"'Alitalia' and 'helpfulness' do not go together."

So spoke a very nice guy at the agroturismo that we stayed at in Sicily. First of all, let me say that I love Sicily. I think I left my heart in Palermo. I will strong-arm Rahm my future husband Rahm no, actually, my future husband to go to Cefalu on our honeymoon. After I left Bologna, I met up with my family and we stayed at a gorgeous agroturismo just outside of Licata (on the southeast part of Sicily--it's in between Catania and Agrigento) for five days and then hung out in Palermo for 3 days. We saw Greek ruins, Byzantine art, Baroque churches, Art Nouveau theatres, and even dipped our feet in the Tyrhhenian. But holy fuck were the last 48 hours of the trip a schlep. Sicily was Odysseus's last major stop on his way home before he was imprisoned by Calypso for seven years. The pastures of the Sun God were on Sicily, as were the monsters Scylla and Charybdis. I'm 100% certain that we met both.

We went to the beautiful beach town Cefalu on our last day there (pictures soon, I promise). After having some extremely fancy gelato on the beach, I offered to walk to the train station to figure out when the next train to Palermo was, forgetting that the station was more than a bit of an uphill walk, which would be very hard for my mom, who has trouble walking long distances, to make. Anyway, I get to the station and some guy is standing out there and starts talking. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or talking to someone behind me and quite frankly I wasn't in the mood to find out, especially since, after I went inside, he was still talking to the spot where I had been standing. Anyway, mission accomplished, I go back down into town. We decide to take a taxi to the train station. There weren't any taxis at the stand, so I called one. The dispatcher told me to look for a cab with a certain number. After a few minutes, a taxi (that wasn't ours) came to the stand and we decided to take it because we didn't feel like waiting. (Do you people understand how GOOD it feels to be in a civilized city where you can get a cab whenever you want?) Anyway, we get to the station and as soon as we get out, some guy comes up to me and asks, "Were you the people at Piazza Garibaldi?" "Um... yeah?" Then he started yelling at me for not waiting for the cab that was supposed to get us, and what the fuck was our problem, etc. (our cab driver, a very sweet lady, had told us business was slow so I guess that's why he was pissed.) She jumped in and said, "Oh, she doesn't speak Italian" and told us to go inside. They fought for a bit, she won and left, and then we heard the other cab driver bitching very loudly outside. Whatever. Then, two minutes later, the guy who had been talking at me (Scylla?) when I went to the train station the first time bounded into the station, with a very worried-looking older man in tow, literally got into my face and started yelling about how could we have left him, and he was waiting in Piazza Garibaldi for three hours (more like three minutes), and why didn't we ask for the number of the cab, etc. Basically, I lied to him a little and said we thought the first cab was ours, but he wouldn't go away. Finally the older man, who had been trying to calm us down, asked us where we had been waiting and then basically said, "Oh, you were mistaken, you were in Piazza C." (Total lie.) Which calmed Scylla down. He shook my hand, left, and the older man leaned over to me and said that he was "malatto" (sick). Then we heard more extremely loud bitching outside, so I started cursing in Italian, which I can assure you surprised everyone in the waiting room. We then had a peaceful train ride to Palermo. Considering what happened next,I think that Scylla gave us the malocchio.

We wanted a memorable last meal in Palermo. We got it. We wandered a block away from our hotel to a piazza where there were a bunch of restaurants. Mom saw one that had a huge antipasto buffet and she was all, "Oh, the antipasto of my youth! Can we go?" Before we could say yes or no, the owner, Charybdis, who was very friendly but seemed a little bit...off... invited us in. And by invited I mean forced us to sit down at a table. We started talking in Italian, and he kept on putting his hand on my shoulder and being otherwise touchy-feely. I turned to him to ask him to stop and found the powerful stench of wine and beer on his breath. He asked, "Can I get you Sicilian-style veal rolletini. It's the best?" "Uh, no, we're not really interested." I gave him our order. Every 5 minutes:

"Do you not want Sicilian-style veal rolletini? Only the best for you."
"No. We want what we ordered."
Charybdis retreats to his corner table where he drunkenly mutters over the receipts and takes a swig from his huge jug of beer.
"Claudia [the waitress]! Get x for that table!" Claudia totters over with four other orders and does as commanded.
Charybdis saunters over us. "Do you want veal rolletini."
"No. We want what we ordered."

Our food eventually came. I got the past I ordered but Rachel and Mom got... veal rolletini. We wait half an hour for our garlic bread, which never came, and Dad's steak. Which had magically turned into veal rolletini. And we were charged 105 euro for the pleasure.

