The Aly

I recently had the pleasure of opening a bottle of tomato sauce that had gone bad.  I had been trying to convince my Mom that tomato sauce didn’t ever go bad.  Back at home I usually stick an opened jar next to the salsa and olives in the back of the refrigerator and let the preservatives do their thing.  And then on a cold night in the middle of winter when I can’t convince Domino’s to deliver to my house in the woods, I push aside the condiments that have taken over my refrigerator (anyone will tell you my refrigerator is known for its abundance of condiments and lack of any real food) and find that half jar of tomato sauce.  Aside from the icky skin that has formed on the top it usually does the trick.  But my Mom was persistent in telling me that tomato sauce goes bad.  So in my attempt to prove her wrong, I grabbed the half eaten tomato sauce from the refrigerator and opened it…only to be dry heaving moments later.  It seems that little men decided to build a whole city of black towers in our jar of tomato sauce.  Some of the towers were even furry.

Sometimes it takes a moldy jar of tomato sauce to realize that your Mom is usually right and that you indeed, do not know everything about the world.  So I learned my lesson.  And speaking of dry heaving, a word on tripe if you will…

a spinach ball

I have had the good fortune to live next to the Mercato Centrale both times I’ve lived here.  It is a magnificent place.  Think farmer’s market times 100 in a huge two-story warehouse.  The first floor is all meat, fish and cheese and the second floor is all fruits and vegetables.  Every single item in the market has been picked or filleted that day.  It is the epitome of fresh.  My first trip back to the Mercato was full of anticipation and excitement.  After buying some proscuitto and brushing shoulders with hanging meat carcasses (yes, that’s my idea of fun) I was going to head upstairs for some grapes twice the size of my eyeballs.  But there it was.  I think I must have blocked out the memory of tripe.  I had completely forgotten that every butcher stand there sells it.  And it’s not like they acknowledge that it is totally disgusting and they keep it in the back.  No, it’s right in your face, a cross between whale blubber and an albino porcupine with a haircut.  I can’t even picture someone eating tripe; is it chewy?  Does it get stuck between your teeth like steak?  Or does it just ooze down your throat?  Even if you were to tell me eating tripe is good for the hair, I still wouldn’t go near the stuff.  I wouldn’t even talk to someone who had eaten it in fear of inhaling the pungent odor of freshly chewed cow stomach.  But enough on tripe…

not tripe, yummy

I am usually one to try anything and everything (except, obviously, tripe), a fact that my Mom tried to take advantage of last night.  Grilled rabbit.  Bunny.  I agreed to a bribe –I would try bunny only if I could get tiramisu and cappuccino after dinner (very mature, I know).  My Mom agreed.  To my relief they were out of bunny that night…and I still got my tiramisu and cappuccino.  I was actually very relieved.  My cat used to bring me baby bunnies all the time.  In fact, I believe my cat singlehandedly annihilated the bunny population on our street.  When I was younger it would have seemed as if the soil on our property were infused with carrot juice because there were hundreds of happy bunnies everywhere.  After ten years of having a cat, however, there were maybe 3 or 4 left that escaped the natural selection process.  Kissing my cat on the forehead and thanking him for the sacrifice has pretty much been the extent of my interaction with bunnies, so I guess I just wasn’t ready for grilled rabbit.

these are real

My intention for telling you this is really to disguise the fact that every single morsel of food and drop of beverage I have put in my mouth since I’ve been here has been absolutely delicious.  My day begins with homemade espresso and as of today the addition of frothed milk and chocolate siftings, fresh bread, fresh fruit and creamy yogurt that must have been churned by someone’s grandmother in the back of the grocery store.  At around 11am I usually have the urge to buy some hot pastries or some biscotti.  There is nothing like fresh biscotti.  A fresh biscotti is very unstable though – it can only remain in that state for a mere 3 or 4 minutes.  It’s as if you made chocolate chip cookie dough, and then injected liquid chocolate chip cookie dough into it and baked it.  After pulling it out of the oven you have only moments to enjoy it in pure heaven form before it solidifies into concrete.

squash blossoms

At 2pm or so my stomach usually tells me it’s ready for a hot panini from my favorite two-table café near my Mom’s art studio.  Since it’s too hard to make a decision between all of the delectable creations they have there, I buy two and split them with my Mom.  On the way back to the apartment I grab a cappuccino in a friendly Mom and Pop Bar.  Sometimes the pastries call out to me there too and I gobble down a croissant filled with warm Nutella.  Then I “get cultured” as I like to say and stop in a museum here, a chapel there and eventually find my way home and prepare the appetizers for dinner.  Every day I like to buy a new cheese that I’ve never heard of before and a 3 euro bottle of wine.  My Mom is in charge of picking up olives and salami.  We blast some happy-hour tunes and finish off a block of cheese and bowl of olives – and I try to limit myself to half a bottle of wine.  Then, since we are so full from appetizers we wait a few hours and then cook dinner around 10pm.

Basilico!

My new favorite for dinner is the bag of fresh pasta you can get along the Arno for 1.48 euros.  You can watch them make it in the back of the shop.  It only needs to be boiled for 2 minutes.  It is unbelievable.  Our salads often include one or all of the following: arugula, radicchio, endive, mozzarella (sometimes buffalo mozzarella, which is near to heaven as well), basil, tomatoes and mango.  I mix up olive oil, balsamic vinaigrette, salt, pepper and freshly grated parmesan for dipping the bread in.  My Mom has been on a zucchini kick lately which she sautés with a mixture of spices and sometimes throws in a slice of eggplant or proscuitto.  Lastly, we have an agreement that we must walk every night after dinner.  The streets are always hopping and there really is nothing like the Duomo at night.  Our walk more often than not leads us directly to the gelataria.

fresh!

In addition, I’m consuming wine here like I consumed water in Colorado.  It makes me feel really good just like water does at 5000 feet.  I’ve traded in my Nalgene bottle for a brown paper bag, which I think, is healthier for me because it doesn’t leech toxic plastic particles.  You might say I’m enjoying myself here.