Summer Gardening Retrospective

This past Spring, we decided to do some container gardening. We'd plant a bit of this and that on our balconies, we decided, and see what happened. Growing your own food is a concept I love. Everything fresh, no pesticides, and the satisfaction of preparing and eating something you'd lovingly nurtured from the ground (from the pot?). While I was intrigued and eager to give gardening a try for the first time in my life, I quickly learned that mine were not the greenest thumbs in our household.

After we'd gone out and purchased a bunch of pots, dirt, and all the other necessary goodies, I watched in amusement as Roland transformed into opportunistic squirrel. Eating became less about sustenance and more about unearthing seeds from any possible source. No produce item crossed out kitchen without being inspected for seeds which were promptly then buried in one of many pots. In a short span of time, our many labeled pots scattered across our balconies, soaking up the early summer sunshine under their Master's watchful eye. Green beans, strawberries, tomatoes, green peppers, hot chilies, avocado, several types of grapes, raspberries, basil, apples, oranges...technically, we should have feasted - and feasted well - through the summer months.

Alas, the gardening Gods were not on our side this year. Spider mites, too much water, not enough water, pot too big, pot too small, sun too hot...the problems were numerous but the fruits and vegetables, not so much. We had one meal's worth of green beans before spider mites took over, and who ever knew tomatoes won't grow in heat warmer than the mid 80's? The rest of our pots have collectively produced tons of pretty green leaves, and not much else.

With one exception.

Fragolini! Or, tiny little baby strawberries. I suppose that if only one of our plant children could successfully produce fruit all summer, I'm glad it was the fragolini plant. This little guy grew quickly and has been giving us bowls full of sweet little berries for months. They are delicious on their own straight off of the plant (which is about as far as they ever make it) or particularly lovely floating in a glass of Prosecco. 

So, the end of summer gardening retrospective leaves us with a big win, a few losses, and lots of lessons learned for next year. Until then!

Fragolini in Prosecco, overlooking the lake in Nemi

Brand Name Comedy

One of our favorite pastimes at the supermarket is spotting products with ridiculous names. Obviously, due to language differences, products sometimes end up with unfortunate names that are guaranteed to make foreigners giggle. I'm sure this works both ways, and a Roman wandering through an American grocery store would find just as much to entertain them. I have found a gold mine of great product names recently...here is a sampling.

My personal favorite: Hello! Spank chocolates. 

SMAC chrome cleaner

F.U. oil

This was one of Roland's favorite finds...Rio Bum Bum Neutralyzer (dish wash)

Last but not least...MAJOR cream. 

The Fight for the Rubber Stamp

I stumbled across this video this morning. Though this takes place in Spain, it still rang hilariously true to me in the bureaucratic debacles I have experienced here in Italy. It is tongue in cheek - but nonetheless - this video is not an exaggeration for Spain, and the experience Italy is exactly the same!

                             

Skiing: Me vs. Gravity

This year, I have decided to join Roland in a new winter hobby. I am learning to ski. While I spent last winter back in Chicago, Roland spent his free time learning to snowboard in the mountains of Italy. He absolutely loves it, and his excitement was infectious. We visited the sports supply shops, stocked up on the necessary apparel, packed up the car, and headed down to Roccaraso, a ski town about 2 1/2 hours south of Rome.

For most of my life, skiing was something I just never gave much thought to. As a Midwestern girl growing up in the Chicago area, skiing simply wasn't on my radar. With the closest mountains several hours North, few of my peers grew up learning the sport. I always thought it looked cool, but was something that other people did. "Maybe someday..." was the usual sentiment. 

Well, someday has arrived. It has arrived fiercely, joining forces with gravity and fear in an effort to pick me up and slam me down, repeatedly, on the side of a cold, hard mountain. But I am getting ahead of myself. 

When I arrived at the ski resort in Roccaraso for my first ski experience, I really wasn't nervous. More excited, and curious. I met with Guido, my ski instructor, for a two hour introductory lesson. Thankfully, Guido spoke some English, so our lesson started off just fine. I learned how to put on my skis, maneuver around, walk slowly up a hill on a parallel edge (insert beginning of full-on sweat here) and practice the ever important Snowplow technique. The Snowplow, for those of you not acquainted with skiing, involves, bending your knees and making a triangle shape with your skis. This pushes the front of your skis together, and widens them in the back, effectively allowing you to control your speed and "plow" yourself to a stop. This, Guido informed me gravely, was the most important skill I would need to learn as a beginning skier. 

