Old School French Dining: Astier

Every once in a while I do venture beyond the confines of Italian dining, although in a country so obsessed with its own cuisine that often means crossing the border. I went to Paris last weekend for the Independent Winery Fair , an expo center packed with some 1000 wineries from all over France, each with a table, ready to talk to you about their wine and serve you a sample. Small wineries meant smaller price tags too. I took home nine of my favorite bottles.

Amid fois gras sandwiches and and dark chocolate tastings we were warned to save room for dinner, as we would be having a traditional French prix fix menu at L'Astier, a time tested neighborhood bistro in the 11th.

L'Astier
44 rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud.
Tel 0143571635

This meant a salad starter, which in France is never a simple Romain heart with a squirt of lemon juice. I had the endive salad with came with ham, melted Gorgonzola, and toasted pine nuts in a pine nut vinaigrette. I had to forgo half of that due to a nut allergy, but the servers brought me a small bowl of rich, toasty olive oil.

Next came a block of fish, similar in consistency to sea bass, but with a slightly milder flavor. It was delicately crispy on the outside and flaky and moist inside, and came served on a bed of mixed mushrooms, also delicate and balanced.

Then came the plateau des fromages, the communal cheese plate that makes the rounds of the restaurant before dessert. It was pretty varied, with a lot of Chevre, basic tomes, and some Saint- Marcellin that made the cherries pop right out of our bold bottle of Grenache.

Dessert came next, and I risked the flour-less chocolate cake. I has happy to find that there were no traces of nuts in sight, and it was moist and just sweet enough.

The service was sweet and attentive, though they'd mistakenly taken our reservation for an hour earlier. They scrambled to put together a table for our party of five, which was a little cramped. But they were clearly very sorry for the mix-up and managed to make the miracle happen at 9:30pm on a Saturday night none the less.

Polenta Crostini

Polenta Crostini with Asparagus

Imagine the crispy, butteryness of old fashioned kettle popcorn. The polenta crostino, which was basically invented as a way to use gelatinized, day-old polenta, is one of my favorite Italian foods. Maybe I have a thing with leftovers. Day-old pasta, baked to a crunchy delicious or fried into a frittata... Instead of basic bread bruschetta, pan-fried or baked squares of polenta are a sinful cushion for toppings including everything from lardo di colonata to grilled asparagus.

I first tried them at a truck stop sort of restaurant just outside of Florence, Osteria dei Giusti. We happened upon the place starving on our way back to Rome after a long Chianti-soaked weekend. The hangover was starting to break, leaving a searing hunger in its wake. While we waited for bowls of steaming ribollita and homemade fettucine with cinghiale (wild boar) ragu’, we sampled a plate of house crostini, which consisted mostly of basic bruschetta with tomato and basil or mixed mushrooms. There were only three polenta crostini and I pretended not to notice the difference and ate two of them. Then I asked for more.

Last night it was cold and rainy. I had a bottle of Barbera d’Alba, 2006 and still a little punchy. It called for something rich to balance the acidity, and plain old mushy polenta wasn’t going to cut it. I prepared it as usual, with some fresh sage leaves and butter, and spread the whole thing in a baking pan in the freezer for about 25 minutes.
Most recipes call for day-old polenta, or at least two hours of chilling, this seemed to work just fine. It was about a centimeter thick all the way across.

Recipe:
Makes about 25 crostini

Ingredients

Polenta:
8 heaping tablespoons of polenta
½ liter of water
a pinch of salt
4 fresh sage leaves chopped
A tablespoon of butter
olive oil

Topping:
10 asparagus spears
salt
fresh ground pepper
olive oil


Procedure:
Bring water to boil and sprinkle in polenta and salt. Add sage and stir over a low flame until it bubbles and thickens—about five minutes. Stir in the butter. Remove from heat and spread into a non-stick baking pan, about 9 x 9. Be sure to spread the polenta uniformly. Place in the freezer for 20-30 minutes or until cool and hardened. It should be just hard enough to slice into squares. Generously oil a non-stick baking pan and lay the crostini with enough space between them to turn easily. Bake at 300 degrees F (180 C) until lightly browned on one side. Turn and brown the other side. Cool on a paper towel to absorb any access grease and top with just about anything. I used pan-seared asparagus last night, and tonight an aged pecorino cheese infused with black truffle.

