Nancy, Author at Itch.world

Nancy, Author at Itch.world - Page 18 of 19

A three-minute escape to Italy.

Tuscany, travel, medieval village, Italy, festivals, celebrations, customs, cooking, recipes, living in Italy, moving to Italy, visiting, visit, restaurants, language

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September 29, 2018 In Chow, Recipes, Roam By Nancy

I love the Castle of Love

I avoided going to Castello di Ama for years. Friends would say “It’s the most amazing winery with this incredible contemporary art collection.” Instantly all the warning bells in my head would go off. This particular collection of words was a microcosm of why I left California. The last thing I wanted to find in my beloved, genuine, unpredictable, slightly-disheveled Italy was a pretentious, wrapped-with-bow-for-the-tourists, cold, and anonymous winery/contemporary art extravaganza.

But eventually, we took the plunge and went for lunch. And I was shocked out of all my preconceptions. It felt like coming to someone’s home.

Beautiful views, gorgeous old buildings, and damn good food and wine are all a given in Italy, but this experience had something more—a true warmth and grace—largely due to the staff who all seem passionately attached to this place. Our waiter, Federico, whom I’ve gotten to know over about the dozen times I’ve now visited, has that magical balance of heart, knowledge, and self-respect that is the hallmark of staff in a three-star restaurant in Paris. But here, everything happens in Italian, which is even more delightful. The food is inspired Tuscan classics, and the wine pairings spot on.

I am working on the recipe for their carrot-zucchini souffle and will post when I manage to make it as well at home as I’ve had at Ama. (I got the recipe from them, but it’s for 40 so takes a little adaptation.)

Ama is not really a castle, but rather a small hamlet which dates to the 1100s. The cluster of buildings was divided between two wealthy families, which resulted in two manor houses and two churches. In the 1970s, four Roman families decided to buy the hamlet and restore the vineyards. The current owner, Lorenza Sebasti (daughter of one of the Roman families), and her winemaker husband, Marco Pallanti, have had Ama since 1982, and oversaw one of the greatest upsets in wine history.

According to Decanter Magazine “Ama had a ‘Judgement of Paris’ moment on 8 February 1992 when the L’Apparita 1987 vintage beat Pétrus 1988, Le Pin and 16 other world-class Merlot wines at a tasting hosted by the Académie du Vin in Switzerland, with a jury comprised of renowned winemaking consultant Michel Rolland.” (And sometimes bottles of L’Apparita are open and available for tasting.)

The contemporary art is equally inspired. Ama has had an artist-in-residence program with artists such as Louise Bourgeois, Anish Kapoor, Hiroshi Sugimoto, and Daniel Buren creating site-specific works. I love how Nedko Solakov’s doodles play with everything from power outlets to small cracks in the wall in one large room. Jenny Holzer was having lunch when we were there —she’s the next artist to add to the collection.

There are also villas for overnight stays on the property. I’ve had a chance to peek into some of the suites. Sigh. Hopefully at some point.

If you visit, Siena is only 25 kilometers away, and also nearby is the wonderful Terme San Giovanni.

September 25, 2018 In Chow, Live By Nancy

My pasta aisle is bigger than yours

Dear readers, I have decided that you do not, yet, know enough about pasta. I have started to accept as normal that there’s a pasta aisle bigger than Texas in every Italian grocery store.

On a recent trip back to California we were stunned to rediscover that the pasta section in Safeway was a mere 17 feet. Felt like trying to find provisions for a fine meal in a 7-eleven.

So I will begin to educate you. You need to be able to tell your frogs’ mouths pasta from your radiators and volcanoes. You need to know that al dente is far more crunchy than what you probably think. What sauces go with what shapes. That the cooking water needs to be salted far more than you probably do now.

And you need to know that you never have to do anything as uncontrolled as throwing pasta against a wall to test if your spaghetti is done. Italian cooking is far more scientific and precise than that. The know-all cooking times on the packaging need to be taken very seriously.

This spaghetti, for instance, is perfectly cooked at 11 1/4 minutes.

(Unless you finish cooking it in the pan, like spaghetti aglio e olio, when the spaghetti is removed two minutes early to finish in the pan with the garlic and oil, and a couple ladles of the pasta cooking water.)

