Smithville meets (and eats) Europe

My brother, Mom and a family friend came to town; small town USA meets big town Europe! (Well, not Reggio Emilia, but there were big towns involved.)  They spent the weekend in Rome while I was in the Alps, then we all met up together Sunday evening and headed to my Italian family's favorite local pizza place.  I showed off my Italian a bit by telling the waiter we were meeting the family there, and then I took charge of ordering for my mom and myself.  I chose the Napolian, which sounded delicious with basil and buffalo mozzarella.  However, my show-off Italian self missed a core ingredient on the pizza.  When it came out, they placed it in front of my mom and two six-inch sardines stared up at her.  Her gaze slowly lifted from the plate to meet my eyes in a disgusted, "how-dare-you" accusation.  I apologized and admitted my fault, but even after we scraped the fish to the side the flavor still saturated the pizza.  Welcome to Italy, Ma!

The mother of my Italian family organized a tour of a local balsamic vinegar plant for us all to attend (in the middle of her crazy work week; I swear that woman is superhuman!)  The tour was fantastic, and we all had a good time tasting the differences in quality and age afterward.  Here's a brief pictorial tour:

Our guide explaining the process of cooking grape skins to glean ingredients for vinegar.

The barrel room.

Each set of 5 barrels made a bateria (or drum) of a vinegar.  Each year they take out what they need from each barrel (the smalles barrel being the oldest), then refill if from the larger barrel next to it in the line.

Artwork in the barrel room depicting how nature affects the aging of acete balsamico (balsamic vinegar).

Balsamic Vinegar must be 12 years aged before it is quality enough to bottle and pass inspection.   The newest, minimun quality vinegars receive a red label.  Silver label is the next step, usually for vinegars up to 25 years-aged.  Gold label is 25+ years and the highest quality, these small bottles sell for over 100 euros.  You can really taste the complexity as the years go on.

The entire vinegar plant: the tasting room is to the left and the barrel house in on the right.

My mother and I, later in the week, toured a Parmigiano Reggiano cheese production plant.  It amazed me at each of these plants how little interest the workers had in obtaining our money, and how dedicated they were to helping us understand how their product was made.  Each of them is part of a consortium for their respective products, so if they educate people it does good for the consortium on the whole.  But there was still a blatant lack of money hunger, which impressed me very much.  For example, my mom and I arranged a tour for ourselves for which we were expecting to pay, although at the end they never asked for a dime (or a centesimo).  So the tour was free, and the woman spent a considerable amount of time with us, letting us sample whatever we pleased and explaining the process in detail.  I feel that there is a stark difference if you walk into a shop in the U.S.  I'm mainly using a winery as an analogy, in which you almost feel obligated to buy a bottle at the end of a tasting, and it is certainly known that the person in the room wants you to.  Maybe the lack of intense capitalism in Italy runs deeper to financial support employees receive from the government, so they don't have the motivation to earn money as we do.  Or, maybe it is spurred from the genteel culture of the country.  I don't know, but I appreciated it.

Tanks heating the milk with starter whey added, which will later become cheese.

He later stuck his bare hand in the tank and grabbed us a sample of flavorless cheese to try.  That's sanitary, right?

Before this stage they added a yellow, yeasty bacteria which was skimmed from a tank the previous day.  These curds will settle into the bottom of the tank, then they will be removed and placed in a mold to form a round.

Said yellow, yeasty bacteria in the buckets sitting on the floor.

After they pour the thickened milk into molds and let them harden, they remove the molds and let the cheese soak in a sea-saltwater bath. This is where the cheese gets a lot of its flavor. 

Each cheese round will soak here for thirty days, before which it will reach a point where it can no longer absorb the salt.

Holding the fresh, raw milk.

So much cheese!!

Our wonderful tour guide.

The oldest cheeses, going back to 2008.  Generally after three years they don't sell the cheese publicly because the flavor changes so much, but there are special buyers who are searching for that taste. 

Cheese gone wrong.  Cheeses with defects are not allowed to have the Parmiggiano Reggiano label, per the consortium.  The consortium comes to test every month, doing everything from smelling and tasting to tapping on the cheese with a special hammer to listen to the density.  Only the best get the label!