Enjoy!

Vineyard Visit: Casale Cento Corvi

On a recent assignment to create an itinerary for the Etruscan territory north of Rome, I thought I’d put my fresh sommelier expertise to the test and add a winery to my tour.

I chose Casale Cento Corvi, as they’d just deposited few trial bottles at the wine shop downstairs and had made a very friendly impression. The wine was pretty tasty too—I’m not gonna lie.

Costantino, the son of the winery owner picked me up at the train station and took me on an hour-long drive through the vineyards before heading back to the showroom for a full-on tasting.

Now these guys have been in the business for years, over a hundred of them to be precise. They, like many families in this part of Italy, have been making their own wine for generations. It's good too, with a distinct mineral quality and sprightly acidity. The vineyard lies just inland of the Tyrrhenian sea with a chain of hills to the east, which makes for a very specific microclimate. They’ve got a geological history packed rife with volcanic eruptions and receding sea levels that has been packing the mineral punch into native grape species since Etruscan times.

The Collacciani family is proud of this to the core, but in 2000 they decided to add state-of-the-art technology to tradition and put their town (Cerveteri) on the wine map.

If you saw him, you’d peg him as the next Latin lover. He’s got a crinkly-eyed smile and seems to know every woman in town. He walks with a comfortable swagger and dresses like a collage kid in loose low-rise jeans and a tee shirt that shows off a toned torso. But when he gets to talking about running around the vineyard as a boy, and tasting the results of his hard work, and the legacy of winemaking in his family and in his history, he glimmers from the inside.

He’s most proud of Giacché, a grape that Etruscans were cultivating on the same land 3000 years earlier, and was given up for extinct before the Collaccianis got their hands on it..

The grapes resemble fat, ripe blueberries and grow in sparse bunches. They yield a distinctive and nearly opaque dark juice that stains everything in its path, smells and tastes of wild berries and stings with savage tannins. The Collaccianis have “tamed the beast” if you will, and have produced both a dry and dessert version (which pairs divinely with ricotta and cherry cake).

This is their crowning glory, but the whole line of wines, all blends, represent the distinctive flavor of the area, and have a lingering salty finish that is just evident enough to be interesting and remind one that the sea is splashing nearby.


See the movie!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWMcBU5G3rM

Pasta with Canned Tuna: The Great Debate.

I’ve never had anything against canned tuna. I love a good tuna melt on a pumpernickel bagel, or a quick version of spicy haraimi, but the day my friend proposed a nice plate of pasta col tonno and pulled out one of those little cans, I kind of recoiled in culinary horror.

As far as I was concerned, if it was once alive and breathing, Italian cooking would never stoop so low as to use a canned version. Was I ever wrong! Fifteen minutes later he put down a steaming plate of spaghetti in front of me and I devoured it incredulously. The sauce was tomato-based and savory and adhered to the al dente pasta in that perfect, only-in-Italy way. I could hardly taste the tuna, but something gave it that extra kick.

The other night, following a long and alcoholically indulgent weekend, a friend of mine suggested pasta col tonno for dinner. We were too lazy to hit the grocery store, and this being Rome it would have been closed anyway. He fished through my pantry and unearthed a dusty can of tuna and another of diced tomatoes.

I procured the olive oil, salt, peperoncino and a garlic clove.

“Oh no no! There’s no garlic or peperoncino in this recipe. It’s simple!” He was convinced. And Italian. Now I can hold my culinary own, but I’ve learned not to argue with a native—especially a Roman—in the kitchen. It has taken years to convince them that I won’t overcook the pasta or under-salt the water. My first tiramisu was met with shock and awe. They all asked for seconds though.

I let him make his tuna sauce, tasted it, and refused to bend. It was bland and I told him so. I ignored the old, “You’re American” comment and Googled it. I also called in for reinforcements.

I’m happy to report that I was right, and I will be proving it to him next time we’re too lazy and hung-over to cook anything else.

