Kitchen Tales

A restaurant kitchen is a dangerous milieu. There's fire, wet floors, boiling oil, razor sharp knives and ovens that are always on. Everything is exaggerated, compared to the usual home kitchen -- huge, weighty pots, shanks with 20-inch blades, tongs as long as your leg and skillets 2 1/2-feet in diameter. Add exhaustion, hurry, tension and bad luck and you've either smacked, burned, dropped or cut something that's gonna hurt. 

Yesterday, Guiseppe had a big red mark on top of his hand. A cut? No, a burn from the forno, oven. We started swapping kitchen war stories and I suddenly thought of the movie "Jaws." 

There's a scene in Jaws when the main characters, Hopper, Quint and Brody are in the belly of Quint's boat. They're eating, drinking and gabbing. They begin to talk about their scars. Each recount becomes progressive more gruesome as each thinks the wounds before were nothing. Finally Quint tells the story or all stories. 

Quint: ... Mako. Fell out of the tail rope and onto the deck. You don't get bitten by one of those bastards but twice -- your first and your last."

I burned my right index finger caramelizing sugar in my freshman dorm room making Brazilian Flan. Guiseppe almost lost part of a finger in a slicer. I nearly cut off the tip of my finger just last month slicing my favorite, yet extremely dense Zingerman's dried fruit and nut bread. 

Tomek, the youthful dishwasher, just then let fall a huge sauce pot. It fell right in the middle of his shin. The knot on his leg was the size of a tangerine. 

 

Via dei Teatro del Valle-- the street where I live.

I live in one of the safest neighborhoods in Roma. I've never felt a moment of anxiety during the walk home from work, often at midnight.  I am, however, always relieved when I arrive to my little via. 

No matter which direction I come from, the familiar sight comfort. I know I'm close to the apartment when I see my landmarks, which is a big deal -- the old streets all look the same in these parts. 

Directly next-door is the Teatro del Valle, a theatre. They they begin a run of "La Strada," a stage version of Fellini's 1954 film. Across from the apartment is the Teatro Bar (in Italy, bars are like snack bars that serve alcohol and limited menus, usually including salads and sandwiches). There are several small shops in and around the area, including a few that sell woven baskets, chairs, plant-holders, etc. Each shop displays a handwritten sign that reads (in Italian), "we fix any anything," or something like that. There's the evangelical church, a calzoneria (a shoe store), a wine shop, hair salon, bookstore,  a couple of restaurants, et al.

When I return from work, a 10 minute walk, I turn right at the defunct "Tipografia" shop. 

Parked along the narrow street, there are always a myriad of cars and and motorcycles. On theatre night, people crowd the street making it nearly impossible for cars, bikes or pedestrians to get by. 

Welcome to my hood. 

Learning Italian in the Kitchen

Valentin likes to say that in the kitchen, we are family. And like all families, we're functionally disfunctional, although I must say of all the kitchens I've experienced, there is a lot of respect and cooperation among the cooks, chef, waiters and management. Perhaps because the kitchen IS small (like most Roman restaurant kitchens in old buildings), everyone is on best behavior. Still, I am learning a colorful Italian.

My favorite expression? Vaffanculo! Pronounced vah-fu-ahn-coo-olo, it means "F*#K YOU." I love it so much I try to use it in a variety of situations, appropriate or not. The staff all laugh when I say it.

In the Ghettoooooooooooo

Okay, this may not be completely accurate, but here goes. According to Lisa, my guide on all things Roman, the Jewish community in Rome is the oldest continuous one in all of Europe, since around 300 BCE. I learned subsequently that the history goes back to the days of the Maccabees.

In Rome, it was only when Christianity was adopted officially, was there open discrimination. Walls were built to contain the Jews in the mid 1500s and its residents required to wear "flair" (yellow on hats and scarves) to be easily identifiable. For more than 300 years, Jews were forced to live exclusively in this "quarter." In the late 1800s, the walls were torn down, but there is still a strong presence and Jewish feel to the area, with its synagogue (the main synagogue in Rome) museum and myriad of Kosher restaurants.

