Excuses

In exactly two weeks, I will be standing at the Vallelunga train station for the last time (This time with enough luggage to take up an entire train car.).  On the 27^th I ship up to Palermo/Mondello for the night, then on the 28^th I’m on to Milan for another night, and finally I’m off to Houston by way of Newark on the 29^th.  The days seem to be passing faster and faster, and I know that this moment will arrive in the blink of an eye.

Fabrizia’s friend asked me last night if I would be sad to leave Case Vecchie.  That’s a hard one to answer, as I will certainly miss a lot about this place and this experience, but of course I’m happy to get back home to my life, my love, my friends and my family.  Fabrizia always covers me on this one, immediately saying that she’ll be sad, no matter if I am or not.  The good news is that Fabrizia has a bunch of trips to the US planned this year, so I know I’ll see her in the not too distant future.

I learned a lot here, especially in regards to cooking, local sourcing and sustainability, but also in trying to find some balance in life.  I blame this search for balance for the lack of work I have accomplished on my thesis here.  It’s a nicer way to say that I have, once again, procrastinated to the extreme.  Convent pastry production was certainly a common topic during my time here, and I definitely ate enough pastries whose origins are claimed in convents.  But interviews?  Well, my Italian is dreadful.  Reading dense Italian works on the subject?  See excuse #1.  Actually sitting down and trying to write anything on the damn subject?  Well, you’ve seen what I have as a view, and you can’t tell me you’d rather be writing a boring essay than being outside or reading in a hammock.  I’ll write the damn thing in the 6 days I’ll be in Texas pre-deadline.  At this point, I just need to write it and be done with this too-long chapter of my life known as “Grad School”.

To accompany my excuses, how about some pretty pictures of pastries?  See?  They’re kind of related to my thesis topic…and we could call my having eaten them “research”, right?

Well, in all fairness, only one of these desserts has ever been mentioned in the sphere of convent pastries– the cassata, pictured on the left.  The genoise-based cake filled with ricotta cream and a touch of limoncello and decorated with marzipan and candied fruit is not only fun to look at, it’s a true gustatory delight.  I have to admit, it took me a minute to get used to the combination of a ricotta that tastes strongly of sheep’s milk and good ol’ farm with sugar and sweets, but now I absolutely adore it.  I will now always pick a dessert with this ricotta cream over anything else offered.  Always.

The cake in the middle isn’t even Sicilian– in fact, it’s a recipe that David Gould, chef of Roman’s in Brooklyn, introduced to Fabrizia on one of their visits.  It’s a walnut/orange/olive oil cake that’s incredibly simple to make and a perfect breakfast treat for the guests.  I make it regularly here.

And finally, the Turkish Turban, or Testa di Turco, a simple lard/egg/flour based dough that is piped in a turban-like fashion and baked until it puffs up in all its glory.  Even better, it’s stuffed with my beloved ricotta cream and served with candied orange peel.  In the words of Fabrizia, “truly divine”!

And, hell, why not round this post out with a couple shots of Monsù, who always has to stick his nose in my camera every time I try to take pictures of any of these…(all attention must be on him at all times.  Cake or no cake.)

A Fishy Encounter

We had a visitor to the cooking school the other day—and our favorite kind of visitor, too. A visitor who not only did all the cooking himself, but who brought us 21 kilos of albacore he had caught that very morning. In his native Sicilian, he’s known as Francu ù Piscaturi, though in Italian he’s referred to as Franco il Pescatori—Franco the Fisherman. Huge in personality and in enthusiasm, I found myself getting completely swept up in his whirlwind while he prepared what seemed like an impossible amount of food in a matter of an hour. Here’s a quick snapshot timeline of our time with Francu:

Two hours later that we had expected, Francu sped up to the kitchen wielding two large trash bags containing two whole albacore, two tuna egg sacks, two tuna sperm sacks and a couple pounds of fresh smelt.

Before I knew it, Francu had pulled out a cutting board and knife and was breaking the fish into the different necessary cuts at record speed.

