And all through the house, the suitcases were open with clothes spread about. I can’t fit my clothes and the gifts in a medium-sized suitcase. Drat! Marni gave me a large one, but handling it in the train station worries me. Why did I buy so many presents? My only consolation is the prospect of refilling it with treats from Eataly. Maybe the big one is the best bet.

I’m very excited to travel tomorrow. Can’t wait to meet my newest nipote and see my friends. I’ll try and blog from the road – am certain to eat well and enjoy the table fellowship, just don’t know how much computer time I’ll get. Arrivederci!

Am counting down the days until I fly out to Italy…and trying to finish the perishables in my fridge! Got home tonight from my last Spin class of 2009 with few choices and a fairly healthy appetite. Sauteed some fresh shaved fennel with chopped tomatoes until they became a sauce, then added cooked farro spaghetti, handfuls of fresh arugula and pecorino romano. What a nice combo! The carrot fennel salad I had imagined as a contorno never got made.

Shortly after finishing the bowl, I got a first date phone call from one of the men I’ve met online. He asked me what I was doing, and I told him, stunning him into near silence with not only the details of what I had just eaten but that I regularly cook for just myself. He eats fast food and cooks hamburgers and hot dogs. Hmmm. Would any woman find that intriguing? LOL. Strike one, I thought: food incompatibility. Doesn’t he value his health?

Strike two: travel incompatibility. This guy really wants to date someone who’s travelled, but he himself has never travelled outside of the area! He’s a 48 year old Italian-American who’d like to go to Italy one day, but spoke more enthusiastically about a future cruise to the Caribbean. When he asked me directly if I’d like to go on one, echoes of girlfriends rang in my head: “Lisa, you don’t have to tell the whole truth. Stop disagreeing with men ~ or at least wait until they already like you.” I then managed to squeeze out a positive response, telling him that because I find exploring new places so engaging, I’d never thought seriously about a cruise. Sure, any vacation with the right person is worthwhile. Mmm hmm.

Midlife dating holds many puzzles, for sure. I haven’t eaten a hamburger in 2 years, will likely not choose to eat one in any near future, and have no desire to ride around on a boat for 5 days. Who says, though, that any of that matters?

Of the many things I am thankful for are moments spent with dear friends, in or out of the kitchen. While celebrating Thanksgiving last week in Pittsburgh, I met up with Martin ‘dahn ‘a ‘Strip for some shopping ‘n ‘at. Moments after greeting, we quickly settled on our menu: homemade farro tagliatelle. He bought a brand-new pasta machine from Penn Mac and we head back to his place in Shadyside for a pasta practice session. No matter how many cookbooks, blogs or You Tube videos you watch, the best way to learn how to make homemade pasta is in the kitchen with someone else who’s been doing it for some time. Martin and I have known each other for at least 10 years; I’m not sure how we’d managed *not* to make pasta together before!

Here are some pictures marking the evening’s progression.

Martin with Glögg, in an Italian flag apron I had given him years ago.

Martin's most delicious wedding soup!

All warmed up, with squash roasting and music playing, we started the pasta-making, deciding to film bits for the blog.

Making the pasta dough with the farro flour was a challenge we tackled as we went along. We learned we needed to mix the farro flour with white flour in order to get the desired elasticity. We added fresh thyme to the third egg of pasta, adding a bit of contrast and flavor to the third egg of pasta. Martin speaks Italian when he cooks, whether or not he’s wearing the flag. How cool is that?

Cutting the pasta after many rolls through Martin's brand new machine.

Our artwork. It tasted as good as it looks here.

We dressed our pasta with roasted butternut squash, thyme, shallots, spinach and pine nuts.

Martin's apricot vlaai for dessert. The perfect ending to a great meal.

Escaped the surreal tangles of administrativia today with a walk to the post office, where, after random small talk, the friendly clerk at the passport photo desk asked, “Do you have children?”  He was the fourth man in less than a week to ask this very same question (otherwise preceded by, “Are you married?” and followed by, “Do you you have a boyfriend?” and gasps of disbelief, to which I offer only a stare in response*). In conversational reflex, I returned the question, learning that he had two: a 9 year old girl and a 21 year old son, who had just been killed. His eyes welled with tears; I didn’t have the courage to ask what had happened, but expressed my sympathy as best I could. He said he couldn’t talk about it or else he’d cry, then walked me over to his buddy with a scale that worked and made sure my passport renewal was on its way. He’s been swirling through my thoughts all day.

Afternoon meeting was as fruitless as the morning; conversations leading to nowhere, with expectations scattered and promises unkept. It’s only fitting that I should come home to a refrigerator with random remnants of meals gone by.

Ravioli redux, disassembled

Boil water. Add salt.

Break apart leftover pieces of fresh pasta from the squash ravioli. Peel from the parchment the remaining three ravioli.

Crumble the once fresh sage leaves into the leftover squash, half of it mashed for filling and half left in chunks.

Toss the squash in the microwave and the pasta in the pot, and wait not very long.