My Favorite Recipe:

Spaghetti col Tonno in Scatola (spghetti with canned tuna)
Serves four:

1/2-pound spaghetti
1 plump garlic clove (slightly smashed)
red pepper flakes to taste (a few shakes of the jar at least)
1 large can of tuna (drained)
1 can of diced tomato (preferably an Italian brand like Graziella)
1/2 cup of dry white wine
2-3 tablespoons olive oil

In a large saucepan, sauté the garlic clove and pepper flakes over a low heat. When the garlic is browned but not burned, remove from heat and add the tuna. Stir over low heat until tuna has a uniform texture. Add the wine, increasing the heat to cook it off (sfumata). Add the tomatoes, and fill the can 3/4 of the way with water and add it to the pan. Simmer until the sauce reduces and thickens. About 10-15 minutes.

Bring pasta water to a boil. Salt the water until it is savory when sipped from a spoon.
Cook al dente. Drain, leaving some pasta water aside. Combine the pasta and the sauce. Stir over medium heat adding pasta water to amalgamate.


Check back soon for more canned tuna recipes. I’m about to do a “quick fixes with flair” piece to kick off November….

Ciao baby!

Not Just Another Local Restaurant: Mamma Angelina

Mamma Angelina
Viale Boito Arrigo, 65
Tel 06 97615687

I’ve got to take you to Mamma Angelina.
He just kept saying it.

Whenever we were in the vicinity: Hey, Mamma Angelina’s just over on that street, I’ve got to take you there!

Whenever we split the bill at another neighborhood place: Mamma Angelina costs about the same, but the quality…. I’ve got to take you there!

Or when the wine list was too short, too expensive, or nonexistent: The wine list at Mamma Angelina is longer than the menu and it’s only a neighborhood place! I’ve got to take you!

And so he finally did. My friend Sacha, who despite his Russian name (Communist sympathies in the family? His mom is Natasha), is Roman by over nine generations and knows everyone on every block of the neighborhood. Most restaurant owners of the old establishments have watched him grow up seated at their tables and scrambling around their kitchens, so it’s safe to say that the guy knows his local eateries.

We booked a table for 8:30 on a Wednesday night. By 9pm the place was packed and the wait was, well, you wouldn’t wait. This is a place where diners linger. The décor doesn’t scream anything beyond generic Roman restaurant: wood paneled walls, ‘60s tile floors, characterless furniture, and paintings by somebody’s aunt.

The wine list was indeed longer than the menu, about an inch thick including the binding.
It started out with bubbly: Italian Spumanti and Prosecco, and included Champagne as well, an bold move for local restaurant on the outskirts of the city center. The rest of the list was divided by region and by color, and offered a great price range and excellent quality and price ratio. We ordered a Quarz Sauvignon Blanc from Alto Adige, a rare and delicious bottle I’d actually been looking for (lucklessly)! It’s smooth and citrus-y, crisp without that edge, and balanced in a way that few young Sauvignons are.

He ordered risotto alla crema di scampi, which comes in creamy tomato and brandy-infused sauce with the scampi themselves atop the rice. I had cappelletti pasta with baby calamari with black truffle. Cappelletti are like little inverted caps that cradle the sauce and make every bite succulent and delightful. Neither dish paired fantastically with the wine, but I was so excited to have found it that I refused to order anything else. It did accompany the delicately fried shrimp and calamari that followed, refreshing and cleansing on the palate as it was.

Mamma Angelina is more than a seafood place however. The moderately priced menu offers Roman comfort foods and all of the classics (matriciana, carbonara, etc), inventive pastas of the day, and enticing homemade desserts. I’ll definitely be going back, as it’s dangerously located just around the corner.

Juicy Jumbo Cocktails at I Más!

I Más!
Ripa di Porta Ticinese, 11. Milan Tel 0258100992.

In Milan this past Saturday I had the first cocktail I’ve had in years. Nothing against the colorful concoctions, I simply prefer to get my buzz on slowly, and minus the sticky sweet aftertaste of pineapple and grenadine. I suppose Mojitos technically count as cocktails, and I’m picky about them too. More mint and lime, less sugar!

However, the special house cocktails at the Spanish restaurant and tapas bar, I Más!, looked so big and beautiful that I had to try one, just to see if I could finish it!

