Vending Machines Italian Style

For the past two years, I've had a particularly soft spot for vending machines. It started when I visited Tokyo with nothing, just the clothes I wore and a purse. I wanted to survive only purchasing necessities via vending machines. To this day, I can't pass a vending machine anywhere in the world without inspecting it and its contents. I actually own two vending machines at home. One is filled with nothing but American candy. It's popular among my daughter's college crowd. 

Around the corner where I'm living here in Rome, is a vending shop -- nothing but machines, all selling something to eat or drink. Actually, it's a "pecado," a pity, since there are hundreds of fabulous eateries every few feet with fresh, fatto a casa (homemade) goodies. 

But back to vending. My friend Mary Jo knows my passion for the vending life. She found this article (see link) about Italy's vending life and pizza. Mama mia!

In the Cucina #2

By the time I get to the kitchen in the morning, vessels filled with assorted concoctions are alive with heat. A pot full of shrimp heads will be a luscious broth. Another with tomato sauce will become an essential ingredient, added to Polpetti (meatballs), to the Amatriciana sauce (from an Italian city call Amatrice, about 70 or so miles from Rome), and more. Still another pot simmers with onions, celery, carrots, chick peas, tomato paste and water. In an hour it will be the Cantina's creamy Zuppa de Ceci, vegetarian chick pea soup, garnished simply with a few grinds of black pepper and a drizzle of olive oil.

Velentin, remember him (the adorable Romanian?) is furiously whisking a bechamel or white sauce for the Vegetarian Lasagne. He tells me in English, "you make the lasagne." My usual answer is, "mostra" (show me). While I've made my share of lasagne, of course Cantina's is Cantina's, so I have to see it prepared once. Valentin roasts zucchini, red and yellow bell peppers, and onions. He spreads layers of bechamel sauce (flour, butter or oil, milk and salt) in a pan, layers fresh sheets of pasta, adds more bechamel, the veggies, Buffalo Mozzarella, fresh basil and grated Parmesan. Repeat. Bake for 40 minutes.  Of course these are but a few of the menu items being prepared. (Look for the recipe soon).

In the meantime he soup is now ready to be pureed. Here's the zuppa recipe I think is pretty close to how I see it prepared (made for 6-8 instead of 40!)

Zuppa di Ceci

1/4 cup olive oil

1 cup chopped onion

1 cup chopped carrots

1 cup chopped celery

2 cans (about 15 ounces) chick peas, drained

8 cups water or vegetable broth

2 Tbsp. tomato paste

Salt to taste

1 twig of fresh rosemary

Extra virgin olive oil, garnish

Fresh ground pepper, garnish

Heat oil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the onion, carrots and celery and cook until the onion is softened. Add the drained chick peas and water, raise heat to high and bring to a boil. Reduce heat slightly, add the tomato paste, about 1 tsp. of salt and rosemary. Bring to a boil again and cook for about 45 minutes, until the vegetables are very soft. Allow to cool a bit before removing the rosemary (if using) and pureeing the soup until smooth. Add more water if needed if the soup is too thick. Adjust salt to taste.  Serve hot, garnished with fresh ground pepper, a drizzle of olive oil and some toasted, good bread on the side. Makes 6-8 servings. 

NOTE: Small world. I'm now Facebook friends with most of my coworkers. There's Paolo, the chef, Guissepe, a cook, Valentin, another cook and Valentina, a waitress. Amjad and Donna (waitstaff) and Albano, the dishwasher/prep cook don't Facebook.

NOTE 2: I'm writing this while watching the Colbert Report and cracking up. Colbert is talking about his image being used in Iran to sell men's clothes. I can hardly focus on what I'm writing. 

Gelato!

I'm afraid I'm a addict. I can't pass a gelati shop without an internal argument. I'm in Italy; I deserve this. It's ice cream; it's fattening. It's delicious. It's, as my mother would say, poison. But there are 30 flavors sometimes and some gelaterias offer more than 60 flavors like the shop I went to today -- pistachio, coconut, raspberry, lemon, hazelnut -- how can I say no. I can't say no. So I'm limiting myself to one galato each day -- piccolo, small. Less than two euro. Dividing the number of days by the flavors of gelati, I won't taste them all. It's a sacrifice, but what can I do. 

NOTE: Just so the tourist know, many of the less fancy gelaterias have light-up three scoop sign above their shops. 

My First Adventure

I hesitate to tell this story because I know my mother will have a heart attack. But I'm still alive, so I'll tell it. 

First a little background. My friend Lisa is intrepid, truly. She's lived far away from home, alone, for almost two decades. Nothing spooks her and she believes everyone is as fearless and as confident as she. Her mother Isabella says to her, "you don't believe in luck, you count on it." And since Lisa lives in a destination city, she's always hosting company in her apartment. Her motto to all her guests: "I can't take your vacation for you." 

Okay, so remember Lisa took me to the restaurant on my first day of work? We took bus #30 from the piazza near her apartment (Piazza del Navigatore -- not in the main part of Rome, so it's not on most tourist maps). This first day I worked a double shift, lunch and dinner with a 3 hour hiatus in between. The shift ends about midnight, but I leave at 10:30 p.m. Lisa insists I take bus #30 back to her piazza (why spend $25 when you can go for one Euro?), I call Lisa from the restaurant so she can meet me at her spot.

I leave the side door of the restaurant. It's raining softly and the ally looks like a movie set with its shiny, wet cobblestone pavement. 

I find my bus stop and hop on. I ride the nearly empty bus for three stops before asking the bus driver in my broken English/Italian how far away am I from Piazza del Navigatore. It turns out I'm at the end of the line going the wrong way. I get off the bus (it's now 11:15 p.m.) and I get on three-passenger #30 going the other way (the buses stop running at midnight). Finally on the right path, I've backtracked and finally arrive at my stop at about 11:30 p.m. 