About 17 kilos of whole round tuna steak, cut into 4-inch thick pieces, were set aside to be boiled and left to sit overnight. We would be expected to can it in oil the next day (no Chicken of the Sea here!). About two and a half kilos, consisting of the heads, sides, jowls, etc. were thrown into a large stock pot with olive oil, white wine, sun dried tomato paste (estratto), water and seasoning to make a ragù that we could freeze for later. Another kilo of thinner tuna steaks were set aside, to be dipped in egg and breadcrumbs and then grilled for our fish course.

The “extras”, the egg and sperm sacks and the smelt, were the attacked with vigor. Francu showed me how to carefully split open the egg sacks and scrape out the eggs, throwing it into a pan with oil, onion, garlic, chili flake and house-canned tomatoes to make a ragù for our pasta course.

Quickly and efficiently, Francu sliced the sperm sacks, dipping them first in egg and then seasoned breadcrumbs. He dropped them in the frying oil, and two minutes later we all marveled at this delicacy that, surprisingly enough, none of us (myself and our guests at the time) had tried prior. The texture is somewhere between fried oyster and fried calves’ brains (probably my favorite fried food ever), and with a sprinkle of lemon juice and salt, they were truly wonderful. They were also gone within about a minute.

The smelt frying came next, with Francù simply dipping the little guys into all purpose flour and throwing them in the oil. I consider fried smelt to be the french fries of the sea, and we all attacked the finish plate with greedy hunger.

Finally, we headed for the table to eat the now finished egg sack ragù pasta course. Not only delicious, the course was also a beauty.

Next came the tuna impanato, the steaks that were set aside to be covered in breadcrumbs and grilled. With a squeeze of a lemon aside a potato salad made with beans, olives and sweet red onions, it was the perfect main course. Unfortunately, I think we were all a bit stuffed to the gills after Francu forcibly put a second helping of the pasta course in front of each of us. But how could we say no?

London and Love

Well, if you read my last post, you already know that I’m not too good at this whole “seclusion” thing.  I need to be around people—my people.  Luckily, a guest who was here at the beginning of my stay suggested that maybe I should try to take a trip while I’m here to go visit someone in Europe, or meet someone from the States over here (I guess my city-girl persona was written on my face?).  I knew what I wanted immediately—to convince Maio to get some more time off work (that man has officially spent every minute of his vacation time on me this year, I think.  Thanks, darlin’!) and meet me somewhere in Europe.  He had never been on this continent, and I immediately thought Paris—I could show him my first European love, France, and introduce him to some friends and maybe even my host family from my year in the middle of the country.  But, trying to figure out the most cost-effective way to get him over here, I decided London was a better fit—an easy direct flight for him (important if you’re only coming for 4 days!), English speakers, and a city that neither one of us had ever been to (Unless you count my endless layovers at Heathrow).  He convinced his boss, I found us a charming little studio apartment to rent near Russell Sq/Euston, and it was on.

Not surprisingly, all of the shots I have from the trip are food-related.  In fact, our entire trip was pretty much food-related.  So much so that I’m certain neither one of us were fitting into the clothes we arrived in quite as well as before.  But, as my former boss told me in an e-mail when I got here to Sicily, “Don’t hold back while you’re over there—treadmills are so USA”.  I didn’t bring my camera due to RyanAir’s ridiculous baggage allowance, so I apologize for the iPhone-quality shots.  But you’ll get the idea.

One of the first things that Maio did when we finally met up at Liverpool St. Station after our flights/trains/etc was take out his phone and show me a picture with a big smile on his face.  Apparently the iconic phrase “mind the gap” never made its way to Tijuana, and he enjoyed it so much that he got that smile each time the robotic Underground voice reminded us not to fall between the train and the platform (He also smiled like this/held back little boy laughter each time the same voice announced that we were on the Piccadilly line in the direction of “Cockfosters”, but you can’t blame him for that one.)