We’d had an aperitivo at a bar nearby, which consisted of a few glasses of wine and very few snacks, so we decided on I Más! mainly because they were still serving Tapas…. And we would need to them.

One foot in the door, and there they were, three goblets, each roughly the circumference of a cantaloupe, filled to the brim with at least 20 cubes of ice (a real rarity in Italy), naturally-colored liquid, and chunks of fresh fruit, mint, and plump maraschino cherries.

I don’t know how the server managed to lift the tray, but she was doing a lot of it. Every table was enjoying one of these gargantuan cocktails and so did we.

To soften the blow, we ordered some tapas, none of which cost more than €3: Pan-seared Chorizo in a spicy, oily sauce with a touch of apple vinegar (we sopped it up with the bread and would have used our fingertips), crostini with queso de cabra, chicken-stuffed pimientos in a warm tomato sauce, and marinated anchovies. Everything was fresh and savory, with just enough oil to give it a sinful touch, without leaving oil slicks on our lips or a regretful conscience.

And then the cocktails:
We sampled a Dolce Vita, which came in a 12-inch, v-shaped glass with a thick stem. It was something of a Campari-fied Cosmo, with Vodka, Cointreau, cranberry, lime, Campari and club soda.

The Marcella was our hands down favorite, with a rum and ruby red grapefruit base.

The drink called ‘Cherries’ was none other than fishbowl with a stem, and combined grapes, cherries, campari, gin, and a lot of citrus.

Each one had a unique fresh flavor that never tired. They were refreshing and went down without any initial jolt, only to follow up with a pleasant warm rush that only made you want to drink more. Truly thirst-quenching.

There were four of us and we ordered at least six of these monsters. While I don’t remember the last few hours of the night, the fresh fruit must have packed a vitamin punch, as I awoke the next day at noon, fresh and headache free!

Wine Spectator Wine Video Contest

This summer I made a movie and I am in love with it!

This past May I opened up Wine Spectator Magazine and saw the ad for this year’s video contest: “Love wine? Love making Videos?”

Yes. And yes.

This was a contest for me. The grand prize would propel me to the California Wine event in New York, and straight into the heart of the food and wine (and food and wine media) industry, which is exactly what I’m working toward. Then would come fame—the paparazzi, the fans, the eating disorder, an addiction, marriage, divorce and copious international adoption proceedings, a reality show, a biography…Yes yes yes!

Ideas flooded my brain for about a month, sending little anxious jolts through my stomach every time I pictured the final product, a hypothetical masterpiece. When I finally got my creative footing the script came together with great ease.

It wasn’t my first video and certainly won’t be my last, but this baby was a real enterprise. I put my heart and my head into it (something I rarely do with boyfriends), and actually used an editing program (and a friend in the profession). No homemade Casio keyboard sound effects this time around baby!

Here's the premise: (spoiler alert!)

1)An aspiring sommelier (me) studies for hardest exam of her life.

2)She’s trying to understand the concept of ‘terroir’ and realizes that the answer isn’t in any of her books.

3) She decides to travel to Cerveteri, a town of Etruscan origins with a long history of wine-making. It would be the epitome of terroir

4) She speaks with a geologist to understand the soil, and an archaeologist to learn about wine history of the region.

5) She visits a modern winery and learns about their connection to the land.

6) She tastes the wine.

7) She gets it.

8) She passes her exam. Of course.

I filmed on location in two countries, and in two languages. I worked with little to no budget. I am forever grateful to all of those who gave me hand, offered interviews, and filmed me when there wasn’t a ledge or table near enough for me to film myself.

I had an incredible time making the film, and I believed in it until the end. It has fueled my ambition, and while I am still in shock that I am not a contest finalist, I have the contest to thank for awakening a talent and drive I hadn’t realized were there.

Go and vote for the video finalists. They deserve the glory for their hard work and enthusiasm.
Congratulations guys!

A Cake of One's Own - La Torta Resegone

It’s not easy to get flashbulbs popping when George Clooney lives on the other side of the lake. Charming little Lecco, on the coast of lake Como, hadn’t been much in the spotlight these days, until they made news in Italy’s most newsworthy fashion…food.