We had to get up at 5:30 in the morning to get to the airport. The flight from Palermo to Rome passed without event. We get to Rome and check the board--our 12:45 flight had been pushed back to 5:40. Well, that was weird. We went to the Alitalia desk. What had happened to our flight? Could we change to another one? The people at the Alitalia desk were studiously unhelpful. It was a Delta flight, so why should they help us? Except it was an Alitalia flight. Oh? Then the flight got pushed back even further to 8:40. We went to the Alitalia desk again, and they didn't help us, again. Finally we walked to another counter and found the Delta desk. They switched us to a flight to Atlanta with a connecting flight to New York. We get to Atlanta. Do you know what was cancelled? Our flight. We were automatically moved up to the next flight to New York, but no one could tell us where we could get our boarding passes. We were so tired that we sat around waiting at gate 21, not gate 12. Somewhere between running to gate 12 and trying not to knife anyone for this incredible stupidity, Rachel got me french fries and chicken fingers from Checkers. Ah, the first taste of home. I had been imprisoned in a land of good food and fresh vegetables! Nothing could have been better than potatoes lovingly fried in lard. Anyway, we got on the plane. As we found out when we landed in La Guardia, our luggage didn't. We just gave up and went home. (Our luggage is coming this evening.)

Maybe it was the fact that I hadn't slept for 24 hours but I almost cried when I stepped out of the airport. Home! The beautiful smell of New York (smog and gas), the constant murmer of traffic, the wide, long streets, and the shiny modern buildings. I have a very love-hate relationship with New York (as in, I love to hate it), but I think I finally understand why outsiders are so fascinated by it. There really is nothing else like my beautiful crystal city.

Wake Me Up Before You Go Go

This is probably one of my favorite doodles ever ever ever. I drew it not long after Alexander McQueen's death, based on some images I saw from the beautiful Sarabande collection. It's a little melancholic but also very graceful.

Looking at this image makes me think of ECCO, in a strange way. I'm glad we had this semester together. I really felt I grew as a person: I became more independent and mature, and I know what my goals for the very, very near future are (write thesis about Boticelli, party, graduate, have Rahm's babies). I had so many laughs with all of you--both ECCO students and italiani--and I'll miss you all.

Tiramisu I Have Known

In anticipation of going to Treviso to go to Antico Ristorante Le Becchiere, the birthplace of tiramisu, I am going to write about all of the tiramisu I have divested myself of.

1) The one, the only, Rita's:

 I already posted about it, but it's still one of the greats.

Her recipe calls for putting chocolate in with the egg whites. When the tiramisu has had time to refrigerate properly, the chocolate tastes like fudge. Definitely not traditional, but still incredible.

2) Zabaione

 I had this in Venice the night of Carnivale. Zabaione is tiramisu's close cousin: it's eggs, sugar, mascarpone, and rum. When it's warmed up, like here, it's the perfect remedy for the early spring chills! Since tiramisu is a Veneto invention, it's pretty safe to assume that it evolved from this drink, a traditional elixir on wedding nights. It is pretty orgasmic.

3) ZaZa

 ZaZa is an amazing restaurant in Florence. Special thanks to my friend Allie R for recommending it to me! I had told Will and Alessandra about this place, and they made reservations at this place without realizing that I had recommended it. They do traditional Italian food and beautiful roasted meat. *Sigh* Anyway, their tiramisu was okay. There was a little too much coffee on top.

4) Napoli

 This was at this restaurant in Napoli where we had a prix-fixe lunch. It was the very beginning of our Ecco adventure in Napoli (spring break) and I'm very sorry to say that it was an inauspicious beginning! The antipasto was amazing, but the gnocchi they gave us was greasy, flavorless, and, in some cases, burnt. The tiramisu was easily the worst I've ever had. Ever. It's not like tiramisu is difficult. How can you fuck it up? Well, the mascarpone wasn't fresh, the savoiardi had been soaked in too much rum and coffee for far too long and there was way too much coffee on top. It tasted like it had been sitting around for at least a day. Gross. We had better luck with our food elsewhere in Naples!

5) Easter

I don't have a picture of this, but one of my housemate's friends brought a tiramisu for Easter dinner. It was so good! The perfect amount of creamy and cakey and rum. He also put little sugar hearts on top, so when I ate leftovers for breakfast (NATURALLY), the sugar had all melted and it was amazing the end.

