Conosco I Miei Polli

Right now I’m sitting in my bedroom. I have one suit cased packed and another that is empty. I can’t seem to muster the strength to open my final bag; I can’t seem to put my belongings, new and old, away. It is not the concept of leaving that frightens me. It is not going home to family and friends that I dread. This suitcase does not want to be packed because it doesn’t know when, or if, it will ever come back.

Coming to Rome was the best thing I have ever done. I got to fulfill so many lifelong dreams that I never would have been able to otherwise. I ate some of the best food in the world; I walked along the Charles Bridge in Prague; I drank sangria on a beach in Barcellona; I saw the rolling hills of Scotland and the intertwined canals in Amsterdam; I took a boat ride along the mountainous shoreline of Sorrento and swam in the Mediterranean coast of Capri; I went out with my friends more nights than not and made friends in Italy that I never want to say goodbye to.

I am going to miss a lot of things about this experience. One of the thing’s I will miss the most is the city of Rome itself. The little neighborhood I live in is perfect. There are local bars, cafes, and mini marts that I walk by everyday on my way to Trastevere. In these shops there are Italians working hard, making piping hot espressos and having quick conversations with the men and women that pour out of their shops as effortlessly as the espresso flows into a cup.

I will miss the neighborhood of Trastevere and it’s uneven cobblestoned streets, buildings dawned in colorful grafitti, cafes, pizza places, and its inhabitants. I will miss the way the sun burns over Ponte Sisto, and the view you get of the bridge from the monument at Piazza Trilussa. It is a timeless view, one that peaks from the quiet neighborhood to the bustling centro historico on the other side of the river.

I will miss the old man who plays the accordion very, very badly on the same little box on the bridge, and his homeless friend who stands with a cane saying buongiorno to every person that waltzes by. These people on this bridge are characters, yet are less odd than the gypsy on the very same bridge who dressed as a baby and sat in a carriage for money for the first three months we were here. This man is even less odd than the asian man wearing a sombrero playing Italian music on the accordion just steps away.

The way Italians act is very different than Americans. They are loud but not in an obnoxious way because they exude passion and vivacity. The way they use their hands is a language in itself, one which I may never be fluent in, that is so characteristic to the culture it seems cliche to mention it. However, it is in the things as subtle as the way of moving ones hands that make this place special. Those hands are the hands of cappuccino experts, pizza dough pullers, mojito makers, dog walkers, cigarette smokers, and above all a deeply passionate people that have been a pleasure to observe and interact with.

I will miss the old woman on the oxygen tank who sits outside of Cafe Antica smoking a cigarette. She has a raspy voice that is thick with wisdom and clouded with smoke, and when she laughs or smiles a part of me is happy.

I will miss the homeless couple that sits outside of the steps of the church on Via Vittorio Emmanuelle. The woman is broad, yellow toothed, a bit bearded, and has a distinctive odor. The man is as tall as she is wide, has equally bad teeth, and a hairdo that appears to be one giant dread lock fashioned like a birds nest that sits at the front of his forehead. To many people they are just squatters, homeless people begging for money because somewhere along the line they really lost their path in life. To me they are a funny representation of love and contempt. I have sort of spied on them all semester long and have watched an at times disturbing and always grotesque love story play out.

I have watched them huddle together on the coldest nights, clinging to the warmth of their matching blue Italia sweatsuits. I have watched the woman read to the man a book about Italian politics and I observed as the man stared intently into the eyes of his companion. I watched them do the most simple things for each other like holding hands, and lending a shoulder to rest a head on. I once even passed as they were washing each others feet. They are inexplicably odd yet they are endearing and intriguing. I wish I could know their story more, and I am going to miss their strange and bizarre love. Mainly, I will miss it because it reminds me that even when life seems really, really bad, if you are surrounded by the right people, or person, it can still be pretty sweet.