Three pastry chefs recently teamed up to create an official town dessert, la Torta Resegone. They closed their eyes and tried to taste childhood. They channeled their grandmothers, great grandmothers even, and harked back to the days before butter and carbs were criminal. The result was a semola and buvkwheat flour base with a cookie crust consistency, a layer of wild blueberry glaze, and a cakey, blueberry-muffin-esque top layer with a dark, rustic quality that is decidedly fresh, yet somehow not of this century.

The finishing touch was a dusting of powdered sugar in the shape the looming Mount Resegone, the city’s signature backdrop.

The city council gave them a certificate, and they made the local papers region-wide!
This may not seem like much, but in a country where two-house towns seem to boast a local specialty, the Lecco cake was a long overdue accomplishment.

Stop in and try one next time you’re in the area. Trains leave from Milan every hour, and the ride is gorgeous. The shop is only five minutes from the station, which leaves plenty of time for Clooney-sighting later on in the day.

Paolo il Pasticcere – Via Bovara, 26. Lecco

Edgy Vegetarian and Just the Right Bottle

Arancia Blu

Via Prenestina, 396. Tel 064454105.

I might never have set foot in here if my friend and co-writer weren't a vegetarian. We were covering San Lorenzo, the city’s latest Boho-to-Soho neighborhood revitalization miracle, for Where Rome magazine. The area, supposed home of Saint Lawrence (barbecued to a crispy martyrdom for refusing to pay church taxes to the Romans and proclaiming the people to be the empire’s greatest treasure) has a history of outspoken populist ideals. The Communist epicenter of the city, and home to a number of squatters-turned-real=life artists, San Lorenzo was bound to have a vegetarian restaurant.

Indeed it did, and not only. Fabio Basson, owner and head chef not only scours the country for seasonal organic produce, but keeps the wine cellar stocked with high profile and intriguing Italian and international labels, with a stern sommelier at the helm. He didn’t stop there. Chocolate and coffee tastings up the connoisseur ante, and local art works adorn the walls with tasteful if, at times, desperately modern art.

The menu changes seasonally of course, and is peppered with enough creativity to distinguish the place as an arty alternative—take artichoke flan served in a Parmesan shell or fresh ravioli stuffed with whole porcini mushroom slices and sweet purple onions—whereas slightly retouched classics like eggplant Parmesan and perfect portion sizes keep the restaurant in the good graces of hungrier otherwise omnivores.

Fabio’s goal was to prove wrong anyone who believes the vegetarian lifestyle to be bland or boring. He’s succeeded beyond his expectations, setting the standard for new Roman restaurant culture along the way.

The restaurant has since moved to a new location in the even edgier neighborhood of Pigneto-Prenestina and now offers gorgeous outdoor patio dining,

If you appreciate a good bottle of wine, it’s easy to spend €45 a person, and incredibly worth every cent.

Chewy, cheesy, and Feather-light Pizza. Say What?

Sforno

Via Statilio Ottato, 110/116. Tel 0671546118

It’s rarely worth ripping yourself from the ivy-swathed and cobble-stoned charm of Rome’s historical center, and ambiance is sorely lacking in the shabbier periphery of town, where food is often tastier and cheaper, if served with far less flair or care. Sforno, a clean, well-lighted pizzeria in the southeast Tuscolano area offers little in the way of rustic Italian style. What is does offer however, is the city’s oldest starter dough, or lievito madre. Those in the bread-baking know will appreciate the fact that these guys have been breaking off a chunk of old pizza dough to kick off the rising process in the new dough for about 150 years! The natural leavening means that huge Neopolitan-size pizzas, complete with creative toppings (the Greenwich pairs Stilton cheese with a Port reduction sauce) go down so easy you’d be tempted and able to order a second one. This leaves room for original appetizers like pumpkin and Parmesan suppli’ (those stuffed and fried rice balls everyone comes back from Rome raving about) and an ample list of ice cold artisanal beers.

Da Tonino: My First and Favorite Restaurant

Da Tonino - Via del Governo Vecchio 18. No phone.