Full disclosure—I don’t yet know everything about pasta. This is an excellent excuse for me to up my pasta game, and keep you informed of the discoveries.

September 22, 2018 In Chow, Live, Recipes By Nancy

Making gnocchi, and a film, in Italy

John and I have this idea to start filming local grandmothers cooking. A possible way to enter more deeply into Italian life, capture some of the spirit of Tuscan woman, and learn more about food.

We gather some savvy, younger locals and start brainstorming about people we can shoot. The grandmother who hunts? Possible. The grandmother who makes feather whips for the lingerie store? Very possible. For our first shoot we settle on two of our collaborators’ grandmother in a house in the countryside outside of town, complete with a huge watermelon patch.

The morning of the shoot comes. We are prepared to act with military precision, which is the norm for any shoot. The “call time” comes to meet our collaborators and head to the country. The meeting location changes. The start is delayed because breakfast isn’t finished. Their grandmother actually lives in the ancient center of town, not near the watermelon patch at all. We start to get nervous.

We arrive at their house on a tiny street from the 1100s and the grandfather, Franco, jumps into cooking action. Maybe the premise of the video, cooking grandmothers, needs to be reassessed?

Then it all starts to unfold. The constant lesson of Italy. You can predict nothing, control nothing, but just step back and enjoy the gifts of grace, ease, and warmth that the Italians offer. Which more often than not is so much more than you could have possibly imagined or engineered.

Anna, the grandmother, is everywhere in the kitchen at once. This gnocchi pas de deux has clearly happened hundreds of times in their kitchen. Both of them are cooking with a rare ease, barely even looking at the food as they cook.

While Franco forms the dough for the gnocchi, and then shapes and cuts it, he tells us stories about what is was like for families growing up as tenant-farmers in the years before the “economic miracle” of the 1960s (thanks Marshall Plan), with 30 people in a house, hunger, limited mobility, and the Padrone with total power.

The conversation ranges across centuries and topics, and the enormous mound of gnocchi dough melts away. Anna is taking away the cut gnocchi, boiling it, and then rolling it in oil to separate and cool, directly on the marble table.

Soon after we sit down with the extended family to eat. As it has been said before, “And it was good.”

This is, in some ways, one of the most unfiltered films we’ve ever done. It’s as close as we can get you to sitting down in a Tuscan kitchen for a visit. Please let us know what you think of this rawer kind of glimpse. And we hope you learn a lot about gnocchi along the way.

September 14, 2018 In Chow, Recipes By Nancy

Easy figs to last through winter

Even on a tree, individual figs are only at their peak for a few days before going bad. Enter Franco. He’s the grandfather who you will meet in next week’s video who made gnocchi for us, along with his witty wife Anna. At the lunch that followed filming they served some preserved figs, along with pecorino cheese. The figs were sweet, but also complex, with just the right amount of a tart undertone. These weren’t like jam, but like the essence of fresh figs, preserved. Very simple, like the best of Tuscan food.

Franco offered to come over some morning when he wasn’t hunting to teach us how to make them.

I accepted the offer—Franco is the kind of cook I aspire to be. He never measures and hardly even looks at what he is doing because it is all so natural and familiar. And while he is cooking he is discussing everything from the power of the monasteries in the 13th-century to growing up as a tenant-farmer or the importance of constantly being exposed to new ideas.

Back to making the figs— get ones that taste great and are soft, but not overly ripe. Green or black figs work equally well. You will also need sugar, white wine vinegar, and small mason jars with lids. This recipe works well for small batches.

Cut the fig tops off and arrange in a heavy-bottomed pan so that they are in one layer. We used about 40 figs, which was 1.5 kilos (3.3 pounds) of figs. For this amount you pour over 400 grams (14 oz.) sugar and 60 ml (1/4 cup) of white wine vinegar.

