. Some time ago, they moved from Rome to the countryside; to a tiny nearly deserted hill town called Paterno. There is room in this town for about 300 people. Approximately 15 live there, Susan and Bruno being two of them. They remodeled an old home and turned it into and bed and breakfast. Recently, there has been so much interest in Italian cooking; they decided to concentrate on this aspect of the tourism industry.

Our first stop before we even go to the bed and breakfast is a fantastic castle in Labro. The van climbs up into the hillside until we see a tiny town perched on the side of the hill. As we approach, we spot a turret, and are introduced to the elderly owner who is still living in the castle. He proudly escorts just the four of us on a tour of his home. The most impressive room to me is the archive room where the shelves are lined with 6 inch thick volumes of all the records of the castle; all handwritten, dating back to the 1300’s. He shows us documents signed with the giant red wax seals of Louis XVI, lists of what was purchased for use in the castle on a day to day basis, and records of ownership going back hundreds of years. We climb the castle turret in time for one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen….a blood red sky burned into my memory forever.

On our way to the bed and breakfast, we stop at a roadside stand to buy some porchetta and pecorino cheese for dinner. The porchetta man is adorable and asks me if there are men as handsome as he is in America. He happily agrees to pose with his pork, knife in hand. After settling into our room, we head to the kitchen of the house where tonight Bruno will be making pasta for us. He uses the last of the fresh tomatoes from their garden along with olive oil, garlic and basil to make the most simple of pasta sauces. This bowl of comfort is served with the porchetta, pecorino, bread and a salad. And for dessert? You won’t believe it……chestnuts roasted over the open fire! Irene is in heaven. Bruno slits each chestnut, places them all in a special pan similar to a cast iron skillet but with holes punched through the bottom, and takes the pan to the fireplace where they are shaken around until the skins pop open. The golden nuggets are then served with red wine……mmmmm good! Off to bed because we need to store up energy for all the real food consumption that will begin tomorrow.

The next day brings us a typical Italian breakfast….small. This is a good thing, because over the next 12 hours, I will consume more food than I have eaten in one day in a long time. Susan takes us for a walk through her ancient hillside town of Paterno, showing off the view of the small lake below, and pointing out the few houses which actually have people living in them. When we return to her house, there is chef Maurizio clad in his Tuscan yellow apron and white chef’s toque waiting for us. He has decoratively spread the kitchen table with all the ingredients we will need to make lunch and has set out cutting boards and knives for each of us.

We start by helping Maurizio chop up pig’s cheek or “guanciale”. It has been hung to dry and has been aged approximately 6 months, making it very firm and while the small stripes of meat are very dry and have a wonderful intense flavor, there is still a large portion of pork fat. Barbee has a problem with visible meat fat. She is looking at me askance especially when all our pieces go into the frying pan with absolutely no fat trimming involved. A lot of the fat melts to a pool of liquid and when seasoned with salt, pepper, and a little dried red pepper, this is what becomes the “sauce”. Chef pours tubes of freshly cooked, drained pasta into the pan and tosses them with the seasoned pork fat and strips of remaining fatty pork. Guess what? It’s done. How simple was that? Pour this into a bowl, sprinkle with pecorino, and believe it or not, there is so much flavor here, I consume every fatty bit. Barbee is trying.

Our main dish is a fantastic pork stew with, you guessed it, roasted chestnuts. See the recipe column to the right for directions. Also accompanying our meal was a fennel salad. We basically sliced the fennel into thin strips, added black olives, a chopped up orange, and dressed it with a combination of olive oil, tangerine juice, salt and pepper. Chef Maurizio also prepared cauliflower for us in a way we’d never seen before. I must admit, I’ve been most unimaginative when it comes to cauliflower in the past. He adds several garlic cloves to a pan of hot olive oil and when they begin to brown, he tosses in all the florets. He stirs often and seasons with salt, and when they begin to brown, he adds about 2T. of red wine vinegar and two wineglasses of white wine. It’s been on high heat to this point. Now cover, and lower the heat. If the liquid begins to dry out, just sprinkle with more olive oil and white wine. When the florets are tender, sprinkle with a splash of red wine for color, and serve.