I will miss Spillo, my host dog. He’s a weird dog and is very shy. He gets nervous whenever my host mom isn’t around and sometimes stairs at the floor tiles for two or three minutes at a time with his nose on the ground and his eyes fixed open. However, he is one of the sweetest pups I’ve ever known. He always greets me and my roommate at the door when we get back home, and he looks up at me at dinner with freakishly long eyelashes that are also adorable. He has been a great dog and has brightened up my mood whenever I’ve been sad or stressed and I wouldn’t trade having had him for the world.

This should go without saying, but I will miss my host mom, Federica, immensely. She is the sweetest woman I could have asked to live with. She is kind and warm and cooks delicious Italian food and has gone out of her way time and time again to make sure that I am comfortable here and enjoying myself. She lets me and my roommate live as we please, but provides us with the comfort of knowing we have someone that is truly on our side and having that comfort has made this experience so much easier. She lives her life with ease, values friendship and family, and is passionate about her job: restoring ancient paintings. She is one of the most extraordinary people and I am so lucky to have spent these past few months under her roof.

Then, there’s my little family at Cafe Negresco. Claudio and Nini, the two Albanian-Italian drunk Uncles I never knew I needed. They treat us Loyola students so well, in fact the other night Claudio went around on his cell phone introducing some of us to his sister who lives in the Bronx. Whenever we go, the exclaim our names and kiss the tops of our heads and make jokes about us that we sometimes don’t understand; they made me feel a little bit like a local even though I never truly will be. They made me feel like people can be welcomed and have a good time anywhere they go because what matters most isn’t where we come from or where we are going, but who we are and how we treat others. They have been such a huge part of my experience here in Rome and I’m so glad that my local spot was local and not an Americanized bar with only study abroad kids.

There are so many other people who have influenced my trip. Even the ones I don’t really know well like the friendly owner of Scampo in Campo di Fiore, Danielle, the bouncer at our favorite bar Shari Vari, the guy with the mustache who gave us our delicious halal food, and even the gypsies that lay on their bellies with nothing but a paper cup laid out. No matter how much I talked to them or got to know them, seeing familiar faces around the city and recognizing and being recognized time and time again really has validated the immersive nature of my experience; it proves to me that in some way I have left my impact on the city and that it has not only impacted me.

However much the characters I have gotten to recognize throughout the city have changed me, I have to give credit where credit is due. The friends I have made here, both new and old, are some of the most impactful friendships I have ever had. We may not have all came here best friends or even acquaintances, but we are leaving with a shared experience that has changed us all in ways only we can understand. I am not going to name names, because you know who you are, but without the amazing company I kept over these last 14 weeks the streets of Rome would have just been another place. My memories would only be background images, strings of streets and cobblestones with no major players providing the color to the pictures. You all have been the color of this trip. You all made it what I always dreamed it could be. Without you I would be eager to go home, with you I wish we could stay in this country that we all love dearly indefinitely.

I am only twenty years old. It is a distinct privilege to be here. It is something I treasure and I know I am lucky to have been granted such an amazing opportunity. If going abroad has taught me anything, which it does every single day, it has taught me to appreciate not only the beauty of life, but the things that make life so good. The details. The guy you see every morning walking to class, the bartender at your favorite bar, your favorite slice of pizza, the steps at Piazza Trilussa and the most iconic land mark in all of Rome: the Pantheon. You have to hold onto the tiny things and never let them go.

The food in Italy is as diverse as its terrains. Northern regions find inspiration on the land, with greater focus on meat dishes featuring pork, beef, veal, and game meats. Southern regions are influenced heavily by the sea and boast a multitude of various crustaceans, fish, and squids. Central areas, such as Rome, find inspiration from both influences, but also maintain their own unique culinary perspective. Each city in Italy is known for something unique, whether it be a pastry, pasta dish, or style of pizza, every time you venture to a new region you are sure to find something spectacular.