Here are some edible (and imbibe-able) highlights:

Beer/Pimm’s/Gin

Yay!  No wine!  Don’t get me wrong, I love that I’m currently living on estate with a large vineyard/winery on site.  But, I miss my beer and gin something fierce.  Our first full day, we trekked down to the site of Borough Market, which was closed as it was a Monday, in order to grab a slab of Westcombe cheddar and some Poilane bread at Neal’s Yard Dairy.  Desperately needing lunch (Maio and I had the fun opportunity to learn that I now become a crazy psycho-bitch when my blood sugar crashes, which it’s now doing like never before.  Have I mentioned that he is a modern-day saint?), we ducked into Wright Brothers, an oyster/porter house.  We foolishly forgot to take a photo of Maio’s incredible Guinness/steak/oyster pie (two raw oysters were delivered on the side of the pie, slipped in under the pastry, and left to cook for a minute or two- yum!), but I snapped a shot of my first London-local craft brew, from The Kernel.  It was good, if not a little too fruity for me, but really anything would have been sweet relief at that point.  Later that day we checked out Euston Tap, a tiny and incredible pub right near the Euston Tube stop that a couple of London-based Americans who were here for a class had recommended to me.  Heaven, pure heaven.  All of my favorite American craft breweries were represented, with a good amount of local ales on draught and on cask.  We snagged a table outside and downed some of those high-alcohol beauties, and found out that they allow takeaway!  Score one for my tastebuds, and zero for our wallets and my sobriety.  But so worth it!  Needless to say, a large order of fish and chips from a local takeaway, North Sea Fish Restaurant, was scoffed down with reckless abandon when we got back to the apartment.

Pimm’s was another wonderful surprise—somehow I had forgotten about the sweet gin, fruit and herb based liquor ever since a summer in college where I was seemingly obsessed with Pimm’s Cups.  I had obligatory Pimm’s & Lemonade (shown alongside Maio’s Young’s Double Chocolate Stout) when we stopped along our walk through Notting Hill/Portobello Market.  Delicious, refreshing, and luckily it had enough fruit in it to stave off the “hunger crazies” for another 45 minutes or so.

Desserts/Harrods’ Food Halls

I had one very specific mission to accomplish while in London—get to Harrods, where Laduree has a café, in order to buy what I was deeming my “birthday macaroons”.  Maio had never heard of Harrods, and I’m certain wasn’t ready for what he was getting into.  The monstrous department store was bustling, heavily perfumed-laced, and just as opulent as I expected.  I led us straight to the food halls (somehow, without ever having been there, my body had some sort of food sixth sense and we were on a direct route to the food), where we just stood in amazement for a minute or two.  Every food you could ever want, along with high prices and masses of people shopping, stood in front of us.  We went straight to Laduree, where I bought a box of six of those beyond-words macaroons (the winner for me?  Lily of the Valley, surprisingly enough), then we made our way back to the savory foods to make our lunch selections.  We ended up with a game meat pie, a gallette of goat cheese, olives and prosciutto, buttered prawn salad, and greek salad.  We hopped the Tube one stop to Hyde Park, found a beautiful little cocoon of flowers and a fountain, installed ourselves on a bench, and had one of the loveliest lunches of my life.  We liked it so much, in fact, that we recreated it again the next day, this time with cupcakes from the famous Hummingbird Bakery that we picked up on the aforementioned Notting Hill/Portobello Market trip.  I have to admit, I don’t usually go crazy over cupcakes.  I tend to find them dry, or too rich, or too sweet in the frosting.  But these?  Ethereal.  We had my two favorite flavors—carrot cake and red velvet—which naturally both have cream cheese frosting, the best frosting in life ever and forever.  Maio actually licked the cupcake wrappers, and scolded me for letting a crumb of red velvet fall onto the ground.  This was serious.  After that second day of garden picnic-ing, we happened to pass a Paul, where they were advertising macaron frappés.  One of their giant macarons, vanilla cream, milk and ice.  Who cares that we were already stuffed to the gills?  I ordered a pistachio one and we then, of course, proceeded to finish it all in record timing.  This also gave me a great idea for the inevitable ugly macarons that happen with every batch you make.  Fret not, the frappé will save you.