So far, we’ve had Pasta alla Gricia, pork stew with chestnuts, fennel salad, cauliflower and bread. We are stuffed but he insists on fixing us dessert. He quickly whips up some crepes made with, take a guess…..chestnut flour, and stuffs them with, guess again…..chestnuts which have been soaking in brandy and then drizzles them with caramel sauce and grated dark chocolate. Just a reminder here: this is merely lunch. We will take a much needed walking tour of the nearby town of Rieti and come back to make dinner……….which I will tell you about next week. Stay tuned for another episode of “Irene eats her way through Italy”.

Doing Research!

Hello all!
Just wanted to let loyal blog followers know that I will NOT be able to make a new posting this coming Monday, Nov. 17th. I am not shirking my responsibilities however, oh no! I will be out doing research! Dear friend Barbee is here in Rome visiting. Tomorrow, we head off on a train for two days in Florence, followed by two days at a cooking school north of Rome! Our hostess has so many fun things planned for us, I can hardly stand the wait. I look forward to telling you all about it when you hopefully tune in on the following Monday, Nov. 24th. "Talk" to you all then!
Much love,
Irene

Fall in Rome

Fall has finally arrived in Rome. I’m not sure if this is typical weather, but the last couple of days have been glorious; 60’s and bright sunshine during the day, upper 40’s at night. Cool and crisp just like fall days should be. Prior to this, we were still in the mid 70’s and I was still wearing a skirt every day. But by wearing my daily skirt, I was showing a little of my foreignness. By the first of October, the locals were already bundled up every day regardless of the temperature. I trekked along in my short sleeves and skirts receiving curious stares as the locals were in jackets with scarves wrapped around their necks. It’s fall for heaven’s sake. Why was I still wearing summer clothes? I am obviously an Oregonian at heart.

We all know Italians are fashion conscious. Way back in August before I went back to Oregon for a few weeks, I knew this fall’s colors were going to be charcoal gray and purple. In early August there were great end of the season summer sales. I was even able to pick up a few bargains with the exchange rate being bad. But by the third week in August, it was time to think about fall. And here, fall means charcoal gray and purple. I’m not talking mauve, eggplant, or lavender. I’m talking PURPLE: purple handbags, purple belts, purple shoes, purple, purple, and more purple. And not just for women. Oh no. For men, the lining of a suit can be purple, and most definitely the socks. Scarves can be purple, and purple cashmere sweaters are a “must have” item. At first, I thought it a striking combination. But now that every storefront has these colors, and most everyone on the street is wearing them, I just can’t bring myself to participate. Purple is ruined for me forever…….not that it was ever my favorite color. I am so un-chic.

Fall is a wonderful food time in Italy. It is olive harvest time, and the season for truffles and chestnuts. Regarding olive oil, we were discussing the other night how we simply cannot believe how much of it we have consumed since we’ve been here. I sauté with it, marinate with it, and drizzle it on the finished meal. I’ve been sampling artisan olive oils purchased in the countryside searching out the ultimate oil. I still haven’t found it, but we’ve had some good ones……and we drizzle it on everything. If you’ve read my previous blogs, you know we’ve relished our experiences with steaks smothered in black truffle sauce. I have yet to cook with them though. Chestnuts are a childhood memory for me. During all the years I lived on Guam, we used to travel to Japan quite often. And if I was lucky enough to go during chestnut season, I was in heaven. I would buy paper sacks of them from street vendors. Here, in Rome, they’re sold in paper cones. The first time I saw a chestnut roasting man near the Trevi Fountain, I knew fall was in the air. Even the local gelato man has added chestnut flavored ice cream to his repertoire for the season. And recently, we stopped by a wonderful chocolate shop featuring chocolates from Naples, and one of our purchases were shaped just like a chestnut and filled with chestnut crème. I’ve recently purchased some from the local market, and am planning on roasting them myself in the oven. I’ll keep you posted on how that goes. Oh, and pears……. The fall pears here have been simply delicious….juicy, sweet and firm. And guess what? The gelato man makes pear ice cream too! It’s the best!