6) Osteria dell'Orso

 Osteria dell'Orso is a fantastic restaurant right around the corner from Ecco. The portions are huge and the food is cheap. It's just excellent. I was a little worried when I ordered my tiramisu because my sandwich, while good, was not as good as it could have been. I also had a really hard time attracting the waiter, so when one did came by doing something else, I was like, "Um, sorry can I order a tiramisu? Sorry for the interruption!" He took 50 cents off of my cheque for being so nice. Anyway, this was a perfectly competent tiramisu, even though there was cocoa on top (not my fave look).

7) My Tiramisu

I attempted to make a tiramisu by myself. I am physically incapable of separating eggs, someone needs to get me one of those machines that does it for you because this is getting far too comical. Anyway, I successfully separated my first two eggs (one of my housemates and her boyfriend watched me, mesmerized). After they complimented me, I got so flustered that I cracked the next egg too hard and egg went all over the table... and yolk into the eggwhite bowl! I was able to get most of the egg out but when I cracked the final egg, the yolk ran all over the place. CONSPIRACY.

 Eggs were the cause of all my troubles Friday. I had PMS-induced panic attacks because of finals. THANKS, EGGS.

Anyway, I decided to toss the eggwhites out. What I was left with was custard and Kahlua, and I could have made an awesome zabaione. Or I could just make a custard sandwich. Which is what I did. And grated dark chocolate on top.

Victory.

Bella Venezia

Click images to enlarge.

I went to Venice today with the best intentions: walk around, take pictures, and see Palazzo Mocenigo, San Marco, Il Palazzo Ducale, and the Accademia all before the last regional train left at 7 PM. Well, Rome wasn't built in a day and even I have to confess that Venice simply cannot be done in one day. Unless you want to get the 8:00 AM train. (No.)

While attempting to find Palazzo Mocenigo, I found a restaurant called Alba Nova. It was cute and the menu was in Italian, so I went in and got papardalle with porcini mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, and parsley. So fresh, and so good! I was even rewarded with a few locals walking in (including the guy who delivered the groceries!) to chat with the cook and drink a glass of wine at the bar.

My first stop was Palazzo Mocenigo, one of Italy's only historic costume museums. The palazzo also houses Italy's only Center of Textile Studies. It seems like the palazzo is more Center than museum, but that's okay because the few clothes they had were beautiful. All of the dresses were from the 18th century, Venice's last hurrah. The first room had two children's robes:

The dress on the right was a fantastic green silk moire with white, green, and teel embroidery. Drool-worthy. Although you can't see it in this picture, the dress also has a Watteau back. In my costume history class, I learned that this type of dress was called a robe francaise, but the Venetians and the French called it an adrienne. I also have a thing for fabrics, so as you can imagine, this piece was orgasmic:

The palace itself was also quite beautiful: a Rococo interior to match the Rococo clothes.

There was also a family library with 200 years' worth of fashion books on display. What I wouldn't do to revise and update this beauty from an 1886 fashion plate:

Oh, and there was a whole room dedicated to George Barbier prints. It's like they knew I was coming.

Next stop was Piazza San Marco and, naturally, Basilica San Marco:

San Marco is basically ridiculously beautiful and made my beloved Monreale (more on that soon!) look like Amateur Hour. Unfortunately, most of the church was closed off in preparation of Easter. Oh no I will just have to go back, woe is me, etc.

After that, I took a quick turn around the corner to the Palazzo Ducale. Tip: Don't get the audio guide because it's somewhat tedious and it's 5 euro. They don't give you a receipt so you can't get it reimbursed by ECCO. Boo. You also aren't allowed to take pictures inside and the guards are just bored enough to strictly enforce this rule. Poor things, they all looked so miserable.

When I entered the Palazzo Ducale I was like, "Yeah, yeah, Venice is really pretty and all, but I'm mostly over it." Then I turned my head to the right, saw the Renaissance Wing, and then almost burst into tears because it was so beautiful. The picture above is just one teeny, tiny detail of the Giant's Staircase, where the new Doge was crowned.

By the time I had done all of this it was almost 5:00, and what with the crowd and possibly getting lost, I wouldn't be able to go to the Accademia and catch my train. So I meandered around the luxury district for awhile and mentally flipped the bird at the Prada store because how dare Miuccia Prada say she's a feminist when she can't be arsed to design costumes for an opera for any actor above a size 2 so then the Met had to hire a ton of models instead and then this same bitch had a fall collection that purposely made the models look curvy my God what a whore. Ahem. Anyway.

So as I was walking back on the Rialto, feeling badly for myself for having been to both Venice and Florence twice and still not having seen a single famous Titian portrait, I heard a tambourine. And then:

LARPERS!!!! LARPers make the world go around. Of course, they weren't very good LARPers because their clothes were, ummmmm, 16th and 17th century? But we can't complain.