Open the gigantic piece of vacuum packed parmigiano that Simona brought over in – gasp! – July.  Break a piece off and curse the wretched dry Reggiano we get even at the best stores here. Break another piece off and reassess the decision to eat less cheese. Look forward to my December trip to Italy.

Assemble the cooked pieces, microzest the parmigiano and eat in silence, grateful that all is well in my world.

*Any ideas for a formulaic comeback here? “No”, “nope” and “not yet” elicit, “Why not?”: a question I cannot answer even on my best days.

When I first started investing in my friendship with Luca last year, I imagined that I’d somehow charm him into allowing me to cook on the line, perhaps making salads or desserts. Ha! One evening when I stopped in after a disappointing coffee date, he did allow me to cook with him, but only in desperation. His sous chef had quit and he was alone in the kitchen, with a rush on orders. I got to make grilled vegetables with bagna cauda and a few salads. My brief stint volunteering in a macrobiotic vegan cafe apparently did not prepare me (but I cut a mean burdock root, really).

A friend and I stopped by the restaurant last night, with a box of butternut squash ravioli I had made the day before. He had put them on his menu the week before, but included only the roasted squash in his filling. After tasting his, I insisted mine were better, with roasted shallots and chopped sage to round out the flavors. I took them in to prove my point. Humbled I was when both chefs, independently, had the same feedback: add parmigiano to the filling, which was both too scant and too “wet”. Good advice, I must admit.

The big news here is not so much that I got a new tip for making one of my specialties even better, but that Luca actually let me step *inside* the kitchen and make them myself! I grabbed the pan, scooped in the butter, pinched the sage and took a few (too many) walnuts …. turned on the gas to brown the butter …. and let Fabrizio step in to do the rest. LOL. Funny thing was that despite having watched them make ravioli hundreds of times, I never noticed that they added a bit of cooking water to the butter moments before adding the cooked ravioli. Hmmm.

I tried it at home tonight:

The butter right before it browned.

The ravioli, right before I ate some.

It felt good to learn a new trick. I’d have liked to cook this for a special occasion rather than a mundane post-Spin meal. Luca says that if I help him charm a woman, he’ll let me train on slow nights in the kitchen; I told him I’d only do it if Joey were my teacher when he wasn’t around. LOL. The more time I spend in the restaurant, the more it becomes clear to me that it’s a business I should be in more formally. Wonder how …

Gian Luca got married to Laura last Sunday, in a beautiful service at a church a few blocks from Washington Square, in the Village, where they live. I was honored to ‘witness’ the ceremony as his best man, and sit with his family at the reception, at Aurora Restaurant in Brooklyn (Williamsburg). Here are some artifacts:

La mozzarella di bufala with heirloom tomatoes. I'd never seen orange tomatoes served at a restaurant. I love New York.

Dear God, how on earth did they manage to make so tender the grilled octopus? And the potatoes so tasty? Granted, I hadn't eaten all day, but still.

Cauliflower with a fontina fondue. How is it that Italians like cauliflower so much?

Il primo: pappardelle with wild boar ragu. Delicious! (But Luca's is better.)

OMG. I'm full. The flowers are really beautiful.

La spigola, with tasty herbs...and broccoli. Oh dear. Since when do Italians eat broccoli like this?

Lots of people ordered the grass-fed beef. It looked quite tender.

Just for cutting - tiramisu was the dessert of choice, from one of their neighborhood Italian shops. I was too busy eating it to photograph it. Oops!

Laura ordered this after seeing it in Italy. I want this too (but not the little dog in the basket). When's my turn?!

Imported from Rimini. Little bundles of love. So simple. A perfect day in every way.

It was a beautiful fall day today in Philadelphia – sunny, with temps in the high sixties. I woke up wanting to bake, not bike. Seasons *have* changed.

My morning baking was simple: zucchini bread and banana-coconut-chocolate chip bread. I split them up and delivered all but a few slices of each to neighbors. I’m grateful to have landed in a building with so many wonderful people. When I moved in and signed a month-to-month lease, I never imagined I’d end up living here longer than I’ve lived anywhere since my childhood home.

After brunch with Luca at Carman’s Country Kitchen and some errands, I came home to chores and more kitchen fun.  Made D’jej de’al homes: chicken with chick peas. It’s Moroccan spices brought a surprising sense of comfort. Sharing here the recipe:

D’jej de’al homes

Spice mixture:

1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon sweet paprika

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1/2 teaspoon ground cumin

1/2 teaspoon turmeric

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt

Cut up a chicken (or use packaged thighs), remove the skin and rub the spice mixture onto the meat. Let sit an hour or so.

Saute several chopped onions in butter and olive oil. Saute the chicken and the onions until brown.

Add a can of chick peas, two to three cups of chicken broth (or water) and copious amounts of cilantro.

Simmer for an hour or so until the chicken falls from the bone. Serve with cous cous or brown rice.