In order to be considered Parmiggiano Reggiano all elements of the process must take place within this region, including where the cows eat and produce milk.

The Alps

View from my hotel window.

I skied in the Alps!!  Or, more aptly said, I learned to ski this weekend in Alps.  My Italian host family invited me on holiday to the mountains, and they had previously asked if I knew how to ski.  It's like riding a bike, right?  I skied 12 years ago, so I answered, "Yes."  

The first day, coming off the ski lift I was immediately on my butt.  I slowly gained vertical balance and followed our train of skiers down the slope.  My calf started intensely cramping, but I kept going out of sheer embarrassment that my physical condition was not good enough to ski!  Finally, I had to stop.  Turns out that my boot was on too tight, and once we loosened it I was good to go.  Novice.  

I was still the slowest one in the pack, and, probably because I work for an active travel company and I told them I knew how to ski, we were undertaking some intense slopes.  Standing at the top of each steep, icy section of mountain, my chest tightened.  I was petrified.  Flashbacks of breaking my wrist snowboarding a year ago coupled with visions of once again losing control led to an impressively slow ski to the base of the mountain (some prayers might have been involved, as well).  In fact, I arrived at the parking lot about a half an hour behind the head of our group.  I felt TERRIBLE!  I was holding back even the kids!  But everyone was extremely kind and patient.  In fact, the son of the family Ricki defended me, even though he was the most vocal complainer of having to wait.  He blamed it on a family friend, another slow girl, who was skiing in my section of the pack.  I tried to explain to him that she still finished in front of me, but he said she'd been skiing for years so there was no excuse. He, like his parents, is a very generous human being.  

My hotel room :)

We stayed in a small town in the Alto Adige region of Italy (about as far north as you can go before hitting Austria).  It was a gorgeous little ski community with rental shops, hot chocolate booths and warm restaurants surrounding the base of the peaks (all of which we explored).  

After the end of the first day, I solemnly promised myself that I would never have to go skiing again.  But then the next day game, with glorious sunshine and easy beginner slopes, and I felt like a little kid on the playground.  I had a BLAST!  We stopped for lunch at a popular restaurant at the top, with an outdoor fire and party music blaring.  We shared champagne and oysters, and I devoured a delicious, hot lobster spaghetti dish.  All was right in the world, and my mind frame about skiing was reversed.  I felt like I was getting the hang of it, so the future winter sport trips I had written myself out of started creeping back into view.  However, I will always have to choose skiing companions with a flare for patience.  And in the future I'll remember that skiing, at least for me, is NOT like riding a bike. 

A castle on the mountainside.  

Modena Fiera

A nearby city (Modena) in the Emilia-Romagna province hosted its annual Christmas fair in the beginning of December.  My Italian class organized to meet there and walk through together.  It was humongous!  There was a hall specifically for hand-crafted art, one for food and wine and one for Christmas gift ideas.  I was blown away by the arts section; from wood carvings to paintings the creativity was astonishing:

Wood carvings up front, paintings in the background.

I fell in love with these simple prints.  Glitter was added over the lights, which looked trashy up close, but from a few feet away the city came to life!

More glitter lights.  I want one!

Here are some photos from the food section:

I had heard many times about the Emilia-Romagna regional dessert called zuppa inglese (meaning English soup, which traditionally contains everything but the kitchen sink), and I imagined a pudding with many additions.  I finally ordered it at the above bake stand at the Modena fair, and realized my imagination was off the mark.  Zuppa Inglese is actually a layered dessert, reminiscent of tiramisu, with striations of egg custard and chocolate cream between layers of magenta sponge cake.  I think lady fingers are typically involved as well.  I was a little startled at the color of the cake, which I found out is caused by Alchermes, a bright red herb liquor.  Alchermes also has a pungent odor and flavor, and really sets the tone for the dessert.  The flavor did not knock my socks off, but I could see how others would enjoy it.

Zuppa Inglese

Cakes made by a local confectioner.

Almost makes me want to get married.

Fruit flowers!

