Sweet Cheese

Blog for January 11

Today was and excellent day for Marcia Pitcher, cheese lover and master of agri-tourism.

At 7 AM, John and I were up and on the road to the "Sezione di Modena e Bologna
Consorzio del Formaggio Parmigiano-". Yes. That's right. The cheese factory. A dairy. It was amazing.

Years ago, John and I made a list of 50 things we want to do before we die. Although there were nobler ambitions on my list, 'making cheese" is one of the few that seems to have endured. I've made ricotta and paneer. I've visited a dairy in Vermont and watched how cheddar was made. So "Pamigiano-Regianno" was a must for this cheese lover.

After getting terribly lost, we managed to find the dairy a half hour later and still keep our marriage intact. When I got out of the car, Simona greeted us. By the end of the tour I had such admiration and respect for her. She was passionate about this cheese and her passion came from a rich background of cheese-making. Her great grandfather was making Parmigiano-Regianno in the 1940s.

When we walked into the first room the sweetish sourish smell of milk was in the air. The air was moist with evaporation from the vats of curds and whey.
I learned so much about the process and the many stages the cheese has to go through. It starts as just milk with the cream removed and heated slowly with rennet until the curd separates from the whey. We gazed into these cone shaped vats and suddenly this giant 90 kilogram cheese ball is hoisted up to the surface, cut in two and pulled out of the whey in cheese-cloth.

Simona explained all of the strict regulations involved in making this cheese and how important it is for each wheel of cheese to be inspected and to pass inspection. We visited the room where the wheels soak in sea salt for months. We saw how the wheels are dried and maintained for up to three years in this gigantic drying room. Each wheel is turned and wiped of the moisture that comes to the surface.

I learned that you can eat the rind and you can used the rind to improve soup stock. I learned that this cheese can help to cure lactose intolerance and helps with digestion.
Most importantly I learned that Simona loved to experience cheese making as much as I did. I probably shouldn't have referred to her as my soul mate in front of John and Sally.

Lost Soul in Florence

Blog Jan 9

Today was a frustrating day. Why can't Italians be as greedy as Americans? We had planned to go to the Uffize for our last day in Florence. After the escapades of yesterday and nearly missing David, I was feeling confident, cocky even.

Of course none of us had slept the night before because of the crazy insomnia virus that has been going around. But we were bound and determined to see the great Renaissance art that the Medici family had managed to gather and save in their offices, The Uffize.

Wellllllll, we arrived at the museum, still looking all around for the entrance when we came upon a very kind guard who was more than willing to explain that the Uffize was CLOSED on Mondays. GRRRR.

Dejected, I just wandered around with my family looking for any exciting piece of history we could find. Gelato can have great historical meaning? We settled for the beautiful doors on the Duomo that were expertly designed with stories from, yep, that's right, the Bible.

Overall it was a troubling day. We were all a bit lost, cloudy and I was feeling like a bit of a failure, even as a tourist. Afterall, tourists are forgiven a whole host of sins. We are allowed to ask questions that bore the pants off the locals. Is this cheese from a goat or a cow? What kind of olives are these? Are they baby olives? Why are they green? Can I taste more than one kind of gelato?

The day turned around when Jake and I decided to go out for a drink before we settled in for our own homemade Italian meal of ravioli and pesto bought at the San Ambrogio market earlier in the day.

We found a lovely little spot, parked ourselves at the bar and had delicious limoncello and basil martinis. The bartender was charming and he spoke great English, which was a treat in this world of foreign languages. We had great conversation and more importantly, the atmosphere was pulsing with real local Italian energy. The bartender seemed authentically friendly and happy to chat with us, not tolerant, but friendly. We sipped our delicious drinks and I was just starting to feel human again when Jake pointed out the name of the bar, "The Soul Kitchen". Perfetto.