Before it was “discovered” by the guide writers (I hold myself equally accountable), this tiny trattoria had no sign outside and no menu inside. I happened on it nearly seven years ago while on a studying Italian at nearby Piazza dell’Orologio. We’d exit class at 4pm, and en route to the pub we’d pass this place packed wall-to-wall with people still lingering over lunch. There wasn’t a discernable word of English coming from the place, the décor was a shabby sparse bordering on grimy, but it smelled so good that we chanced our elementary Italian skills and reserved a table. For Halloween night.
When a cowgirl, a call girl, and an ice dancing couple wandered in, no one seemed phased. We got straight to the goods: two carafes of spicy Montepulciano d’Abruzzo house wine. They explained the specials and we understood choice words like rigatoni spaghetti, and coniglio (Rabbit—for some reason, everyone knew that one), and we ate one of the best meals of our collective lives.

That night I added straccetti (literally, ‘little rags’ of beef, slowly sautéed with garlic and rosemary into a brisket-esque meltiness and topped with what looked like a shrub of fresh arugula) to my culinary lexicon, along with puntarelle, the curled up stalks of the chicory plant, and something of a perfect union between celery and romaine hearts all crunchy and doused in a garlic and anchovy dressing.

The rigatoni alla carbonara is still my favorite in the city. The eggs are bright yellow and fluffy, and the pancetta is crispy and truly reminiscent of fresh bacon. Al dente pasta closes the deal in what can only be described as the all-American breakfast, minus the pancakes, plus the parmesan and peccorino, and an absolute must-have. My uncle liked it so much on his last visit that he ordered a second plate.

The rigatoni alle melanzane comes in a thick, eggplant and tomato sauce that has a roasted quality to it and the skin pulls effortlessly away and clumps up with fresh Parmesan and spicy pepper, all stuffed inside the rigatoni tubes for one perfect bite after another.

When they’ve got it (some desserts are baked off-site), the tiramisu is one of the only ones I’ve found in Rome in the layer-cake style. The espresso-soaked shortcake and mascarpone keep each other’s moisture in check, and the whole thing is dusted in dark chocolate cocoa powder. Order your own piece and guard it well, as this tiramisu is way too easy to steal slices from.

Oh yeah. And I’ve never spent over 17 euros.

It’s No Dolce Vita with a Nut Allergy in Italy

I had it easy in the States. I could eat peanuts, which are—for those incredulous and lucky non-allergic types—actually legumes. This meant handfuls of honey-roasted peanuts, peanut butter and chocolate ice cream, all varieties of Reese’s candy, and the occasional Cracker Jack box. So stale, yet so tasty. All of the allergy labels warned about peanut traces, and I was in the clear… and also very chubby. Just ask anyone who know me during the Clinton years.

Italy on the other hand, is a total hotbed for nut allergy attacks. It’s a war zone over here and there’s no playing the victim. I wouldn’t call Italians insensitive to the issue of food allergies, it’s more like genuine, well-intentioned ignorance. I used to ask the lady at the coffee bar if the cornetto al ciocolato (chocolate-filled croissant) was Nutella (the omnipresent spread, akin to American peanut butter, worshipped with a zeal that the Vatican would kill for).

“Oh no! It’s just chocolate,” She would say, which undoubtedly meant some other brand of hazelnut and chocolate spread, the Dominic’s brand as opposed to Skippy.
I used to fall for it too. The wishful glutton inside me believed her on a number of occasions, and another day was ruined for one wrong bite.

In fact, chocolate was one of the first things I had to scratch off my list. No matter how dark (fondente) the bar claims to be, it will nearly always be laced with hazelnuts. Just face it. This mean that desserts made with melted chocolate, chocolate chips, or chocolate shavings will start your tongue tingling, throat itching, or worse.

Another one to watch out for is gelato. Too many times have I carefully selected my flavors only to feel that telltale tingle after the first bite of seemingly safe coffee or crème caramel. Nocciola, or hazelnut, and the nation’s beloved favorite flavor, is the same color. Pistachio is fairly obvious for its green color, whereas almond (mandorla) and walnut (noci) show up in creamy flavors where not always specified.

Add the dripping and dipping that goes on at busy ice cream stands, and just about everything is off limits. So you thought the fruity flavors were safe…well, not if the person before you asked for hazelnut, rum almond and strawberry, and they used the same scoop.

Through a careful and painful process of elimination I have managed to come up with a few gelaterias that to this day are still allergy proof.