There were a bunch more highlights, both food related and not.  We did a couple of the standard tourist-y trips—Westminster Abbey, Tower of London, Buckingham Palace.  We had the obligatory Indian food dinner (Punjab in Covent Gardens—delicious!).  We met up with my favorite South African, my host sister from an exchange I did in 2004.  The trip was just a wild success, in its entirety.  No real drama, just love and London.

Pure bliss.

Birthday Blues

Today is my birthday.

I have cried a lot today.  It’s normal for me to get weird around my birthday, to get the “birthday blues” as I guess they’re called.  Save for a couple surprises, I always end up feeling some sort of disappointment on my birthday.  Now, my wonderful boyfriend, Maio, would point out that if I lived life without expectations, I would have nothing to be disappointed with and, most likely, a lot to be happy about.  Unfortunately, any resemblance of this expectation-free life flies out the window around 12:00am on May 22^nd each year.  If I try to plan a big, real birthday party, something inevitably goes wrong or drama ensues.  If I try to lay low in order to avoid any of the aforementioned drama, I feel neglected (by myself, mostly) and sad.

This time, though, it all started with happy tears.  I had been somewhat nervous about this birthday, especially when I found out that I was to be alone on the estate, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but work to do.  When I woke up this morning, I thankfully forgot it was my birthday and jumped out of bed for the usual “late night/early morning” Skype time when I get to catch up on what happened during Maio’s day, and where my face is still doing that awful puffy thing it does when I’ve slept in a bed covered in my worst allergy—feathers.  Needless to say, Maio must be thrilled that this is the time when he gets to see my face.  It’s gotta be hot.

The reality of the day was brought back to reality when he wished me a happy birthday and immediately forbade me to look at my Dropbox until he said I could (the modern day “dont peek”?).   A half-hour or so later I had a bunch of “happy birthday” videos from my friends and family—Maio had reached out to everyone (at the last minute, of course, as the man quite literally works something like 20 ridiculous hours a day) and explained that he knew I was feeling lonely and could probably use a b-day pick me up.

Cue the tears.  This is probably the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me, and I was so surprised and appreciative and blubbery with happy tears.  Just when I thought I couldn’t love that man any more, he goes and does this.  And as for my friends and family who filmed some of the cutest/sweetest/most hilarious videos I’ve ever seen, there are no words for how grateful I am to have each and every one of you in my life.

Aw damn, I’m tearing up again.  I guess 26 is the year when your crazy woman “cry at everything” hormones kick in?  Who is this girl?!

I thought that I was going to make it out of this day alive, dedicating myself to nothing other than checking out my birthday wishes on Facebook, calling my family and friends to have long catch-up chats, and watching whatever the hell I wanted for as long as I wanted on Hulu.  (dream big, right?)

And then, around 2:30pm, it happened.  The internet died, and I lost it more violently than I think I ever have before.  I wouldn’t call what I was doing “sobbing”, necessarily, but rather “violent body shaking scream sobbing” for hours.  For so long, in fact, that I actually passed out cold, in my bed, clutching to what had to up upwards to 25 tissues.

This was clearly not about missing my Facebook birthday wishes in their immediacy.  It turns out that I’m just not cut out for this whole “find yourself within the middle of nowhere” self-help shit.  I’m just not built to Eat Pray Love my way through my life.  (Which, yes, I recognize that coming to this conclusion may actually be me ‘figuring myself out’ in the middle of nowhere, but having to stick around after you’ve figured it out is just plain mean.)

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not walking around this place in daily misery.  When we have guests or students, the days are generally quite pleasant—I’m busy, there are a ton of new people to talk to, I get to cook and eat great food, etc.  And the few people here at the estate are nothing if not perfectly nice and incredibly accommodating to me.  Never mind that Fabrizia has willingly and ever-so-graciously opened her home to me, someone who was practically a stranger.  But I miss my life, I miss my love, I miss my friends and family.  More than anything, I miss having an independent adult life and being in a place where I make all of my own daily decisions and can actually understand what’s going on around me enough to make said decisions.  I used to love being abroad, alone, finding myself in crazy situations and then figuring out a way to get back out.  But this time, I’m just plain homesick.  And I have to say I kinda like it– it makes me realize that maybe for once, I’m just damn happy with the life I have back home.