The Jewish quarter, about a 15 minute walk from my apartment, is bordered on one side by the Tiber, near the Isola Tiberina, Tiber Island.

We had dinner near the famous Fontana de la Tartarughe, the Tortoise Fountain, in the northern area of the quarter. We stopped at one eatery Lisa likes, Nonna Betta (Grandmother Betta) in the heart of the area, Via del Portico d'Ottavia. The area caters to Jewish (and non-Jewish) travelers and those who keep kosher in Rome. Some of the men in Nonna Betta wore yamulkas.

We experienced an evening of artichokes and more. We ordered Carciofo all Guidia (fried artichokes in the Jewish style), zucchini flowers stuffed with Mozzarella and anchovies (fresh anchovies, not the salty canned anchovies of America). The artichokes are so uniquely Roman I just had to add the recipe. We had Stracetto di Tonno and a uniquely Roman vegetable salad, Puntarelli (wild chicory or endive stems) with anchovy dressing. Delish!

Carciofo All Guidia (Jewish Style Artichokes)

NOTE: If you've never seen these, then it's hard to picture, but imagine friend whole artichokes or the bottom third of artichokes, deep fried in olive oil. We've seen these whole or served as just the heart and bottom leaves. For ease, I am including a recipe with the hearts and the lower leaves.

8 whole artichokes
Juice of two lemons
salt and pepper to taste
Olive oil for frying (start with 2 1/2 cups)

Cut the tops of the artichokes off to just above the heart (start slowly, you can always cut more).
Fill a bowl with water and lemon juice (enough to submerge the artichokes). Use scissors or a sharp knife to cut off the tough tips of the artichokes.

Cut off around the hairy "choke" and discard the spikey/hairy part. You WILL l want to keep the lowers leaves (they are essential to this recipe). Cut the stalk so that it is quite short (so the artichoke will sit flatter on its bottom).

Line a baking sheet with several layers of paper towel. Set aside.

Heat oil in a large skillet over high heat until very hot. Season the artichokes with salt and fresh ground pepper and drop them into the skillet. Cook them, turning once or twice, until the artichoke becomes a darker, browned color and are tender. Drain well on the prepared baking sheet and serve hot or at room temperature. Makes 4 servings.

Dead Man Walking.

I can't help it, but I'm just really clumsy. If I don't watch exactly where I'm walking, I will fall. And it's actually not a trip unless I actually do trip. In Jodhpur I fell in the market. In Florida I fell in the shower. I almost fell all over Tokyo. In Rome, old Rome especially (I'm living and working in Medieval Rome), the streets are all cobblestone. Uneven, stones missing, loose cobbles, cobblestone. I, in my cooking clogs (black patent leather Dansko clogs -- lovely), am just a step away from a bad experience and definite inconvenience. As Romans (mostly the young ones) traipse in stiletto heels, I'm barely vertical in my unstylish, sensible shoes. I've heard that humans have two natural fears. One of loud noises and the other of falling. E vero.

In the Cucina #3

When I walked into the kitchen today, Guiseppe had at least six pots going at once. 

Palermo born and raised, young Guiseppe is always smiling. Tall with a spiky brushed this way and that coif with longish sideburns, I can easily imagine this twenty-something as a nine year-old, skinny with scraped knees. In a chefs jacket and apron, he looks unremarkable, but the other night, which he had off, he showed up in jeans where the waistband barely hugged the bottom of his skinny bum, a chain looped and in a leather jacket with All-Star-esque sneakers.

Anyway, Guiseppe was preparing tomato sauce, slow cooked onions (for individual onion flans, vegetable broth, vanilla pastry cream and Spezzatino di Manzo (a beef stew with red wine and rosemary), among other things. The stew starts out with a mirepoix, ground carrots, onions and celery sauteed in olive oil in a big pot. Beef, cut into cubes, is added and browned, red wine, tomato paste, salt and chopped fresh rosemary are added and the mixture bubbles until tender. 