Oh, and there were so many bridges:

Did you know that the Rialto and the Ponte Vecchio in Florence are the only two bridges in Italy with stores lining the sides? How lucky that I have been to both tourist traps!

Does this count as a cultural experience?

I got an Italian haircut yesterday! It was weird. As you can see behind me, there are no counters like in an American salon. And they do not cut your hair with scissors--oh, no. They use a razor, which is somewhat terrifying when you're worried because your Italian is on the fritz (seriously, yesterday I couldn't speak our understand anything per niente) and you hope they don't shave you bald or something. And then they blew my hair out and they were like, "Do you want me to make your hair curly?" and I was all, "No, I want it to be natural." And then they blew my hair out anyway. What's with Italians and big hair? Discuss.

P.S. If I look tired/ hung over in this picture... it's because I am. Ooops.

Italy Adventures

Yeah, so, I haven't posted in awhile. (Whoops.) And I promised I would talk about Italy! (Double whoops.) So now I'm doing both. This post is a collection of weekend trips that I've taken.

Ravenna

Ravenna is somehow still a charming city even though its prime industry is tourism and mosaics. Mosaics? Yes, mosaics. Ravenna was a cultural center for the westernmost outpost of the Byzantine empire. When the Visigoths invaded Italy, the Byzantines retreated to Ravenna. Today, Ravenna has some of the best preserved Byzantine mosaics in the world, most notably in San Vitale (a UNESCO Site) and Sant'Apollinare Nuovo. The Tomb of Galla Placidia is behind San Vitale but alas, no pictures--they're not allowed. Also, one geeky thing to note: the mosaics in San Vitale are one of the most important sources on Byzantine costume.

San Vitale

 

San'Apollinare Nuovo

We also visited Dante's Tomb. Dante was exiled from Florence for the last years of his life. He eventually settled in Ravenna. Of course, now the Tuscans want the body back. (Still!) Every year, on the anniversary of Dante's death, admirers from Tuscany and Ravenna come to the tomb in period costume. The Tuscans put some Tuscan oil in the lamp as a sign of friendship.

  

 

 

 

Oh, and I ate this stuff:

 

Ferrara

Ferrara is a beautiful city, but I have to admit there isn't all that much to see. We went to the Castello Estense, the castle of the extremely powerful d'Este family. It's hard to believe that at one point little Ferrara was one of the prime centers of the Renaissance world.

 
 

  

The view from the Tower

 
 

I also got this thing, which is the Ferrara specialty. I don't know what it's called but it's a pastry filled with beschamel,  macaroni, and sausage. HOW CAN THAT BE BAD? EXACTLY.

 

 

Ohohoho Goldenballs

Classier Golden Balls (Whoever gets the reference is my friend forever.)

So, remember how I mentioned this news show where some reporter grabbed David Beckham's balls? Apparently, he's on loan from LA Galaxy to AC Milan (please) so this intrepid reporter named Elena Di Cioccio decided to see if Beckham was worthy of his wife's nickname for him, Golden Balls. He's been in some underwear ads and there were some accusations that his underwear had been stuffed. And Elena discovered that Il Beckham is small. Quelle surprise. So why hasn't she been sued or arrested or something? Like WTF?

Also, watching the afternoon news has made me realize that a lot of Italian news programs are organized like talk shows or game shows. And people say Americans have short attention spans.

Also too an ad just came on for a Fiat car. A bunch of lazy black men are lolling around in a tropical paradise. But lo! A perfect white family needs help loading their car! So the lazy black men take all of their worldly possessions and put them into the car, to show the perfect white family just how much room their Fiat car/child rapist van (true story, that's what it looks like) has, and then everyone drives away together. Now there's a report about Haiti. The end.

TIRAMISU FOR BREAKFAST EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE

I feel like I should rename this blog "Tiramisus I Have Known." Because that's quickly what this blog is going to become if the Bolognese don't stop throwing tiramisu at me. I'm not complaining, mind you.

As some of you may know, my favoritest dessert in the history of evar is tiramisu. One of my main goals for this semester is to go on a pilgrimage to Le Beccherie in Treviso, the birthplace of tiramisu. It will be the happiest day of my life, except for my wedding to Rahmbo. (IT WILL HAPPEN. You'll see. I'll seduce him with my tiramisu.)