Gelateria San Crispino
Via Acaia, 56
Via della Panetteria, 42
Fiumicino Airport Terminal A

The guidebooks love to love this place for the stoic and white-gloved servers and sterile environment. The pale green and white color palette and covered silver canisters for each flavor (no dripping!) does scream clean, and that’s why I love it! There’s none of that awkward asking to scoop your spoonful from the untouched end of the vanilla to avoid traces of neon green pistachio. They never scoop more than two inches away from the dreaded drippings. Another point in San Crispino’s favor is that most of the liqueur creams are nut free.

Gelateria Fata Morgana

Via Lago di Lesina, 9.
Via Ostiense, 36.

When Maria Agnese Spagnolo discovered an allergy of her own, gluten, she founded a gelateria to soothe her cravings for all of the desserts she would otherwise have to live without. What began with chocolate, cheesecake, tiramisu, and of course the nut-filled flavors, gave way to out-of-this-world combos like Kentucky Chocolate (tobacco-scented intense dark chocolate), Pereg (poppy seeds and cream), Venere (rose petal–infused vanilla cream and wild black rice), or Afrodite (celery and lime).
The gluten-free preparation forbids any artificial flavors or colors, which means that everything tastes exactly like it does in nature, a rarity that doesn’t appeal to everyone, but definitely appeals to me.
Every scoop gets a fresh spoon, and while Maria never considered nut allergies, she did consider lactose intolerance and diabetes with diary and sugar free flavors, that she is careful not to mix.

A few more desserts to steer clear of:

1. Torta della Nonna looks like a simple ricotta tart, but it’s packed with pine nuts.

2. Caprese cake is made with almond flour.

3. The little ring-shaped cookies they bring with dessert wine have chopped nuts inside most of the time.

4. Anything that looks like creamy chocolate icing is almost always Nutella.

5. Anything colorful and Sicilian has almonds somewhere.

On the other hand, Pastiera Napolitana, which looks jammed with walnuts is actually made with grain—a delightfully crunchy nut-like experience (or so I imagine it to be).

Check back with me later for more on savory nut-free tips. Just for the record, pesto is not always made with nuts. Surprise! Sometimes it's just finely chopped arugula.

Drinking and Driving: I'm a Sommelier!

Je Suis Sommelier!

On February 20th, 2008 I became a sommelier—an Italian sommelier to be precise. After a rigorous written exam and an oral “interrogation”, I received a long-stemmed rose and a signed letter from the Italian Sommelier Association (AIS). One week later I would receive a big certificate and an old-school tastevin.

I crammed like crazy for those exams—harder than I ever studied in real school. I made flashcards and carried them around, took practice tests. I insisted on opening wine bottles wherever I was, just to practice my professional technique. I taped notes all over the house, and subjected everyone I ate with to a lesson in proper pairing.

But once it was all over, was I really any wine wiser than before? I remember when I got my driver’s license back in 1995. I passed that test by one point, and from day to the next, America recognized me as a “driver.” I was terrified. It would take months for me to merge onto the highway and stay there, in the right lane, without major case of nervous cramps in my butt.

It was only after I’d driven for quite sometime, legally, that I finally felt comfortable at the wheel, and started passing cars on the I-70 without holding my breath. After about a year I was driving with one hand, and smoking and changing cassettes with the other.

The sommelier course taught me to see and smell, taste, and feel what was in my glass. I picked up hundreds of new words, none of which felt like mine until I used them hundreds of times. I learned how to quantify a sensation (how dry, how intense, how sweet, how bubbly?), and match it with food that tended to be sweet, yet bitter, oily, but not fatty…and how to plot these evaluations on a graph.

My friends would ask me if I could guess what wine was in the glass. Could I tell the difference between Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon? I couldn’t yet, but offered to plot points on a pairing chart at their next dinner party.

Six months later, I can smell the south of Italy, and I can sometimes see the north. I can feel an extra sunny summer or a zesty fall. I can tell you where a wine comes from before I can tell you what it is. It’s as if my brain were liberated, once legitimized by the certificate. I can recognize a lot of wines now, or at least guess it by the third try.