Throughout the day, except during the lunch rush, he cooked and I helped. A few minutes after walking in I was making a butter based dough (butter, sugar, egg yolks, vanilla, flour and semolina, that is the basis for biscotti (or tiny biscottini), patacciotto (individual top and bottom crusted tartes, filled with vanilla cream). After that, I cleaned shrimp (save the heads!), pounded baby lamb chops (they're dipped in egg, dredged in breadcrumbs and quick deep fried), made individual eggplant Parmesans (with the fresh tomato sauce, fresh Mozzarella, grated Parmesan and fresh basil, layered and baked as needed.  

NOTE: I started working here on Tuesday. I was surprised by the small amount of fresh garlic in a small plastic container near the stove. I kept thinking the chefs were going to run out. Surprisingly, little garlic is used in Roman cooking. Other than obvious dishes like pesto (basil, pine nuts, walnuts, garlic, olive oil, Pecorino and Parmesan cheeses all pureed together), garlic is scarcely used here. I remember a story a couple of years ago about trying to nix garlic from Italian cooking. A little Googling and I found the story again. Click on the the title of this post (In the Cucina #3 for the full NPR story).   

Here's the recipe for Spezzatino di Manzo, my interpretation of Guiseppe's:

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil

1 1/2 cups ground onions

1 1/2 cups ground carrots

1 cup ground celery

2 pounds beef (tenderloin, steak or stew meat), cut into 1-inch cubes

2 cups red wine

1/3 cup tomato paste

2 Tbsp. fresh chopped rosemary

Salt to taste

Water, vegetable or other broth, as needed

Heat oil with onions, carrots and celery in a large pot over medium-high heat. Saute until softened. Add the beef and brown on all sides. Add the wine and heat to boiling cook for five minutes. Add the tomato paste rosemary and about 1 tsp. salt to the pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and cook until the meat is tender and the sauce is thickened, adding water or broth if the mixture becomes too dry while cooking. Makes 8 servings.

Living in the lap of luxury, Italian style

After living with Lisa in her charming, yet distant apartment, I made a move -- I'm now a five-minute walk from the Cantina del Vecchio, so during the afternoon I can come home and relax a little before the evening shift begins. Where I sit typing right now, I'm in the thick of old Rome.

To bring a little perspective to my location, consider this: I'm a three-minute walk from Piazza Navona, a five-minute stroll to Campo Fiore, 10 minute walk from the Pantheon and a 20-30 minute (or less) amble from the Jewish Ghetto, the Vatican, and the Trevi Fountain and Spanish steps. This is my neighborhood. 

How did I luck into this situation? Lisa (who is in Lusanne, Switzerland, for a several days) has a high-ranking pal. I won't go into details, by her pal is traveling, so I'm staying in an airy (about 5,000 square feet) VIP penthouse by myself -- just me and the cat. This apartment is deluxe with all the American amenities including (but not limited to), American style bathrooms (five of them), four large bedrooms, an extremely roomy living room, dining room (that seats about 20), den with 47-inch flat screen and a laundry room complete with washer AND dryer (a dryer is a rarity in Italia). 

My bedroom (as many rooms do here on the top floor) opens to a veranda that's about 2,000 square-feet in size. My French doors lead to the left side of the veranda and just outside are six potted, fruiting lemon trees. A wall fountain trickles constantly and a conversation area with chairs invites me to sit down each morning. An outdoor fireplace divides my section from the larger open area, also filled with flowering trees, dining areas and lined with a flower boxes in full bloom.

NOTE: There's an old-fashioned elevator -- about 2x4 feet in size -- with wooden French doors inside and a woven metal cage that surrounds.  The first day I made the mistake of opening the French doors before I reached the floor level. The elevator stopped between floors and for a concerned moment (before pressing the button for the 4th floor and returning up) there was the risk of being stuck.