When we had finally wore ourselves out shopping, we five girls sat down for a coffee break.  I started chatting with one of my favorites, who had been introduced to me as Irlandese, or Irish.  I was befuddled by her accent, and I found her one of the most difficult to understand in Italian.  Also, her English was not native, so I assumed she came from a very rural area where Gaelic was spoken.  We were talking about places we all wanted to visit, and I told her that after seeing "P.S. I Love You" I felt that I must visit Ireland to meet my husband.  At first she looked shocked, and asked to verify that I was married (remember this entire conversation is in Italian, so we have some things lost in translation).  When I finally made my point clear, she seemed nonplussed and confused at why I was directing this conversation toward her.  Then finally she said, "You know I'm Olandese, right?" Meaning she is from Holland, NOT Ireland.  For over a month I had believed what I had misheard as Irlandese.  And for a brief moment she had thought I was married.  We had a nice chuckle, then reintroduced ourselves to each other.  Good times.

Firenze Part 2; the Leather Conqueror

Here is a nugget of advice: if you find yourself in Florence, eat at I Fratellini sandwich shop.  It's an adorable little storefront just around the corner from the Piazza della Signoria.  Two workers can barely fit inside, but there's a stairwell to a den downstairs where the "brothers" will shout orders for back ups. The paninis cost around two euros and are jam-packed with flavor from fresh ingredients visible right in front of you.  All in all, it's a perfect place to curb your appetite on a dime and experience a little down-home Italy in the big tourist city.

I Fratellini fridge of ingredients

Pure joy

We weren't the only ones who appreciated I Fratellini

Another piece of edible advice: be wary of overpriced gelato!  In the tourist areas of Florence, if you said you wanted to stay inside the building while you were eating your gelato (or other snack) you could be charged up to double the original price, which is too high to begin with.  Where I was living in Reggio Emilia, I could get a reasonably sized gelato for 1.50 euros.  The same size gelato in Florence tourist traps cost 4.00 euros.  Whaaaaat?  We had already ordered by the time we realized the price, so we took the hit.  But only once.  Fool me once, Florence.

The gelato was gorgeous, but beauty has its price!

I was on a serious mission to find a leather jacket in Florence.  I was having trouble discerning what was actually quality leather.  Some of my favorite styles had leather that looked too crinkly to me, which apparently can be caused by storing and maintaining the leather incorrectly.  So I would fall in love with one style, but not the leather, then would search endlessly for the same style with quality leather.  It seemed hopeless, but I finally found a combination of style, color, quality and price that I was happy with.  I also was able to chat in Italian with the owner about how I was a foreign exchange student in Florence, so that I could get a discount.  I made a joke about how I liked that the jacket zipped up from the bottom too, so if I ate a big dinner I could let my stomach loose, but it was actually ok because I go to the gym.  The owner asked interestedly if I went to the gym in city center, and I said yes, since I wasn't going to be able to describe any other in the area.  He said that it was funny he'd never seen me there before.  I said, "A la prossima!" = See you next time!  Does it count as lying if it's in another language?

The most beautiful hand-crafted leather shop we found.  Also, out of our price range.

An entertaining wood shop we stumbled upon.

We made it to the Galeria Ufizi, one of the most reputable art museums in the area.  The statues were amazing.  We did get a chance to see David, and you could see the veins on his arms!  I had never thought about this before but it makes sense; all of the stone-colored statues used to be painted back in the day, but all the paint was weathered away.  I wonder if they would have looked as majestic as they do now.

Second floor hallway of statues.

Look at the detail in his collar!! (And the nipples are impressive, too)

  

A relative of David.

After getting snubbed by the over-priced gelato, we decided to try our hand at another renowned dessert shop.  Venchi is famous for producing chocolate, and we had been tipped that we had to try the chocolate cake.  When we ordered a slice, it automatically came with a cup of hot chocolate.  We joined a throng of people waiting for the next batch of hot chocolate to be made, watching the chocolateer (?) taste as she stirred.  Finally she turned around and told us it was not good enough to serve, and we could either have a refund or exchange for something else.  She offered to give Ashley and I each a little cup of hot hazelnut chocolate sauce to go with our slice of cake, and we accepted.  We snuck onto a nearby door stoop to avoid beggars and proper-folk stairs and we smothered our faces in chocolate.  It was DElicious!  But I must admit, my interested is piqued as to why so many people were waiting to drink the hot chocolate...