I got this recipe from a cookbook I used to use often: The World’s Finest Foods: 180 Classic Recipes from Around the World. Past dinner parties have featured recipes from the pages on Morocco, Greece, Spain and Italy, but I’m not sure I’ve ever actually attempted any of the recipes from Thailand, Japan, China or Mexico. Mediterranean flavors attract me. Still. After all these years. Will travel to Italy in December.

Every so often I get the chance to head over the Ben Franklin bridge and into New Jersey, where the gas is cheap and the stores are plenty. About 20 minutes from Philly, in Cherry Hill, resides Wegmans supermarket – a foodie’s bounty. Truly. If I ever abandon the urban life, I want to live near one of these. Mark my words.

Perimeter shoppers adore Wegmans for its variety of high quality foods. Walking through the fruits and vegetables inspires the urge to eat well. Mushroom risotto? or perhaps a tart with a lemon scented crust? Braised fennel for pasta, or shaved in a salad? How can I use that huge bunch of fresh mint?

For me, standing before the olive bar conjures visions of Mediterranean travels past – Ligurian hillsides and Andalusian highlands, Delphian valleys, stone-tiered terraces in Lebanon. In my twenties and early thirties, the men I loved were from families with olive groves. My lifelong friend Kim still jokes about that being the most frequent element of my dating “pattern”. Ha ha! One day I’d like to have an olive tree and a rosemary bush that don’t die in the winter … even if these exist in a greenhouse.

Picture grabbed from here.

Of Wegmans’ many treasures, I discover the most intriguing at the cheese counters, mostly because I’ve eaten so few of the varieties they carry. On my last visit, I discovered quadrello di bufala, a soft cheese from Lombardia. I ate it at room temperature on rosemary bread. It was the perfect meal.

Quadrello di bufala is produced in the provincia di Bergamo (near Milano) at a family-owned dairy that has dedicated itself over the past 3 years to making cheese with milk from water buffalo. According to Janet Fletcher, they’ve now got 25 varieties. Very interesting, indeed. She describes the cheese so beautifully, I hardly want to take a stab at it myself:

Take a moment to appreciate this cheese’s seductive aroma, a merging of cave and mushroom scents with the frank fermentation smell of cultured milk. On the tongue, it is supple, creamy and coating, with plentiful salt and a vigorous tang. In Quadrello I find everything I am looking for in cheese: a compelling fragrance, a pleasing texture, flavor balance and a long finish.
(Read more here.)

Each time I make the trip to Wegmans, I tell myself I can always go again in another few weeks. So far, I’ve made it there no more than 2-3 times per year. LOL. Last year at the Appetite for Awareness event, I begged the guys at the Wegmans table to consider opening up an outpost in the city. All I need is the perimeter, I said. They just laughed. The drive over the bridge is no big deal; it’s just conceptually far far away.

My tomatoes got the blight, but my basil is doing very well this year. I’ve been snipping it regularly, chiffonade-ing it into tomato salads and sauteed zucchini, whirring it into pesto, gifting it to anyone whose path I cross as I walk from my garden back to my apartment. Sometimes I wash and dry my harvest immediately, packing the leaves into a freezer bag for a future dish. Other times I simply put it in a glass of water on my kitchen counter, so that its perfume scents my small space, reminding me that it is summertime. All the while aware that it will only be with me a few more weeks, I’m already starting to mourn its loss.

While I grew several varieties if basil last year, this year I stuck with what I like best: genovese basil. Have made more pesto than I’ll be able to consume in a year, but still keep cutting it, figuring I’ll find a use. Basil syrup makes for a nice sweetener in sorbet. Mixed with cherry juice and seltzer water, it’s a refreshing alternative to the room temp water I typically drink.

According to the Herb Society of America:

In Italy, where sweet basil is called “kiss me Nicholas,” “bacia-nicola,” it is thought to attract husbands to wives, and a pot of basil on a windowsill is meant to signal a lover.

Curious, indeed. I’ve got a field of basil in my garden and no lovers in sight. So much for antiquated Roman beliefs informing modern life. Wish my field of basil would ’signal’ a cycling partner.

There are no women behind the counter at Claudio’s. I wonder why.

I asked the guy who waited on us if he’d consider opening an outpost in University City, and he just laughed. Under ordinary circumstances, I’d have argued my point with him, but instead I noticed how handsome he was. Funny how a simple smile can change everything.  By the time he wrapped my robiola a few minutes later, my crush was full-blown. It really doesn’t take much. LOL.

Anyway, Claudio’s is this family-owned place that’s been around since the 50’s. Like some of the older immigrant-owned places in the Strip, it serves both wholesale and retail markets.  I like its unpretentious space. They didn’t mind if I took pictures (I asked).

Seriously, though: I’d like an Italian food shop in my neighborhood. We’ve got Indian, Middle Eastern, Japanese, African and Thai. Why not Italian? Cheese from Claudio’s, prepared foods and pastries from Carlino’s, pasta from Talluto’s … and a cooking school in the back, where I can teach people how to make mozzarella and tiramisu. Call these midsummer dreams … I’m desperately seeking something to dream about.