Put over low heat. And wait. Franco occasionally pries the figs apart (either by slightly shaking the pan or gently using a blunt knife) so that the liquid that collects can coat all sides of them, but mainly leaves them undisturbed—no need to stir or flip them. After about 20-30 minutes, there will be a lot of liquid in the pan, and he spoons off the excess so that the bottom of the pan is well-covered but the figs aren’t drowning. And at this point, turn the figs so that all sides are well-coated. It amazed us that something as seemingly delicate as figs can withstand boiling like this, but they are a lot tougher than they look.

We normally boil mason jars, lids, and all implements, to sterilize but Franco’s technique is to run them through a hot dishwasher, fill the clean jars with the boiling contents, and then seal and flip them over to cool, thus ensuring that the boiling liquid reaches all parts of the inside of the jar. (For everything you need to know about recommended ways to sanitize and can, here’s a wonderful resource.)

Pack the figs in tightly, but don’t squish them, and add enough liquid to fill about a quarter of the jar.

These are delicious with cheese, and are also wonderful for breakfast with yogurt, or by themselves for dessert.

John experimented by adding one and a half inches of peeled and chopped fresh ginger to the cooking figs, which was a fantastic variation. The syrup takes on the ginger flavor, and the pieces become a soft ginger candy.

Next on the list to try before fig season is over is a modern take on a traditional Calabrian recipe—fig, vanilla, and orange blossom jam.

Another thing to serve alongside the figs is this fantastic caramelized red onion jam.

September 13, 2018 In Roam By Nancy

Was ‘The English Patient’ born here?

One of my all-time favorite books is Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient. So I was thrilled to hear that the book was just awarded the Golden Man Booker Prize, recognizing it as the best work of fiction awarded the Man Booker Prize in the last 50 years.

I knew that the Italian part of the book was set largely in these parts. A major scene in the book takes place in front of the Piero Della Francesca frescoes in the Basilica of St. Francis in Arezzo—and throughout there are mentions of Monterchi, Anghiari, and other area villages.

This region is rich in war history, in large part because the front was stalled for months around here during the Italian campaign that lasted from 1943 to 1945. Locals still tell stories about the resistance, close escapes, tragedies, and recent finds of land mines and bullets.

There’s a rumor that this plaque—which stands next to one of my favorite restaurants in Monterchi—was one of Ondaatje’s inspirations for the book, inspiration that resulted in the incredible character, Kip.

The plaque commemorates three war deaths of The Central India Horse 4th Division—two men with Sikh names and one with an English name. Ditto Ram and St. John Graham Young both received the George Cross—the second highest decoration possible in England—for helping other soldiers out of a minefield they’d all stumbled into on a nearby farm. This assistance occurred after both had stepped directly on land mines and before they died minutes later. Almost 50,000 Sikh troops (mostly men between ages 19 and 22) fought in Italy.

Every year, the plaque is freshly decorated with a wreath of paper red poppies, a British tradition to honor those who fought, and died, in war.

September 12, 2018 In Live By Nancy

Small world

A couple of my friends have asked me what daily life is like in a small village. It’s a little like this:

I enter the butcher shop. It’s market day, so it’s very crowded. There are two butchers, brothers. The taller one is holding court on the raised platform behind the glass shrine of meat. They are both in their 50s and always seem to be in a great mood … always. Friends of mine who visited were amazed to see one brother telling jokes over his shoulder while whacking a huge hunk of beef down to size with a foot-long cleaver.

This tendency might explain the missing part of one finger.

Today, he pauses between customers to cut a sample of porchetta (a delicious Tuscan thing—a roasted whole pig stuffed with herbs) and has the crowd pass it to a specific customer, a woman in her 50s who is with her daughter and is seated near the door. The daughter says loudly enough for everyone to hear: “He spoils you.” The butcher says: “I was in love with her when we were in preschool.”

At this point, another patron, a grandmother who is just tall enough to see over the meat part of the shrine but not over the top of the glass, adds: “No you weren’t. You were in love with Clementina.”

September 7, 2018 In Best Of, Chow, Recipes By Nancy

The pasta we can’t quit (and recipe)

When I want a mini-vacation—and lunch—I head to the sleepy Tuscan hilltop village of Monterchi. In the piazza at the top is one of my favorite family restaurants, Ristorante Al Travato.