At this point, I graduated to the baby hill to practice my snowplow on an actual incline (albeit a tiny, barely recognizable incline). I did OK, moving along, frozen in my snowplow position, never picking up even a hint of what one might classify as "speed." I learned how to turn gently, and slide to a gradual stop (Snowplow! Snowplow!). I tipped over a few times, but Guido was always right there to yank me back upright. As our two hours drew to a close, I felt a little bit of blossoming confidence. I could easily handle the baby hill, control myself enough to follow my instructor in his gentle turns, and the skis no longer felt quite so foreign on my feet. Guido shook my hand and wished me well, waving over his shoulder at the massive looming mountain lurking behind him as he informed me I was free to give it a go. 

This, my friends, is the point where my first ski experience began to go terribly wrong. First of all, in Italy, green ski runs - which are the gentle, beginner runs - rarely exist. At Roccaraso, the easiest run available is a blue run. However, amid some hesitation, I decided that if Guido had given me the green light to hit the mountain, I might as well give it a go. Roland and I took the ski lift up...up...and up some more. At the top of the mountain, I felt my resolve begin to waver a little bit. We were so...high. And the run was so...steep. But there was only one way down. As small, toddler-sized children launched themselves down the first incline without hesitation, I gathered what was left of my confidence and tipped myself down the slope.

!!!&%#$@!***!!%#%@*@*!%@%#*#*....CRASH!!!!!

At the bottom of the first short incline of the slope, I landed in a sweaty, adrenaline spiked heap of twisted skis and limbs, and a dreaded realization spread through me. My precious snowplow didn't work. It. Didn't. Work. With any sort of speed, there was no coasting to a gentle stop or carefully carving gentle turns. And what was more, I had no idea how to stand up. I began to curse Guido for misleading me and sending me down this forsaken mountain unprepared. I couldn't stand up...and I didn't know how to stop. Yet I still had 90 percent of the ski run to finish. Roland appeared and coaxed me back onto my feet, speaking gently to me as one might to a frightened animal. I knew I had to continue down the mountain, so the next hour passed like this:

Start down mountain, squeezing snowplow position with legs like life depends on it.
Oh God, too fast! Throw self down onto mountain to save self from certain death.
Lie panting and sweating for 5 minutes in snow.
Burst into tears.
Curse Guido.
Attempt to stand, fall in twisted heap.
Remove skis. I quit. Skiing career over.
Another gentle, speaking to a scared animal speech of encouragement from Roland.
Put skis back on. I am not a quitter!
Down slope again. Speed! Too fast! Certain death!
Crash. Feel large bruise blossoming on hip. Also quite sure knee should not twist in that direction
Finally discover the secret of standing up with skis on. Not easy, but I can do it!
Down slope again. Attempt to turn.
Crash! Why does gravity hate me?
Spend 10 minutes lying in snow, trying to catch breath. Watch technique of tiny children as they fly by effortlessly.
Stand up, wonder which cursed person ever created such a barbaric sport. Shake packed snow out from under back of coat.
Stay upright on skis for 15 seconds!
Realize that everything about my current turning technique is opposite of what I learned. Correct errors.
Yay! I can turn!
SPEEEEEED! Certain death! Crash!
Lie in snow, close my eyes and daydream about waking up somewhere on flat ground. All has been a bad dream.
Nope, still on horrible, horrible, mountain. Decline help of itty-bitty child offering me a hand. Stand up.
Ski.
Crash!
Stand.
Tears.
Profanity.
Stand.
Ski.
Crash...

And so it went, until I reached the bottom. (Insert two consecutive shots of Sambuca here.) Roland was an amazing cheerleader, and without him I would, doubtless, have ended up removing my skis and walking down the hill. Somehow, after my traumatic first run, he convinced me to attempt the run again not once, but twice. I fell a little less each time, but I still can't stop at with any acquired speed and my poor thighs were absolutely screaming from trying to implement the snowplow all the way down the mountain. My body had never worked so hard, or been so sore and bruised. It was exhausting and demoralizing, but as we drove away from the mountain at the end of the day, I felt a tiny bit of pride. I had overcome a major amount of fear. I hadn't overcome it gracefully by any means (tears, tantrums, profanity) but I made it down the mountain three times. Guido and I will meet again, and when we do, he's got some explaining (and teaching) to do. I don't plan to give up yet, so more to come as I carry on with my death-defying new hobby.