Chocolate cake with a shot of hazelnut spread.  Does the soul good.

Firenze Part 1

View from the top of Galeria Ufizi

This past Saturday I woke up at 7:00AM, head thick with a cold.  I stuffed my pockets with tissues, threw my clothes in a bag, grabbed my train ticket and headed to the station.  Nothing sounded better at that point than spending all weekend in bed, except for meeting up with my friend Ashley in Florence.

I have had good luck, which I mistakenly translated to aptitude, at the train station. So far all of my trips have been easy, I buy the cheapest ticket to my destination, hop on a train going in the right direction and hop off when I'm ready to explore.  The dismissal I nervously waited for from the conductor upon eying my ticket never came, until I was feeling crummy with a head cold on my early train to Florence.  The official stared confusedly at my ticket for a moment, then shook his head and told me I'd have to pay more and that he'd eventually come back to find me.  Shortly after, the rightful owner of my numbered seat came to boot me out and I found myself standing by the train door like a lost puppy, waiting for someone to take my money and show me where I could sit.  Right then, my period started.  It was shaping up to be a wonderful weekend.

Ponte Vecchio, Firenze.

When I finally arrived in Florence (an hour later than I planned), the sun was shining brightly.  Ashley and I found each other quickly, and set in motion for my very first CouchSurfing experience (www.CouchSurfing.org).  Our host lived a short tram ride away from the city center in a beautiful apartment, with very lovable roommates.  We dropped off our stuff, chatted briefly, received advice to take a nap that afternoon so we could go out later (which we ignored; who naps in Florence??), and hit the streets.

Not long after making it back to the city center, the clouds thickened and broke into a thorough soaking that conquered my "impermeable" coat.  We made it to the Piazza della Signoria, with the most beautiful, tall duomo made of red, green and white marble.  The coloring was different, classic and stunning.  The piazza also dropped us into our first leather shop of the trip.  Just for fun I tried on a Moka-colored, Gucci-style jacket.  I was in deep trouble.  Dear Ashley saw me try this same style on repeat in every leather shop we dared to enter for the rest of the trip.

City Hall nella Piazza della Signoria

Entrance to City Hall

Later that evening we dined at the pizzeria where our host works.  It was the perfect supplement to heal our soaking bones.

Duck sausage, mozzarella, truffle oil, YUM!

The master at work.  See the oven in the wall?

Now that's a complete meal.

We finished dinner just before midnight, when our host got off work.  He offered to show us to a local bar where some of his friends would be, which we found and made fast friends with some of the locals.  The people of Florence speak English beautifully, even more so than Venice.  Before we knew it this bar was closing, and we had to relocate to the next one, which we were told we would have never found if we hadn't been with locals.  It's probably true; I'm a convenience partier, so if it wasn't easy to find I would have been in bed.  We traveled in a pack, so the second bar had new scenery, but it felt like we were on the same dance floor.  Ashley and I were involved in a game of "is he hitting on me, or is he hitting on him?", which is very difficult to win in Europe, when this bar's time also came to an end.  We relocated with a smaller core to a bar that made us register and purchase a pass.  Hopefully I get my use out of it...

There was a group of U.S. soldiers from a training base nearby.  I started chatting with a beautiful boy wearing glasses, and found that he was from South Carolina.  He was charming to boot, so when Ashley said we were heading to see the view from Piazzale Michelangelo I invited him along.  We cheated and took a car to the top, as it is supposed to be a fairly rigorous hike.  The view was unbelievable, and even more so at night in my opinion.  The cathedrals jutted out from among the smaller buildings, lights shining and seemingly within reach.  The panorama was breathtaking.  Forgive me, as I did not have my wits about me to take a picture.  But really, you should go there and see it for yourself to do it justice.  And do it at night.

The next thing I knew our driver informed us it was 5:30 AM and we needed to head home.  WHAT?  The time had flown by.  I can't tell you the last time I stayed out that late/early.  When in Florence...

A beautiful, and very much needed, caffe the following morning.

Day Two TBW (to-be-written).  Waiting for my pictures to upload...