You will notice that I changed out the top picture to a night time scene. With the weather being as marvelous as it has been, I couldn’t help but head out the other night for some night time picture taking. Rome is called the “Eternal City” supposedly because it has been a seat of power for so long. To me, it’s called the “Eternal City” because you could live here an eternity and never see all it has to offer. At night, it’s a different city than it is during the day. It’s still abuzz with people but what makes this city different than most other big cities I’ve ever visited is the lack of harsh neon lighting. Rome positively glows at night. Every monument you saw during the day takes on a soft golden wash when the lights come on at night. All the little side streets are lit by soft old fashioned lamps. Every piazza’s fountain glitters. If you think Rome is stunning by day…….wait until the sun sets.

A Wine Epiphany in Todi

I love the hill town of Todi, in Umbria for many reasons. A decade or more ago, we took the boys there, and met up with my sister’s family and my mother. We had a most fabulous meal at a restaurant overlooking the verdant valley below. It was one of those moments where you actually stop time, take a step back, and say to yourself, “Life is good. I need to hold on to THIS minute.” Of course, time doesn’t actually stop, does it? It moves on. In fact, it speeds up. Though my life is currently at half pace, I swear time is passing at hyper speed.

About two months ago (it feels like yesterday), Dennis and I decided to revisit the town of Todi. One of his business friends is from there, and as the world is shrinking, it turns out that Dennis will be doing business with a solar firm located just outside Todi. His friend, Daniele, who loves food as much as we do, has recommended a restaurant, and even told us what we should order if we go there.

We arrive on a Saturday afternoon (mid-August) for a two night stay. Upon arriving by train to the tiniest of stations, a little bus comes by to take us to the top of the town. It lets us off in a little piazza, where there happens to be a charming little hotel. We go in to check availability and price. It’s a little higher than we want to pay, so we tell the man we will check a few others before we decide. “Did you arrive by car?” he asks. “No”, we reply. “We came by train from Rome and took the bus up.” “Did you know there are no other hotels in the town? All the others are outside the city walls in the countryside.” Well, I guess that bit of information makes the decision easier for us. Actually, he kindly gives us a nice discount, and a lovely room which includes a nice buffet breakfast.

Though it has been sweltering hot and humid in Rome, it’s lovely in the hills. The humidity is gone, and there is a breeze that actually requires a light sweater in the evening. Todi is very small and very walkable and though Daniele’s directions to the restaurant seem quite simple, it takes us a while to find it. When we do get there, the owner is thrilled to know that Daniele has sent us, but they are filled for the night, and so we make a reservation for the following evening. We go instead to seek out the restaurant of a decade ago, and actually find it much more easily. We talk with the owner telling her that we are repeat customers, and she explains to us all the changes that have been made to the restaurant since then. She seats us along the edge overlooking the verdant valley below, and as we munch on a cutting board of cheeses and salamis and savor a fabulous pizza, I think to myself, “I need to hold on to THIS minute.”

The following day, we start off just exploring the town. We walk everywhere, snapping photos of picturesque streets, beautiful views, and charming scenes. I hate to describe it this way, but Todi is almost like Disneyland. It was SO charming, SO clean, and SO well restored, as to be not real. We wander aimlessly along hilly, winding side streets stopping into shops to buy ceramics, wine, and olive oil. We find a beautiful city park overlooking the beautiful valley filled with beautiful well-behaved Italian children with their beautiful, well-dressed parents. Dennis and I look at each other. “Is this place real?” But it is, and it’s fabulous.