I will make it through the next five weeks just fine, and our month of June is so booked that I’ll be back before I know it.  Also, I just spent an amazing 4 days in London with Maio to “celebrate” my birthday (without celebrating it outright, which is exactly how I like it), so I know I shouldn’t complain.  (Look for a blog post on that trip pronto.)  But hey, it’s my birthday, and I’m allowed  a little birthday blues, ain’t I?

Especially until this damn internet turns back on, if it ever does.

Buona Pasqua!

When I realized that I would be here in Sicily for Easter, I was thrilled—to me, one of the best ways to try and get to know a culture and its food traditions is by observing/experiencing a feast holiday.  Seeing as Sicily is as Catholic as it is, Easter’s a biggie here.  It’s a time for family to come together, usually on Easter Sunday, with a lamb roast, followed by an outdoor meal (call it a barbeque, call it a picnic, call it whatever you’d like) on the Monday, a national holiday here.

I spent Easter with Fabrizia and her father, a small “feast” of just the three of us.  Our preparations for all things Easter dinner started a week earlier, when Fabrizia and I made the hour and a half drive down to the town of Favara.  Fabrizia’s family, namely her aunt, have been getting their agnellini pasquali, or Easter lamb pastries, from a specific pastry shop in Favara for years.  Instead of sending the driver that usually makes the trek to pick up what seemed like an impossible amount of cakes, we decided to go ourselves, so I could see the production in action.

Once we found the tiny shop on an unassuming side street, we walked into a single room whose stainless steel shelving was covered top to bottom with lambs.  Lambs of all sizes, some “sitting up”, some simply laying down (an easier form of pastry to produce), some with flowers, some with ribbons, all decorated beautifully.  It was an explosion of colors, mixed with the pure white icing of the lambs themselves.  The shop was packed with locals picking up their families’ agnellini, with the team of a mother and her two sons simultaneously helping numerous groups.

This specific pastry shop opens only two times a year—at Easter and at Christmas.  They produce only one item, a pasta reale stuffed with pistachio paste and coated in icing.  At Easter, it’s the lambs, and at Christmas, it’s more like a buche de noël shape.  While I was making one of the trips to the car with some of the cakes for Fabrizia’s family, she managed to talk to owners into letting us behind the curtain, into the production space.  Ten or so women, mostly all members of the operating family, were cooking pasta reale (very similar to marzipan, though it’s cooked to make a slightly different texture), forming shapes, manipulating an impossible stiff yet shiny icing into proper coverings, grinding pistachios into paste.  The kitchen space was anything but abundant, but the women worked silently and with great efficiency.  I felt like I was trespassing into some secret lair, where traditions and recipes were guarded with great care.

Once in Palermo for Easter dinner, we set out a beautiful yet modest spread.  A lamb leg (of a freshly butchered lamb here on the estate) roasted with a special herb blend made by Fabrizia, lemons and onions; potatoes that are stewed and then pan fried with aromatic oregano until crispy, cardoons somewhat gratiné-ed with béchamel and mozzarella, a salad.  And, of course, the almond and pistachio lamb for dessert.  Beautiful, simple, and perfect—buonissimo! 

Lately

I feel like a lot, and nothing, has happened in rapid succession since I arrived on April 1^st.  April is a “busy” month here, meaning that we have students/guests for at least half, if not more, of the days.  The beauty of work like this is that you’re constantly meeting a new cast of characters—though you soon realize that stories told and recipes made will inevitably, and necessarily, be on a bit of a loop.  Kind of good for me, though, as I will definitely be comfortable with many of the dishes we make here upon my departure.  Get ready to eat a LOT of Sicilian food, ladies and gents.