As a food lover, getting to spend four months in Italy has been nothing short of foodie paradise. I have gone all over the country and in each place I have visited I have discovered an amazing treat that was unlike anything I had ever had of its kind in the United States. From the pizza and sfogliatella in Napoli, to the cannoli in Sicily, from the cacio e pepe in Roma, to the truffles in San Gimignano, from the T-Bone steakes in Firenze to the lemon cake in Sorrento my taste buds have been blanketed by sumptuous flavors in every new place I have visited; I have loved getting to taste so many new things and appreciate the unique opportunity every minute. I know I never would have learned so much  about Italian culture if I had not been so immersed in trying new foods and I feel like I have gained a small insight on what the Italian perspective is because of all of the new things I have tried.

In Sicily, I was really informed on the lifestyle by the simplistic yet sophisticated nature of the cuisine. Many of the tastiest bites to find in Sicily are in little stands on the street and they are served by men who look like they definitely had ancestors in the mafia. The street food highlights a pizza that is long and shaped like french bread and has a puffy dough. It is topped with a rustic looking tomato sauce and sprinkled with onions. Another popular street food are fried foods such as potato croquettes and panelle (chick pea flour fritters) which you can eat plain or in a sandwich topped with flaked salt. The sandwich is not a high recommendation if you have a heart condition, however it is delicious nonetheless.

 

I think the milza, or calf spleen burger is the perfect definition of the people of Palermo. The meat is cooked in a metal pot and stirred every so often, it is a bit chewey, and although the texture is not for everyone, has a history rooted in tradition. The people of Palermo love this sandwich because to them it is more than some cow intestines. It represents their history which hasn’t always been rich and signifies their thousands of years of ancestors that came before them and ate the same thing. Sicilians are very proud of where they came from and I could taste it in every morsel of their cuisine.

The Florentine people are just as tied to their food; however, their cuisine speaks volumes about the banking history that had been rooted in Tuscany for hundreds of years. In Firenze, the most popular dishes are massive T-bone steaks grilled simply with heavy seasoning and cooked medium rare, tripe which is served in a stew or sliced very thinly, and papperdelle served with a ragut of goose or rabbit. In Firenze, the style of buildings are even reflected in the food. They are simplistic and straight forward and have a relatively subdued color palette. Yet, they are sophisticated and dignified by the detailed trimming and exposed beams. Both the buildings and the food alike are rooted in a tradition of affluence, comfort, and straightforwardness that the Medici family would be proud of today if they were still around.

Then, there is Roman cuisine. Rome is a city with an extremely rich history. Considering it was at one time the ruler of the entire Mediterranean, it is of no surprise that it highlights a great deal of classical Italian dishes. However, considering in modern times Rome is a bustling metropolis these more modern touches can be found in the cuisine as well. 

The two most signature dishes of Rome are the pasta dishes cacio e pepe and amatriciana. They are rustic and simple, with only three or four ingredients in each. Cacio e pepe is usually served with bucatelli, a thicker spaghetti, and the sauce is sheep’s cheese, a little milk or cream, and freshly milled black peper. Pasta amatriciana is a tomato sauce with crispy prosciutto. They are both very simple dishes and speak to the more humble beginnings of the city and reveals that many of the people who dwell here are traditionalists with a pure love of Italian history.

Then, there are more contemporary eateries in Rome with more cutting edge dishes. At one restaurant I went to I had a braised pork neck with a cabbage slaw and potato puree that was to die for. Another restaurant I sampled a house made gnochetti with a broccoli pesto that were unlike I any other meal I had tasted, but was completely inspired nonetheless.

Another huge aspect of Rome that is displayed by the cuisine is the element of tourism. Rome is a tourist haven and people come all over the world to view the colloseum, so it is only natural that there are many restaurants that cater to tourists and feature tourism menus and unItalian dishes like spaghetti and meatballs and chicken parmesean (f you see these items on the menu, turn around immediately). While these restaurants are never the best, they are easy to get sucked into and reveal another level of the cities culture.

No matter where you travel in Italy or around the world for that matter, the food is sure to reveal more to you than you could ever imagine. Sometimes, a plate of pasta is more than just flour and egg noodles covered in sauce, sometimes it informs you of a unique lifestyle that you are lucky to have insight to.

