I Imagined my Kitchenette when in Rome

It’s coming to a close; seven days of Nero’s naturally chilled aqueducts in Rome.

Except that I don’t want to talk about any of it. I don’t want to talk about travel, about dragging a 26 kilo suitcase around, about wearing sun block all over my body in 39°, and I don’t even really want to talk about the food… not really.

Except that I am a strong believer that a successful traveler is a well researched traveler. Therefore, to help you along in your own Roman experiences I will tell you two things…

Gusto; I had so much fun with you. Watching you in your pizzeria rolling out your dough and throwing rocket and fresh balls of mozzarella (not sparingly) on as toppings. Walking between your stacks and cases of various cookbooks, old and new. And then we sat over a bottle of wine listening to the clatter of pots from the open kitchen, walking through your three or so dinning areas, and admiring your baskets of aperitifs in your wine bar. Gusto, that was one hell of a night.

Gusto is a highly recommended Roman food experience for dinner or a long lunch.

And then you get to the point where you don’t care any more if pasta and pizza are Italian and you’re in Italy and it’s supposed to make sense, that combination of place and cuisine. In this case, it has just become entirely appropriate to visit Piazza Vittorio. Here you will discover Rome’s largest food market.

And for the first time in Italy you will finally get your hands on the most beautiful vegetables ever created: borlotti.

You will take these fire crackers home and pod them and then put them in a pot of salted boiling water with some extra virgin olive oil, a bunch of sage, and perhaps even some rosemary, and they will turn light purpely/burgundy right there in front of you. And then you will eat them all on their own… except if you are cooking for someone else you will put them in to a fresh salad made from all the other vegetables you bought from this market dream.

Rome, your dinners in your piazzas fulfilled every imagination. But that’s all I’m going to say.





Because tomorrow I move back to Paris, into a 14-squared-meter apartment, into my very own place that I have rented on my own before, in to my very own kitchen(ette)...

And I couldn’t be more excited about it.


Gusto
Piazza Augusto Imperatore, 9, Roma

Florentine Favourites and Why I Should be Over for Dinner

“It feels a little strange that you haven’t been around for dinner recently.”

Over here there’s being away and living in Paris; adjusting to a life filled with genuine pastry; walking down streets that in themselves possess the notion of entertainment. There’s seeing new things; popping over to Africa; flying into Bologna; imagining living in Florence, a place filled with calm as well as city, rushing water as well as horses on cobbles, and the best biscotti and seafood spaghetti, that one’s mouth can not even strive to imagine.

I’ve even met this gorgeous boy.

And when she made that comment, she was responding to what I had told her; that living really is just spending time in your homes with you, it’s being a part of your lives so we can figure it all out together, it’s having a meal with you and your husbands, because that is the space I enjoy; being in all your presences.

Mother is here with me now. We have been doing these sorts of things, spending time and having meals together. We’ve eaten the most delicious dessert involving custard. It was called Grandmother, except that it was in Italian.

We had that seafood spaghetti I was talking about, the one outside the Duomo in Florence.

Then there was the swankiest coffee/sandwich/patisserie bar that I have seen in Italy with an Italian standing outside on his cell phone. It seemed appropriate considering our location and so we got the most vegetarian-Italian sandwich you could imagine; marinated aubergine, sliced tomato, soft white cheese and fresh basil leaves.

There was the hugest gelato cone one has ever held, which was surprising considering the bountiful amount of dairies I bought ice creams from growing up in New Zealand. Even more surprising was that the flavour I have most embraced so far has been mint with chunks of dark chocolate.

Then this man here…

He brought out an entire fish for us…

And he prepared it at our table…

And it was wonderful.

But not as wonderful as coming around to yours for dinner.

I knew that before I came here. I know that even more now. And so what I am saying is that it feels a little strange that I haven’t been a part of your lives recently.

And that I am looking forward to that dinner at your place, very much.

Never Too Appropriate to Eat Pasta in Florence

Sometimes when traveling with others you can get that feeling that internally sounds something like this; every day has been an occasion of exploring through someone else’s eyes. And in times like these I like to think that an amble on your lonesome through an ancient city is necessary. This ancient city that is not only wonderful because it is old and tells its history as you walk through it, but because the new has had to learn to live amongst the old as well.

I heard these guys say, as I strolled passed them yesterday looking up at the tops of the buildings, “I’ve seen that girl three times now.” And that is how long I wandered for, pottering along allies that tour guides didn’t walk down, staring up at roofs that were reaching out to each other from across the cobbles and stopping to look at images that seemed out of place against the stone and concrete and marble.

My walking took me to the end of the day which draw to a close over a glass of wine at a recommended Trattoria called La Taverna, only a petit walk from our hotel.

Here you will be genuinely surprised by the bread as it is very good. They also bring a selection of two olive oils to the table; extra virgin and chili. It is because of this understanding that I get along with the Italians; of course we want to dress our own salad. And it was the best looking salad I have ever seen in Italy. Fluffed up in this platter of magic was ripped radicchio, fresh pieces of tomato, shredded mozzarella, salted capers, anchovies and kalamata olives, with a healthy amount of extra virgin olive oil and salt added by yours truly.