All for the Sake of Great Art

I am so tired of INSOMNIA. The past three nights have been a twisting and turning and listening to the revelers outside singing MAMA MIA over and over again. I haven't been alone with this condition. Both Jake and Sally were up all night last night also. I don't know what the hell it is. At first I thought it was the expresso, but I only had one cup yesterday and I was still up all night. I'd like to say it was just jet lag, but that seems like a long time ago. Maybe it's just the reality of being in a different place with lots of new sounds and sights and stuff. Our little apartmento was built in the fourteenth century and the windows are more like wooden doors. I imagine the alley outside my window has had quite a few drunken lovers laughing and carrying on. I imagined myself throwing a bucket of water on them and swearing in Italian, "shut uppa your moutha", but my twenty first sensibility held me back.
Florence on a Saturday night is definitely a "happening" place.

After the horrible insomniacal night I had, I found myself waking, yes, those first waking moments occured at 11:30. Now, my first waking moments are not the moments that I can think clearly or act quickly, so it wasn't until 12:30 that I actually figured out that the Accademie Museum, the house of DAVID, the one thing I wanted to see before I left Florence, closed at 2 PM AND it was closed on Mondays, which was tomorrow AND our last day in Florence.
The thought of leaving Florence and not visiting the Accademie Museum and seeing David was just not acceptable. I rallied Jake and John to join me and we tried fruitlessly to get Sally to join us. We started off around 1:15 and as we wandered through the tiny little stone streets of Florence, looking for Piazza San Marco, where the museum looked like it was supposed to be according to our silly damn tourist map that had oversized pictures and distances that seemed to vary with each new turn. At about 1:40 I finally asked a woman where the Piazza San Marco was. She proceeded to give me a very long description in Italian of how to take the bus to San Marco. I wanted to tell her that I would prefer to run or fly through the streets to get to the museum on time.

Well, at last, at 1:51 we were in the Piazza San Marco. There we saw the three large buildings that unfortunately all looked the same and were clearly CLOSED. I was so devastated. I wanted to get mad, but there was no one to blame but myself, (although the noisy drunk revelers from the night before would have been nice in that moment to get my hands on). No, we had tried and lost. David was not to be seen. I could only have the shallow memory that I saw the copy outside in the Piazza dell Signoria.

So, forlorn to the point of tears (yes, it's true) I followed my friends out of the Piazza in search of food. As we wandered, I noticed a modest doorway on the back of the Accademi Museum. As I got closer I discovered it was the entrance to the museum and it was OPEN. I went in thinking that I had less than half an hour to see all the art in this famous museum. As we entered, I asked the woman what time the museum closed. She said it closed around 5:50. I WAS WRONG! Hallelujah. I grabbed the woman and hugged her (yes, it's true) and she was clearly delighted that she had given me so much joy with such a simple answer.

Sooo. We wandered around the museum and it was so amazing. I fell in love with David (especially his ass). He was huge and so detailed. The veins on his hands and feet were so real. He was so at ease and peaceful. I felt so fortunate to see this work of art in person and it was just amazing to think that he was carved out of a gigantic piece of marble. I'm sorry for all the hyperbole, but I don't know how to say it more poetically. I guess you just had to be there... and thanks to poor reckoning on my part.. I was.

Now there was lots more beautiful art and the renaissance painters really knew how to render their bible stories beautifully. It made me wonder what our dramatic stories are and how we will tell them to the world in a future century. I actually said to John at one point in the journey, I think I love this art more than I love food. He was shocked.

My silly lapse into renaissance adoration was quickly tempered with another amazing work of art, LAMBREDOTTO. This delicious, quiet morsel of salty, juicy wonderfulness is made with the boiled fourth stomach of a cow. The bread roll is dipped in its juices and it's all topped with a little salsa verde. It was delicious and I think the woman who served me admired the courage of this American tourist to try it. John and I shared the sandwich and a porchetta (which is roast pork on a panini roll). After the first bite, I didn't want to share any more, but the inner peace I had achieved looking at David allowed me to be more magnanimous than usual.