It’s only open from-kinda-around-Easter to kinda-around-the-end of October, depending on the weather and the back health of Laura. The family first opens the restaurant on weekends only, then slowly builds, with the heat, to being open most days in summer, and then winds it all back down in the fall. What they do all winter I am not sure, although they’ve hinted it involves skiing.

Marco, Laura’s husband, finds the wines for the cellar—a cave that goes back into the medieval walls—and Laura cooks. Two of their teenage daughters serve (yep, beauties. We can even get our 14-year-old son to eat there whenever we want), while the youngest daughter rides around the square on her small, enviable pink bike.

Our family craves one dish in particular, at least once a week— Spaghetti Aglio, Olio e Pepperoncini—true Tuscan soul food. It’s spaghetti that’s properly al dente, loads of garlic, and a few really hot peppers, all swimming in olive oil.

While it’s simple in its ingredient list, differing opinions of how it should be made abound. You could say of Laura’s (off-menu version): “questo spacca di brutto” (“this chops off the ugly”—I know, the translation doesn’t help me either, but the kids say it means something is a big deal). Best of all for anyone who wants to bring a bit of Italian soul food into their kitchen, it’s easy enough to do tonight with ingredients you probably already have on hand.

Here’s a two-minute video on how Laura makes the definitive Tuscan comfort food.

A cooking note: you’re going to save some of the water from cooking the pasta when you drain off the rest. Also—do this before the pasta has reached the “al dente” (still slightly firm when bitten) state. It will finish cooking when added to the pan with the other ingredients (while the last bit of cooking water helps their flavors go inside the noodles).

September 6, 2018 In Lingua, Live By Nancy

Furbo: clever like a fox. And my son.

Italians have this great word, “furbo.” It means sly, clever, fox-like, and is one of Tuscany’s most prized character attributes. A guy who is furbo won’t be able to get a permit for a pool but will join the community fire watch and offer to put in a reservoir in case a fire breaks out. And then build it in the shape of a swimming pool. That happens to be in his yard. (And we’ve met him. And he’s told us, in detail.)

I wasn’t expecting to use this vocabulary word when I was doing one of my most dreaded tasks as an Italian mother—parent-teacher conferences. There’s no schedule, just a block of time when all the teachers sit at desks in the classrooms and the parents stand in line in the hall and wait their turn.

If a waiting parent is particularly organized they will post a list so other parents can note the order in which they arrived. But mostly, you run from one classroom to another trying to hold your place in multiple lines while attempting to chat in Italian. (Another great word is “chiacchierare,” for chatting or gossip.)

And then you have to go in and talk to the teachers. One by one. And no one speaks English—not even the English teacher.

My sessions never take long. The average parent’s turn with a teacher is about 15 minutes. For me, it’s one. Every parent wants to be next in line after me.

When I went to Sebastian’s first conference at his new school, the basics were conveyed quickly, and were consistent with what previous year’s teachers have told me. “He’s smart. Doesn’t work had enough. Too much energy. But lovely.” This last round, however, he got two “furbo” ratings and one “Furbissimo.” (Italian adds this useful suffix “-issimo” to mean an extreme level of something.)

I was crushed. My little boy furbissimo? On the way home I called John, in shock, to share the upsetting news. He couldn’t have been more delighted. Our son was really becoming Italian.

September 1, 2018 In Live By Nancy

Spectacular spettacolo

Every August, in the Tuscan village of Anghiari, magic happens. For 10 nights in a row, a local square becomes the stage for a freshly-written play, part of a 23-year-old series called Tovaglia a Quadri. I love it because it is a highly improbable thing—that a village takes the time every year to create a fearless, sharp, witty, and poignant reflection of what it means to be a member of a small Italian village, in today’s world. Written by, acted in, and attended by locals.

Each year, the new production is a full-length musical, staged in a tiny square in town. The buildings around the square are used as sets, with actors popping in and out of windows and doors. In the middle of the square are long tables, covered with checkered tablecloths, where the nightly audience is served a three-course dinner. A new play is written every year—often mere weeks before—ensuring that the topics are current. The name Tovaglia a Quadri means tablecloth (tovaglia), with squares (quadri), but the word quadri also refers to a stage.