We’ve had a mixture of Australian and American students so far, all very different in so many ways.  I definitely appreciate the company of each and every one of them, however.  It’s amazing how the simple act of being abroad can bring very different types of people, people who in their home country would probably never associate with one another, together, trying to find the right common ground on which to bond.

There have been a couple fun projects with these guests, too—we fired up one of the wood ovens on the property with vines and olive branches and had an evening of pizza making.  Using a sourdough starter that Fabrizia brought back from the US and has been nurturing like a newborn, we made individual pizza dough and went to town with local sheep’s milk ricotta, Case Vecchie’s tomato sauce, olives, anchovies, etc.  It was a fun, interactive dinner—eating while standing around the oven, as each hot pizza was sprung from the oven, sipping wine and taking turns making the next pie.

Sardine day was also quite a treat.  We had our guests clean a big bag of the freshest sardines I have ever encountered, and prepared them two very different ways.  One was more of a “pickling” style—a dish Fabrizia referred to as sardine sushi in English, but is known as Sarde Allinguate here.  Bathed in vinegar and salt for 30 minutes or so, the sardines are slapped on the top of crostini and are incredible little bites of salty-sour goodness.  The remaining little fish were battered and lightly fried—the Sicilians really have the corner marketed when it comes to an incredible frying ability, let me tell you—for a salty, crunchy bite.  Che buoni!

Rehab

I came to Sicily for a number of reasons.  The most obvious is to be in the homeland of my research topic while writing my thesis.  Then, of course, there’s the chance to live in beautiful rural Sicily for three months, working with an incredibly knowledgeable member of the food community and learning endless Sicilian cooking techniques and tricks.  And then there’s the rehab.

Not the Betty Ford Clinic type of rehab, so don’t worry, Mom.  (Actually, this would probably be the worst place for any kind of addict—I’m pretty sure “indulgence” is Sicily’s middle name.  If it had a last name, that is.)  More the re-aligning type of rehab—before coming here, I was on what seemed like an endless path of working, stressing, and worrying more than is healthy for any normal human being.  Exhausted, both mentally and physically, I was able to open my eyes a bit to all of this.  This new bit of introspection is due greatly to meeting a wonderful man whose unwavering patience and unbelievable care has allowed me to take the time and try to get to know myself on a healthier level.  That, and I’m pretty sure my friends and family were going to collectively throw me out of a moving train if I had one more unnecessary panic attack in their presence.  (Thanks for not actually doing that, everyone!)

So, here I am.  Middle of nowhere, surrounded by few, left to fend for myself for all entertainment/recreation/happiness.  I try to take one walk a day for at least 30 minutes, taking these times to really take in my surroundings and not think about a thing.  Not a damn thing.  It’s pretty wonderful—I find myself now loving downtime, not feeling guilty to just read for pleasure or simply stare at the gorgeous garden for long stretches of time.

I work here, don’t get me wrong.  I work a lot—but the beauty of living at one’s work is that you can still get a lot done while taking some alone time.  Between the translating, recipe creating/writing/testing, hospitality towards any guests, and helping Fabrizia with her million projects (somehow, though, she manages to do all of this without stressing out—I am learning from the master), I make it a priority to take some time for myself.  And it’s fan-freaking-tastic.

But those walks—as you can see, it’s hard to be stressed or panicked while walking through scenes like this.  In fact, I highly recommend Sicilian rehab for everyone—come join me? -LB

And now, a moment for food porn

Ok, ok.  I know.  A week has passed with nothing more than a few pictures posted on Flickr.  Turns out I’m quite busier here than I expected– at least for the month of April.  Also, my jet lag is only just now going away.  And editing photos takes too long.  And my dog ate my homework.

Excuses aside, I will just say that more posts are definitely in the works.  But for now, a little Palermitan food porn for you:

Meet the love that I had to come all the back to Sicily to see again:  Gelato in Brioche (or Gelato Brioche).  It’s beautiful, creamy, close-your-eyes-while-you-eat-it Sicilian gelato.  It’s buttery, dense, melt-in-your-mouth brioche.