I ended the day with a ladies night with Sal. We did a little shopping, had dinner together and wandered home satisfied with gelato and nutella covered waffles. A most fortunate day I must insist.

Jake took a lovely photo of this great work of art and I have shared it with the world.

Coffee, Caffe or Cocaine

My last blog entry ranted about coffee. Here is the ocular evidence compliments of Jake, our personal paparazzi...or is that paparazzo.

Finally Florence

We woke up this morning and rushed out of our Roman flat, dragging suitcases, backpacks and other large, cumbersome objects. Sal complains about using public transportation when she comes home from school for a long stay. I used to accuse her of over reacting, but I totally get it now.
By the time we made our train, I was spent, exhausted, hungry and afraid that John, who had raced off to find coffee, may not return in time for lift off...or worse, he may not return with COFFEE.
For the past three nights, I have had horrible insomnia. I attributed it to jet lag, but Sal astutely pointed out that having three espresso in an afternoon is more influential than three cups of good old American coffee. Jake equates Italian coffee to cocaine humorously, but I think there is some truth to the analogy.
Anyway. Traveling is the hardest art of travel. Once we arrived and settled into our new Florentine flat, the grumpy moods evaporated into the energized Florence air, and we were off again.

Hello Trevi Fountain

We spent much of the day wandering around Piazza Borghese, but didn't manage to find the museum we had set out to find. Feeling a little lost and disappointed, I sat down with the map and discovered that we were very near to the Trevi Fountain.

This is an important place, not because of its historical significance, but because it was where my god daughter was proposed to. As I watched the crowds posing with their loved ones in front of this tremendous sculpture, I imagined Christina and Sam having their own tremendous moment together. The cool rush of the water and loud energy of its movement through the square made this a pretty dramatic place. I can see why Sam would have chosen it.

To honor the soon to be wed couple, we ate dinner at a lovely little restaurant called "La Cucina Romana". After I settled into the restaurant, wondering if it might be the same place that Sam and Christina might have eaten. (I seem to recall a conversation with Christina with the word "Cucina" in it) I realized that most of the restaurants in the area had some version of Roman Kitchen in their signage and it could easily have been any of the other restaurants.

But I did eat Tripe for the first time in my life. Very interesting texture. Chewy. Reminded me flavorwise of the Myeritsa (lamb gut soup) that we ate at Easter when I was growing up.

John had Osso Buco which has a lovely name and was also triggered by his childhood memories of watching his dad order it in Italian restaurants.

We wandered home and I resolved that the wandering was truly worthwhile and rewarding.

To Market, to Market, to Be a Fat Pig

Everywhere I go I see something interesting to eat. We went to one market this morning and it was an amazing assortment of candy and sweetened fruit. The amount of fruit was tremendous. I got a tiny portion of maybe one fifth of the selections and I filled up a bag half full. Apricots, limes, pineapple, pomelo (whatever that is). I've been trying a nibble of something in the bag whenever I get a sweet urge...

Later in the morning we went to this open market that had the real deal. It was filled with authentic Italians selling fish, meats, breads, vegetables and, of course, pastries. John and I wandered around gathering an assortment of cured meats, Gorgonzola cheese, sourdough bread, amazingly ripe tomatoes, clementines and greens that we couldn't recognize, they looked delicious, so we got some.

We also got some prosciutto sliced right off the leg of the pig. The butcher was charming and really friendly.

Our market adventure ended with a lunch spread in our groovy Roman apartment. The olives were so good. They were infused with fresh orange rinds and weren't as briny as the kalamata olives I'm used to.
I felt like Andrew Zimmern trying out this delicious dried salami.
The lesson of the day was LEARN SOME ITALIAN. I downloaded an Italian word app for my iphone and John and I have been practicing with Italian 101 on Youtube. My favorite words are cosa consiglia (what do you recommend)!!