Following this brilliant amalgamation was another knock out. It hadn’t crossed my mind before to cook pasta in stock, not water, then at the last minute to stir through sautéed aubergine and tomato with fresh tuna. A little glug of chili olive oil, sprinkle of pepper, and this very quickly became the best meal I have eaten on this trip.

In Italy you must pay to be seated in a café or restaurant. That is why you see people standing outside or beside the cashier with a beer and often even holding a fork and a plate of dessert.

La Taverna

Via Cimabue, 1r

055.234.25.55

Apparently Italy's Food Capital...

It’s what they say about it, this place of towers and seven churches all in a row, that this is the city embodying the title; Italy’s food capital. And so of course it required a visit. However, august pilfers the evidence for this confident claim. Because here in this hot summer month, corrugated iron doors hide these restaurants, cafes and markets as all the pure breed-Bolognians desert the city for a more noble summer spent by the seaside. And we, stomachs half empty, step out off our Ryanair flight, exclusive of everything between take off and landing, and into a food starved and culinary desolate concrete maze of solace and quiet after a hectic holiday in Morocco.

We managed to catch a glimpse to what this town looked like in January and February and so on. It’s their thing here; like the baguette walk and nibble is to France, the hanging dried meat on the bone is to Italy, from the ceilings and walls and staircases, anything with height. And we’re ok with this, you would be too as long as you could gladly endure the intoxicating smell of proschuitto in every deli.

We asked for a restaurant, one that was open, that they would recommend, and they sent us to Ristorante Cesarina. Why? On looking back we’re not entirely sure, except that they kick it old school there, with male servers in penguin suits who bring your meals out on a table-clothe-lined trolley and add the final touches in front of you.

Mother ordered risotto ai funghi porcini (porcini mushroom risotto).

And myself; tortellini di saggina e ricotta (tortellini stuffed with ricotta in a burnt butter sage sauce).

It wasn’t everything you would want it to be. However, when you ask for just one glass of wine they certainly do you justice by filling your already over sized bulbous bowl right to the top.

Bologna’s medieval canal

In Italy’s capital of food it is only appropriate to create your own gastronomic tour, even with the very little ‘open’ opportunities considering the season. Walking shoes were tied and maps pulled out and we found more hanging meat…

and more cheese than you could throw a stick at (that was for you Jo), including this incredibly large but appropriate bowl of mozzarella.

And in between the in-and-outs of delis and cheese chops, and after last night’s heavy pasta meal, we sat down to a picnic under the arches of Piazza San Stefano, the most beautiful piazza in Bologna, with a couple of our finds from our gastronomic adventure. Goats cheese, ewes cheese and cows cheese, avocado, cherry tomatoes and Italian bread that was almost worth justifying, as it is difficult to find quality Italian bread.

All was followed by a Mai Thai and an antipasti platter of mini brushetta and sticks of halloumi, cherry tomatoes and cured ham whilst sitting outside seven churches all in a row.

Moroccan Bucket List

“How lovely to be in a city without a local drunk yelling malicious remarks wrapped up in a French accent,” has been a thought that is playing itself around my head since I’ve been here. The only time one can even see the word beer here is when it is written into the phrase; Non-alcoholic Beer, found only on the menus of high class restaurants, aka, Elite Cafe. It is in these occasions that one chooses a Pineapple, Citron and Mint Cocktail, sans l’alcool, bien sur.

There has been a Moroccan Food Bucket List that may have been created a few months ago. And there has been a pen that has taken rather fervently to that fine piece of well-researched paper. It started with Lamb Tagine and was closely followed by Fresh Dates, which we crossed off without lingering. And then my pen made three new lines this evening. So what I am saying is that it was always going to be a pretty outrageous night. And so we sat here and regarded for close to three hours:

Over looking donkeys pulling tourists; dark men with whitened stubble lying in carts; evening food markets selling Moroccan salads of minced tomato and red onion; a casual young man with a lead that tied to a monkey in a green singlet; women walking in black robes holding syringes filled with henna; and we sat there listening, not so pleasantly, to the music played by men on silk carpets charming their slothful snakes.

After dinner, my pen drew through Tagine with Prunes and Almonds.

And dangling nicely underneath that was Lamb Kefta.

I’ve still to decipher the triumph or defeat in this last line ruled; Sweet Moroccan Patisseries. However I know it’s not fair, I live in Paris.

The triumph lies in the comparison of this outrageous evening with last night’s meal; which was down from this terrace, right out amongst the well walked on stone tablets, under those white lights, passed the wee monkey on his lead, at the beckoning of the boys biding for your choice of dinner and nicely packed in to the rows of tables at the evening food markets.

If you come here, to this place of world-renown tagines and where everything has been well paid for when it comes to attention to detail, do not choose what we chose to devour at these hectic markets of restaurants on carts.

However, from the bottom of my heart I would recommend to you the meat or chicken skewers, as they were the matters of order envy towards the people pushed up beside us.