A quick rundown on tiramisu. Basically you mix egg yolk, mascarpone and sugar. Then you take some eggwhites and mix it in to make the filling fluffy. You take savoiardi/ ladyfingers and dip them in a liquid of your choice, usually coffee or a liquor. You put the ladyfingers in a pan with high sides, put a layer of the custard on top, rinse and repeat until you fill the pan or run out. Then you refrigerate the delicious creature overnight. Once it's ready, you eat it and orgasm because tiramisu is the best dessert ever. (For what it's worth, I dip my ladyfingers in a mixture of coffee and kahlua.)

My first Italian tiramisu was last Wednesday. It was my housemate Giorgia's birthday and she made a tiramisu for dessert. Her tiramisu was delicious. The bottom layer of ladyfingers were soaked in coffee, the top in rum. The filling was fairly solid and thick, like cream cheese. She told me that I should have the leftovers for breakfast. Best breakfast ever.

Tonight, we had a cooking lesson with a professional chef! We made traditional biscotti with her (almonds, orange juice, and lemon rind), and she had already prepared a boatload of polenta. She also gave us something to try that she found at the bottom of her polenta bag. I have no idea what it was, but it looks like those long, brown seed pods you find in New York City parks in the fall. Anyway, this thing tasted like Parmesan cheese and figs at the same time. A miraculous product of nature. She had also prepared for us 1) Bolognese sauce 2) beef, peas, and tomato sauce stew 3) sauteed artichoke, mushrooms, carrots, zucchini, and potatoes and 4) a magical cheese that one traditionally mixes with polenta. It might actually be more orgasmic than tiramisu. I'll find out the name of this thing and I will blog about it forever. Stay tuned.

And for dessert? Oh, dessert. We had our biscotti, of course. And tiramisu. Loads of tiramisu. Mountains of tiramisu. Two bowls bigger than my head of tiramisu. Like some more traditional tiramisu recipes, the filling was a little runny. Our chef had dipped the savoiardi in brandy and sprinkled chocolate shavings on top. But here is where her brilliance lay: in between the savoiardi and the filling lay a layer of chocolate gelato. Chocolate gelato. Brilliant. Someone give this woman a Nobel Peace Prize. There were plenty of leftovers, so guess what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow? Yessssss.

Italian TV is Confusing, Strange

So, I've been watching this variety show with my room mates for about an hour. This show contained: a candid camera section; some lady walking up to David Beckham and groping him just to see how big his nuts are; a segment where an Eastern European woman dated different Italian guys she found on the Internet, exposing their misogyny and sexism; a segment where they tricked a woman into thinking she had gotten a parking ticket; a segment where the show paid for a woman to get plastic surgery and then made fun of her for it; a segment on three different patients going to China to get some sort of stem cell surgery (in Italy, you can perform stem cell research but no operations); and now a serious interview with a child prostitute. Mmhmm.

Do Not Wok

Okay, so, aside from that absolutely terrible pun, I made a pretty big mistake last night. I went to an Italian Chinese restaurant last night. 01/ 16 NEVER FORGET!!!!!!!!

All of the kids in my program were going to go to a certain restaurant, but because we hadn't made a reservation they couldn't take us. We then decided to split up. There's a Chinese restaurant near our program office so, just for funsies, my group decided to go there. Food in Italy is good. Cheap food in Italy is especially good. Chinese food is good. Chinese food is cheap. Ergo, Chinese food in Italy must be good. Right? Right?!

We got to the restaurant and there was a table set for eight. Great! Perfect! There was a "riservato" card on the table, but we just assumed that, like in most restaurants, it was put there to make the restaurant look more popular. And it was plenty popular--almost every table was full. Oh, I had dreams of delicious scallion pancakes and Chinese eggplant in chili sauce and chicken and scallions and and and... Well, we got the menu and none of that was on it. But I noticed that they had veal! Wow! Veal in a Chinese restaurant, how novel. Why don't I get the veal with ginger. Oh, I could just imagine it, veal in brown sauce with scallions and fresh ginger. Well, it took the waiter almost fifteen minutes to take our order. And a half hour to get our drinks. And another half hour to get our appetizers. And another half hour for our food to actually come. And when it finally did come, we almost didn't care what it tasted like. And it tasted like salt and oil. Oil. Tons of it. In the States even shitty Chinese food tastes like something. You know, something other than salt and oil. My dish had salty veal with pickled ginger, because the meat clearly wasn't salty enough. So we paid about six euro (about nine bucks) each for shitty Chinese food and I dare you to find a worse place Stateside.

All was not lost. Because we were all still hungry, we went to a caffe nearby. I got a dessert called a casetta. It's orange sponge cake covered in a layer of cream, wrapped up in a layer of bright green marzipan, and topped with almonds and a maraschino cherry. Heaven in my mouth. I almost forgot about the veal.