This day is an important one in the history of Irene. It’s when I have my red wine epiphany. We were looking for a place to have a small lunch when we came across a little enoteca with a sandwich board out front advertising appetizers different from those we’d seen before. “Not the usual fare” we think. This is the place for us. We order a plate of peppers and sundried tomatoes stuffed with fish, and another of crostini covered in melted gorgonzola cheese, drizzled with local honey. Dennis decides to try a red wine, and at 6 euros a glass, I decide to have water. The fish stuffed tomatoes and peppers are quite yummy. But some strange and very powerful chemical, emotional, reaction occurred between my mouth and my brain when I took a bite of that gooey crostini and washed it down with a taste of Dennis’ red wine. POW! Ecstasy! Why did it take me nearly fifty years to discover this?! I flag down the waitress. We need another glass of that wine. She smiles knowingly, and is back in a flash with a goblet of ruby red elixir. Well, as it turns out, I have good taste. It’s a Sagrantino from a vineyard called Lungarotti. We buy a bottle for 25 euros because Irene has fallen in love, and has discovered the secret of red wine; it’s not just the wine, it’s what you eat with it.

Oh, and dinner that night? Fabulous! The owner seated us at the best table on the terrace overlooking the lights of the valley. The steak Dennis ordered on his friend’s recommendation was another one of those juicy slabs of beefy wonderfulness covered in black truffle sauce. We used every bit of bread to mop up every bit of sauce. Life is good. This is the moment.

Dennis and I have decided to try and take occasional weekends away from Rome, hopping a train bound for who knows where for an overnight trek. The following is about a trip we took to the hill town of Assisi the last weekend in May:

We pick Assisi as one of our first destinations. Why? Because even though it’s been at least ten years since I’ve been there, I’ve never forgotten the art of a particular artist which I fell in love with. (I fell in love with the art, not the artist.J) I’m sure I can find my way to his studio again if there’s any chance it’s still there.

Not having a backpack or a suitcase small enough for an overnight trip, we pack our few things in a plastic shopping bag and set off to the train station. Two hours later, upon arrival in Assisi, we are grateful for the bus which takes us up the long hill to the town center. We splurge on a hotel in the heart of town right next to the San Francesco Basilica. When asked if we need help with our luggage, we show them our plastic shopping bag, and say “it won’t be necessary”.

How to describe Assisi? A religious experience, a tourist trap, a culinary wonder? It’s a little of everything, I think. After dropping off our “luggage”, we set off to see the Basilica. Having visited SO many of Rome’s churches, my very first step into the Church of Saint Francis shows me how different this one is. I’ve always found the violence depicted in the artwork in churches so disturbing……seemingly counter intuitive to the concepts of forgiveness and kindness that I think religion should be offering. The artwork here is almost chalk-like. It’s soft, done in brick reds, royal blues and gold. It’s stunning, yet it makes you feel calm and asks you to walk slowly, maybe sit awhile, which I was happy to do. It’s almost hard not to cry. I see why people make pilgrimages here.

Having been here years ago at the height of the summer season, we are grateful for the opportunity to visit in the off season. Unfortunately, the boys probably remember it as a place that was so hot, had so many long lines, and so many hawkers selling every sort of tacky religious trinket. This time, it’s the last day of May. The tourists that are here, come in religious hordes, dressed in matching t-shirts or forced to wear some ridiculous bandana as they follow their flag or umbrella waving leader. How they could possibly get lost in a town this size is beyond me.

We spend the rest of the day exploring the hill town on foot. There are lots of galleries to visit, ceramics to buy, churches to wander into, and gourmet food stores galore. We put in lots of miles going up and down hills, meandering down side streets unsure what will be around the next corner. We eventually climb to the highest point to find a ruined castle, and search for a dinner spot as we make our way back down. We find a restaurant advertising a panoramic view, which they offer to show us before we commit. The view is amazing, and we can only hope the food is as good. In our effort to cut back our potential for massive food consumption while living in Italy, we decide to share a steak. I wish we hadn’t. After one bite, I really want my own. It’s cooked to perfection; juicy, tender and smothered in a black truffle sauce that simply makes me swoon.