All semester long myself and my two friends Marissa and Ariana have talked endlessly about going to Sicily. After the first weekend in Sorrento, we feel in love with the south and always talked of how we wished we could find the time to go. However, our main longing for Sicily stemmed for our shared love of the classic Italian pastry cannoli. Last week it seemed as though our dream of eating real Sicilian cannoli would not come to fruition, and we would leave Italy without tasting the decadent pastry. However, the stars aligned for us. After finding some reasonably priced airfare and a four star hotel with a two star price, we impulsively made our reservations and hopped on our plane to the southern most region of Italy.

Since we only had about 36 hours in Sicily, we decided to stay in the ancient city of Palermo. It is a beautiful port city with sapphire water, rugged and speckled mountains, and buildings colored of ancient shades of sandy yellow, and rust. The city itself is beautiful (although some streets are nicer than others) and from the moment we landed in Palermo we knew we had made a great last minute decision. 

The first thing we did in the city was take a two mile walk to the most famous pastry shop, Pasticceria Cappello, in the city. There, we ordered steaming cappuccinos and cannoli. The cannoli were traditionally garnished with a sliver of candied orange peel, and had classic golden brown shells stuffed with ricotta cream. Cannoli are very simple to make; however, they are not all made the same. These cannoli were exceptional.

The shells were the perfectly fried, light, crisp, with pockets of air, and the exterior had a brown color I can only liken with the exterior of a really good wheat loaf. That shade of brown that perfectly walks the tight rope along the line of over done and perfect. The shells were my favorite part of this cannoli and validated our last minute trip upon first taste.

These cannoli were classically stuffed with ricotta cheese and tiny chocolate chips. The filling is buttermilk white, and packed with homemade Sicilian ricotta cheese which is creamy, fluffy, and decadent. The chocolate chips added the perfect pop of texture and some bitterness which balanced out the heavy cheese. Also, the orange peel candy was the perfect garnish as it added an element of citrus that lightened up the pastry and made it much less dense.

All in all, these cannoli were excellent and we definitely sampled the best cannoli of the trip at our first stop. However, I have to give a special shout out to the cannoli at Casa Stagnitta. They were almost as good as Pasticceria Cappello, in fact I think they’re ricotta filling may have edged them out. But, ultimately, the shells at Cappello were so good, I think it may be impossible for anyone to truly beat them.

Beyond eating cannoli in Sicily we sampled many other local dishes and street foods that made our time enjoyable. However good the cannoli were, the best part of the trip was relaxing in a new city with two really great people. We were all sad when our day trip came to an end, but our dreams had been completely fulfilled.

Every Thanksgiving morning I woke up, put on the parade, and helped my Mom cook a series of vegetable dishes, pies, and macaroni and cheese. This year was different. I was not awoken by the wafting aromas of cooking bacon and cinnamon and nutmeg fusing into a sinful pumpkin pie. Rather, I was awoken by my cellphone alarm indicating to me that it was time to hop aboard a train to Florence. 

I was lucky enough to have my family visit me for Thanksgiving, and I was sure to be strategic in choosing where we would have Thanksgiving dinner. After falling in love with rabbit and truffles in San Gimignano, I decided to try to persuade my parents that Florence, the biggest city in Tuscany, was the perfect destination for some Thanksgiving indulgences.

After doing a great bit of research on the web consulting many blogs, lists, and trip advisor reviews, I picked a restaurant that I felt was both modern and authentically Florentine: Osteria dell’Enoteca.

When we first walked into the trattoria we were greeted by the two staff members of the restaurant, the waiter and the bar tender aka the resident food expert and wine expert. After sitting down we noticed that the couple at the table next to us had an enormous and decadent looking T-Bone steak on their table and all of our mouth began to water.

My brother and I ordered four courses

each, while my grandparents and parents opted for a more conservative three. Since it was Thanksgiving and we are American we felt it would be inappropriate not to completely gorge ourselves with delicious foods, and gorge ourselves we did.