This year’s play was Ci Amazzon, which is a play on words of “ci amazzono”—”they are killing us”. It takes place a hundred years in the future after Amazon has won the latest world war, leaving a dystopian landscape of a village in which even the grandmothers are happy to have all their needs met online so that they don’t have to leave the house and talk with each other. It explores the tension of getting exactly what you want versus having fewer choices but a more engaged community.

Prior topics have included Anghiarixit—a referendum to gain independence from Tuscany —because, after all, what has Florence really ever done for Anghiari since 1441, when the Florentines bested the Milanese in The Battle of Anghiari, a crucial battle of the Renaissance? Another year the play provided a scathing and hilarious look at immigration with the villagers all eager to emigrate to Australia to start new lives and businesses, while being terrified of a black teenager who was found on the banks of the Tiber river. The villagers thought he was an African immigrant who fell off a boat in the Mediterranean and washed hundreds of miles upstream in the river. He turned out to be from the next village and had fallen into the river after a night of partying with friends. Another was about a World War II concentration camp located nearby.

The play has been happening every year for 23 years, and is the creation of co-authors Paolo Pennacchini and Andrea Merendelli. Andrea directs. The first few years were experimental, trying things like improvisational comedy. They wrote their first real plot in 1997, and the play featured a character talking about his memories. Paolo told me that in 2010 they decided to shift from looking at the past to try “to explain the things happening around us.” And the current hard-hitting format was born.

The town wildly embraces this annual tradition. There are 130 seats for each of the 10 shows and tickets sell out almost immediately. I went to buy mine the morning the tickets were available, arrived 15 minutes after the office opened, and found myself 66th in line. The entire process took hours!

I’ve noticed that many of the local businesses now sport “Ci Amazzon” stickers in their windows, taking the idea of the latest play into a lasting, physical reminder.

I can’t wait to see what they conjure up next year.

August 31, 2018 In Lingua, Live By Nancy

The art of obscenity

Last winter, my Facebook feed was overwhelmed by contagion. Scanning the posts, it was clear that an alarming percentage of my American, English, and Italian friends were sick with the flu. And while I felt for them, the thing I really noticed was how differently friends from each country talked about their illness. Americans were sure to share details, for instance, “I’m dying. Never been this sick. The stuff I’m coughing up is GREEN.” The Brits were, well, British. “Been in hospital for 10 days. A bit under the weather.”

But the Italians… They were all about the balls. (And not the balls one uses to play sports.) Balls are a vital part of talking about a wide range of subjects, but they turn out to have a special place in capturing the suffering that comes with the flu. A female friend posted: “Ho due palle gonfie di ste teste di cazzo … Va a finire male me lo sento.” It means: “I have two swollen balls thanks to heads of dicks. This will not end well, I can feel it.” Italians love to swear, and Tuscans are known to be particularly bold and colorful. I’ve found grandmothers to be particularly impressive.

This phrase has uses beyond illness, and it also is frequently used to express “I am annoyed by these stupid people.” I highly recommend using it under your breath during the next meeting you are in when someone is annoying you. You have equal rights to the phrase whether you’re a man or a woman. I’ve recorded my son Sebastian saying each of these so that you can get it right.

Interested in dabbling in Italian testicle-based phrases, but need something a little lighter? You could try “che palle” meaning “what balls” or “how annoying.” (It’s also the name of a chain of arancini (fried rice balls) shops in Sicily.

Other phrases you might want to know:

“Mi hai rotto le palle.” meaning “you have broken my balls.” This is used in response to a distinct action that has happened.

If what is bothering you is more ongoing feel free to use “Mi fai girare i coglioni,” “You have twisted my balls.”

And the ever useful “Tu sei un coglione.” “You are a ball.” (Yes, it’s singular.) A bit softer as it is commonly used, more like “You are an idiot.”

Ready to expand your ball-adjacent Italian vocabulary? Try “a cazzo di cane,” which means “like a dog’s dick.” It’s used frequently to describe a job done badly.

More on the Italian obsession with balls at a later date. Just a friendly reminder. These are not my words. I am a mere reporter, aiming to be as scientific as possible, in linguistic matters.