The best part of all is that somewhere along the way, I developed a sense beyond the big five, and I’m honing it everyday. Every wine has a story. The best ones let you in on it slowly, revealing their character to those willing and wanting to dig deeper. And sure enough, like best friends and lovers, in one moment you simply click.

Cheap Pizza, Expensive Cab

A few days ago a cab ride home cost twice as much my dinner. It was a Thursday night in San Lorenzo, a generally gritty (or "authentically Roman" for those who haven't lived here that long) university quarter with a legacy of left-leaning politics. While coolification began some years ago, and a handful of radical chic restaurants and wine bars moved in, San Lorenzo is still the kind of place where high heels get scuffed, hems gets dusty, and food should be cheap.


Pizzeria L'Economica - Via Tiburtina, 48. No phone.

This place was designed with students in mind. The service is languid and lazy, the menu is short, and most importantly, pizza runs about €5 average. Yet the sad state of the economy has the place packed with all sorts, from the young and grungy to the graying and baby-bearing. We were a famished group of eight, still sweating after a Tribal Fusion dance workshop at nearby San Lo' School of Ethnic Dance. We ordered and drained four or five liter-bottles of Moretti beer, and everyone but me ordered a pizza. I opted for a plate of scamorza cheese, bubbling and crusty from the broiler and topped with spicy fresh arugula. We could have shared it in three (with bread), but I was famished and feeling momentarily inclined to a no-carb couple of hours. As the cheese cooled, the edges hardened slightly, sealing in the juicy melted interior. A few shakes of dried peperoncino and I wasn't even tempted to nab a slice from anyone. Not that the pizza wasn't divine. The pies were wafer-thin and crispy, with a smudge of tomato sauce and an unexpected heaping of toppings.

The staff couldn't be bothered to call me cab, but emphatically suggested I call one from a nearby hotel. The 10-minute ride came to roughly €15 (after the tariffa rosa 10% discount for women alone from 9pm–1am, from a jovial female cabbie), which was a little hard to digest.

Dreams and the Kitchen

I used to dream that my mountains of journals and diaries would someday be found and published to great acclaim, and that I might even be a awarded a posthumous Pulitzer. There are a few kinks in the romantic plan, among them the fact that my illegible scrawls would require the expertise of a paleographer, or in extreme cases (the adolescent period principally) a course of cryptanalysis. I’m also currently in Italy, and the probability that my diaries would be discovered and poured over- (with thirsty eyes) by someone with a solid mastery of the American language- is slim. In Rome they might even be mistaken for disposable class notes, whereas my electronic equipment and high-heeled shoes would be salvaged as valuables.

That said, my inner egocentrism has no intention of waiting for death to bring her fame. Vanity aside, there’s just no sense in being “someone” when according to medical science you ought to henceforth be referred to in the simple past tense.

I never liked the word BLOG. It’s indelicate, highly technical, and seemed at once a passing trend. Now that the truth of the BLOG boom is out there, I cannot go on living my life as I did yesterday. I am an undeniable wealth of information about Italy and Rome, and much of what falls under the categories of Shopping, Eating, Nightlife, and Accommodation. While I’m not writing nearly as much as I ought to, I am cruising the freelance circuit and helping out friends and relatives with their travel queries. Now I’m live and online!

Mmmmmm. Let’s talk about food. Some us were born to sing and dance or kick around a soccer ball. Others are more cut out for politics or deep space exploration.

I eat. I cook as well. It should never have been a mystery. The signs were there. I’m not one of those people who after a near-death experience goes on to write Carpe Diem themed best-sellers. I simply grew up, felt my pants getting tighter, and considering my active lifestyle and general lack of skinny friends… it all became quite clear.

A recent family reunion opened my eyes to the fact that I was put on this earth to explore the pathways of our collective gastronomic heritage. For a recent venture into food television I’ve had to write down 50 of my recipes. This proved to be an arduous task, as I never use them. I’m guided by a culinary muse. That and a glance at epicurious.com. It’s a gift that took 29 years to unwrap, and as an aspiring adult, I’m now determined to put it to use.

I welcome you to join me as I recount the adventures of my appetite in the city where carousing Romans once binged and purged with the sole intention of eating as much as possible. Call it pacing yourself. I call it downright practical.

Welcome to Italycious and Buon Appetito!