Before my third trip down the mountain. 

Recipe Sunday: Spaghetti Aglio e Olio

Spaghetti Aglio e Olio is another old, traditional pasta dish. It is simply spaghetti with garlic and olive oil. Although tasty, this is not something I would normally find "Blog Worthy." However, I recently learned a new way of preparing pasta which warrants mention.

While having drinks with a girlfriend and her Italian boyfriend last weekend, he mentioned that he had discovered a Roman restaurant cooking technique he was excited about. The conversation went something like this:

Him: You know how when you eat pasta in an Italian restaurant, it always has that nice creamy texture to it, even if it is not a cream sauce? Like the sauce is always nice and silky, absorbing into the pasta, even if it is just a basic tomato sauce?

Me: Um...yes. (drool wipe/stomach growl).

As it turns out, he explained, this has to do with one thing: Carbohydrates. When you boil pasta, a foam forms on the top of the pasta water. This is the result of carbs being released from the pasta during cooking. By changing the cooking method slightly, these carbs can help turn an average, boring pasta dish into a delicious, restaurant worthy plate.

Inevitably, after a few more glasses of wine, we ended up in the kitchen for a demonstration of this cooking method. I was amazed at how simple it was, how great the concept, and yes, how incredibly tasty the final product was. Here is the recipe:

Spaghetti Aglio e Olio

2 Servings

1/3 standard sized box dried spaghetti or pasta of choice (about 2 cups)
1 clove garlic
2 tablespoons olive oil
Pinch of crushed red pepper flakes
Salt and pepper to taste
Fresh parmigiano cheese for grating

Boil a pot of water. While water is heating, peel the clove of garlic and place it (whole) in a large skillet or saucepan with the olive oil and red pepper flakes over low heat. When the garlic begins turn golden brown, (about 5 minutes) remove it from the pan and discard. Add pasta to boiling water and cook it for ONLY 3 MINUTES. After three minutes, use a slotted spoon to scoop all of the pasta from the water, transferring to into the skillet with olive oil. Reserve the pasta water. Add 2 ladels of pasta water into the skillet with pasta and turn heat up to medium-high. Cook pasta, stirring often, and adding a little more pasta water to the skillet if it becomes too dry. You should begin to see a light and creamy looking sauce forming in the pan and coating the pasta. When pasta is cooked to al dente and most of the pasta water has absorbed, the pasta is done. Season with salt and pepper and sprinkle with freshly grated parmigiano cheese before serving.

Note: This recipe is fun because it is very adaptable. I have thrown a few peeled and chopped cherry tomatoes in with the garlic to add a tomato flavor, or used lemon olive oil and lemon juice to give the pasta a fresh lemon flavor. A splash of white wine in with the simmering pasta is tasty, as are fresh herbs. The important thing about this recipe is not the ingredients but the method itself, so feel free to experiment!

View From the Top

In search of new areas of Rome to explore, last weekend I discovered Rome's Gianicolo. The Gianicolo is a hill overlooking the city of Rome that boasts it's most beautiful and peaceful views. Although Rome is known as the proverbial City of Seven Hills, the Gianicolo is situated west of the Tiber River and thus outside of the city limits, so it is not counted as one of the city's famous hills. It is, however, known to have the most beautiful panoramic views of the city. And, in contrast to the rest of the bustling city, it is blissfully quiet.

The Gianicolo is located North of the Vatican, and I arrived there by means of a small, electric bus that was perfectly sized for navigating the narrow, winding road to the top of the hill. The views, as expected, were absolutely breathtaking. Looking out from my perch on the stone wall surrounding the hill, I could spot many of the city's major landmarks and buildings as the city stretched on into the horizon. Though a few people milled around, taking photographs and drinking in the scenery, I enjoyed the view in peace and quiet. The Gianicolo will definitely be added to our "Must-do" list for visitors from here on out, as I must agree it is now one of my favorite places to go to marvel at this beautiful city.