By the way, we did find the artist’s studio we were looking for. Obviously the years have been good to him. His name is Massimo Cruciani, and if you google www.cruciani.com, you will see his art. I find I still love it……the depth of the colors, and the uniqueness of the fact that in lieu of canvas, he paints on glass. One of these days…….

Well, here goes.......

I have been trying to build this blog for a month now. I write and rewrite, and for some reason am unable to actually click the "publish post" button. Today is the day. The day I stop worrying about whether I get any hits or not, the day I stop worrying if I've chosen the right photo, the day I stop worrying about whether my writing is good enough. It's the day I just put it out there for everyone to take it or leave it.

A big thank you goes out to Jim Williams, one of my Beaverton, Oregon Chef Club cohorts who suggested I should do this. He seemed to think that people might be interested in what the heck I was doing with my time in Rome. He said he would read it at least. So thanks Jim, and I hope I can keep it interesting enough for you to come back to regularly.

As my profile says, my husband Dennis and I are here in Rome for about a year due to his job. I have taken this year to leave my job, and for the first time, have pretty much absolutely nothing on my calendar. This does not mean that I spend my days doing absolutely nothing however. On the contrary, life in Rome is simply full of wonderful things to see, hear, taste, smell and feel. It literally assaults the senses.

We are lucky enough to live in the heart of ancient Rome. Our Monti neighborhood affords us immediate access to the Coliseum and Roman Forum among many other sights. Our every other day jog has us running alongside ancient ruins, and there is one corner in particular that takes my breath away every time I turn it. After we pass a gelateria, we run a narrow side street, and when we hit the corner, the Coliseum comes into full view right in front of us. Every time I see, I can't believe I'm here.

With supposedly somewhere around 900 churches in Rome, you can sure hear the bells toll! But that's not the only sound I love. Everything closes down between 1:30-4:00pm. Everyone goes home for lunch. With the fabulous weather we've been having you can hear the clink of dishes and the sizzling of hot pots on the stove through everyone's open window. It seems like never more than a minute or two can go by without hearing a scooter on our tiny street. Oh, and the lady who lives in one of the apartments across the street from us.....has one of the loudest sneezes on earth. Seriously.

The taste of Rome! Where to begin? It would be far easier to count the number of bad meals we've had over the number of good ones. There's our favorite pizza spot around the corner, and just down the street from him is a fabulous gelateria. In a future post I'll talk about our favorite restaurants, one of which we went to night before last for fabulous Sicilian food in Trastevere. I'm cooking more now, and finding that my cooking has changed. I'm not sure if it's because I'm only cooking for two, but my cooking is simpler, never planned more than a day or two ahead, because I can't shop for more than that amount ahead. My refrigerator is quite tiny by American standards. It means everything is fresher and more seasonal.....and quite delicious if I may say so myself. Fresh pumpkin soup for lunch today!

Rome is a big city. Therefore, it has its share of bad smells along with good ones. But mostly, they're good. Come lunch time, it's hard to walk a straight line down the street as your nose leads you zigzagging from one window to another. There's nothing quite like the smell of home cooking, and when it involves garlic, onions and tomato sauce, well, it's hard not to go begging at strangers' doors. And then there's wine. Those of you who know me will come to a screeching halt here. What? Wine? Irene doesn't drink. Well, she does now! And she loves red wine.

And finally, there is the feel of Rome. It takes me back to my childhood. Having spent four years in the Canary Islands as a child, I have fond memories of hanging out at the local piazza after dinner. My parents would have drinks while my sister and I would meet friends. I would be running around and pestering the local news kiosk man for English versions of TinTin comics. Now I pester the the local news kiosk for the International Herald Tribune which I can only afford to buy three days a week. The pace of life is slower here. People linger over lunch and dinner (but somehow are able to knock back an espresso in record time). It's hard to walk fast when there's something fascinating to see around every corner. Maybe it's just me......taking life slower. But I'm loving it. If you stop by, and I'm not home......just head down the street to the piazza. I'm probably there licking a gelato.