For my antipasto, I ordered an onion flan with creamy cheese, tomato, and a fried onion garnish. The flan was heavenly; it was smooth, creamy, rich with deep caramelized onion flavor; the tomato provided just the right touch of acidity while the fried onion had the perfect pop of texture. I cleaned my plate. My brother ordered beef tartare that was seasoned well and extremely fresh; however, the star of the table was the chicken liver pate that my grandmother ordered. It came with golden brown unsalted Tuscan style toast points and the livers themselves had so much flavor I never would have guessed they came from a chicken’s internal organs. They were so good we all almost returned the next day for a second helping.

Then for my primi piatti my brother and I shared the homemade papperdelle, an extremely wide yet thin pasta that is signature to the region of Tuscany, with a ragut of rabbit and pine nuts. Again, the dish was rich and decadent, but the pine nuts brought a fatty yet bright essence that made it impossible to take only one bite.

Then came the star of the show: two massive Florentine style T-Bone steaks cooked rare. They were massive, juicy, perfectly seasoned, and most importantly, tasted a thousand times better than any Thanksgiving turkey I have ever eaten. They exteriors of the steaks were kissed by the grill and were charred to perfection while the inside was not for the faint of heart as it is a sin to cook steak in Italy any more than medium rare. They were some of the highest quality steaks I have ever had.

It would be impossible to speak of the quality of this meal without mentioning the bottles of wine we ordered. Traditionally, we had a bottle of chianti and a bottle of borolla which hails from northern Italy. The chianti was a riserva from 2011 and it came frome the local Bucciarelli vineyard, just a short drive from Florence. It was crisp, light, a little fruity, and paired perfectly with the first few courses.  Then the borolla was a 2006 and was much richer and oakier; the perfect pairing for the steak.

After we drank all of the wine and picked the T-Bones clean, we ordered dessert. I have to admit, I was a bit bummed to be missing out on my favorite chocolate chip bourbon pecan pie, but the rosemary creme brulee I ordered helped me forget about the Thanksgiving FOMO that crept into the back of my mind. The creme brulee was aromatic with herbs and the texture was velvety and rich. Although I still wish the crystalized sugar had been caramelized for a moment longer, the dish was the perfect ending to an unconventional Thanksgiving dinner.

As I’m sure you all have noticed by now: I love food, like, a lot. My ambition in life is to ultimately work in food publication (cook book editor, any job with a food magazine, etc.). Naturally, one of my ambitions for study abroad was to take a cooking class to learn how to make a local dish, and that’s exactly what I did in Barcelona.

My friends and I signed up for the class as an immersive way to learn a little more about Spanish (or I guess now Catalonian) culture and food. When we learned that this cooking class came with unlimited tapas, sangria, and homemade paella we were sold immediately.

When we first arrived at the class, we met our hilarious and knowledgable instructor who brought us to the cooking school. There, they presented us with authentic tapas. The plates we sampled were bread with oil, salt, and tomato (you rub the tomato on the bread and the juices are absorbed), grilled spicy and sweet green peppers, cured meat, olives, and sangria. 

The sangria was delicious; it was traditionally made with brandy, red wine, apples, oranges, and a splash of fanta. It put us in the mood to get to cooking our seafood paella. We first learned how to prepare the different seafood that went into the rice dish (prawns, calamari, mussels, clams, and squid). After all the seafood was prepared and cleaned, we began making the paella.

To make authentic paella, you begin with good quality olive oil (and a lot of it) and add the vegetables (onion, peppers, garlic). Then, once they are a little translucent, add the seafood. After the seafood is partially cooked, you add some wine and then the rice. It takes about twenty minutes for the rice and vegetables to finish cooking, and by the time it is done, you are left with a delicious rice dish that is crispy on the bottom and jam packed with deep flavors.

I would highly recommend any group of friends or foody do a cooking class as not only is it a fun way to immerse yourself into a new culture, it is also an awesome way to enjoy a home cooked authentic meal.