It’s the two together.  And it’s unbelievable delicious.

For me, it’s almost always pistachio gelato here in Sicily, as the pistachios have more flavor than I ever knew possible from eating them in the States.  And I have to say, I appreciate having something like bread to save any drops that may try to escape.  Plus, put pretty much anything into bread and it’s instantly better– at least in my opinion.

Ah, yes.  Now I remember why I came back…

3am

Oh, the joys of jet lag.  I am officially here in Sicily, though at the family home in Palermo until we head to Regaleali tomorrow afternoon.  The trip was unlike any I had before– last time I came to the island, my friends had decided that I was inflicted with ‘plane narcolepsy’.  It is literally impossible for me to stay awake while on any moving plane.

Until this time, that is.  Houston-London, London-Milan (at which I literally ran faster than I knew possible to make my connection– “Would Lufthansa passenger Bennett please report to gate A36 as boarding is now closing…”– are there any words more terrifying?), Milan-Palermo.  Nearly 20 hours with layovers, and not a wink.  Forced myself to stay awake until 9pm, hoping to sleep through the night and nip this jet lag in the bud.

Did I mention that it’s now 3:30am and I just finished a candy bar?  So, yeah, no such luck…

I did, however, bust out the DSLR camera that my mother loaned me for my trip.  Normally I’m pretty helpless when it comes to taking pictures/operating anything more complicated than a point-and-shoot, but I’m going to give it a go for all of your sake (yes, you, my two readers).  Here’s a quick snapshot review of my first half-day on the island (individual shots will be on Flickr):

Upon arrival to this beautiful home, the housekeeper offered me coffee that I would be a fool to refuse.  Silver tray, incredibly strong coffee, and these gorgeous little biscuits.  I spent some time orientating myself with the camera, the lenses, and the settings of this new beast (hence the unnecessary self-portrait), then headed outside to the garden where I read a bit of The Leopard and tried to make sense of the Italian that was spoken to me.

Dinner was simple, delicious, and greatly appreciated.  I forgot just how much I adore the food here–a simple pasta with some tomato and local ricotta is unparalleled to pasta dishes in the US.  Fabrizia’s father, a truly enjoyable dinner companion, described that he sometimes considers Sicilian (and Italian) cuisine to be “cheating” cuisine as pasta is so easy to make.  I informed him that where I come from, it’s just as easy to make poorly…he had no argument there.

Now it’s time to forgo the inevitable post-Cadbury Twirl sugar high and try to fall back asleep.  A long walk down the beaches of Mondello is on tap before we leave for the country in the afternoon.  Ciao tutti- LB

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Well, better late than never, right?

After almost a year, I’m back in the blogosphere with some exciting new changes to talk about.  First, Trial By Fire will be getting a bit of a facelift thanks to the ever-talented (and lovely) Julie Lungaro (also make sure check out her beautiful design-digging blog!).  You may also notice that all of last year’s blog posts are missing– I have moved my chronicles of culinary school to it’s own page, there for anyone contemplating BU’s culinary course.

My life is going through some changes of its own, as well.  This Thursday, March 31st, I will be boarding a plane (or rather a series of planes) set to land in Palermo, Sicily.  Shortly after my culinary course was over, I was fortunate enough to take BU’s “Culture and Cuisine of Sicily” class that included a seven-day trip around the Western part of the island itself.  Needless to say, I fell deeply in love with the Sicilian way of life– beautiful countryside, incredible meals, endless wine and interesting people.

Luckily, I hadn’t yet picked a thesis topic.  Turns out, if you play your cards right, you can pick a topic for which you just must travel to a beautiful island and spend an extended amount of time.  Life’s tough, right?

So here I am, nearly a year later, setting out for Case Vecchie, where Fabrizia Lanza’s cooking school is located.  Sra. Lanza has ever-so-graciously accepted me to come stay at CV for three months as an assistant while I do my research on convent pastry production.  I can’t say that I’m completely prepared, but here I go.  (Maybe I should’ve learned Italian or something?)

Stay tuned.