In the meantime, the handsome, young bus driver starts a conversation. He actually wants me to go with him to have a drink and "conversation." I tell him thanks but not thanks, but I'm flattered (Lisa says there's nothing like Italy to make a woman of any age FEEL like a woman). 

I get off the bus. No Lisa. 

I have to think. I remember somehow how to get home, ring the bell and Lisa buzzes me in. It's close to midnight. Hyped with the day's excitement, I'm awake nearly all night. 

Tomorrow I go to work alone.  

In the Cucina

Cantina del Vecchio is open for lunch and dinner seven days a week. Lunch begins at noon, but the rush is from 2:00 until about 3:00 p.m. From 9:30 a.m. or so until the lunch rush, the morning is spent prepping -- making broths, chopping vegetables, trimming beef and such. 

Fresh vegetables and large paper bags full of crusty, wood-oven baked loaves arrive in the morning. Greens, such as spinach, which in the U.S. comes triple-washed in bags arrives au natural, gritty with earth and in small bunches which must be trimmed and washed. Today there is baby arugula gathered in bunches. And fresh zucchini flowers are sunny yellow with green stems, waiting to be stuffed with a mixture of Ricottta cheese and whipped egg whites. Today we separated the the delicate flowers from the stems and gently tore them along natural seams to be lated dusted with cornstarch and flash fried as a garnish for dinner's Cacio e Pepe. Rome's most famous cheese and fresh ground pepper pasta, Cacio e Pepe, ismade with nutty-flavored sheep's milk Pecorino cheese. Pecorino Romano (from Rome, right?) is the only cheese you can authentically use in this recipe. 

My friend Lisa wants only to know how to make Cacio e Pepe -- it's her favorite. So while Chef Paolo prepared, I grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper and scribbled down as much as I could figure out -- eyeballing the measurements. Of course, I could only hope to repeat this as Paolo prepared. Here goes. 

Cacio e Pepe

NOTE: The pasta must be very al dente, which may seem a bit raw for American's. Still, avoid the urge to cook the pasta until soft. 

12 ounces dry spaghetti

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

1 cup or more vegetable broth

1 cup each of finely grated Parmesan and Pecorino Romano cheeses

1-2 tsp. fresh coarse ground pepper or more to taste

Place a large pot of salted water to boil over high heat. When the water is boiling vigorously, add the pasta and stir it so it doesn't stick together in the water. 

While the pasta is cooking, heat the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add 1 tsp. fresh coarsely ground black pepper. Cook the pepper until it begins to sizzle and pop. Add the broth (be careful, it will steam). When the pasta is just al dente (do not overcook), quickly drain (DO NOT RINSE) the pasta and add it to the skillet. Toss the pasta in the oil. Keep tossing until completely incorporated. Add the cheese, 1/2-cup at a time, tossing and stirring well to incorporate. As the cheese melts, it will create a creamy sauce. Divide the pasta among 4 large warm shallow bowls or plates. Sprinkle with more pepper and a grating of fresh Parmesan cheese. Serve immediately. Makes 4 large servings or 8 appetizer servings. 

Range Rover

For the first two days, I called myself "la fermera," the nurse. I'm watching and helping as much as I can -- I hand over knives, bowls, buckets of spinach, fistfuls of fresh rosemary and basil. I'm fast with a spatula. Need tongs? Here you go. Yet, poco a poco (little by little) I'm insinuating myself into the kitchen situation.

Yesterday, during lunch, Valentin, (an adorable 25-year old Romanian born cook) showed me the basics and felt confident to let me have at it. Since everything at Cantina del Vecchio is "fatto a casa" -- homemade (from the ravioli to every sauce to each amazing savory custard and dessert) -- I rolled pasta for ravioli and filled it with a fresh cod concoction that includes a sprinkling of fresh red onion, pinenuts and raisins -- only we couldn't find the raisins so we tossed in a bit of fresh pineapple! For an hour I stuffed and cut and shaped these half-moon stuffed pasta pillows.

Since there is not a cookbook to be found in this kitchen, I'm learning, by eye, the appetizers, salads, pastas, veal roasts, the stocks (vegetable, fish, beef, etc.) that are used to lighten and thin soups, sauces, etc. 

Here's the thing, every couple of months, the menu changes. According to owner partner Allan, 30 or 40 new dishes are suggested and prepared. The vetting process begins and the new menu honed.  So, by the time I'll start to get more familiar with the offerings, it'll be time to change. Next week, new offerings.

I nibble all day on some of Rome's best food. The kitchen and waitstaff eat veal Milanese, pasta, arugula radicchio salad and San Pellegrino. Throughout the day, tiny demitasse cups of strong espresso (half the portion of Starbucks) make their way to the kitchen. I'm not such a coffee drinker, so yesterday I had a Coca Cola Light (I miss it). The bottle was maybe 6 ounces, a  tease to a girl accustomed to Big Gulps. Madonna!

Day #1

So, Lisa took me to work on my first day like I'm in kindergarten. We pick up bus #30 from Piazza di Navigatore and 8 stops later were reached our destination near Piazza Navona (with three famous fountains). A five minute walk later and we arrived at Cantina del Vecchio. Allan Garner an owner of Cantina welcomed me and I was off to the kitchen for the first working shift. 

I met Paolo, the chef -- he's 30. Then Amjer the waiter and Albano the dishwasher/helper. Yesterday I mostly watched, seeing how I could fit in. 

Lunched was being prepped, though all of the soups and many of the entrees were nearly ready to go, needing heating, last minute cooking or assembly. The lunch menu (check out their site www.cantinadelvecchio.it) is not extensive (although Lisa tells me it is for an upscale restaurant). Why? It is the way. I imagine that with land at a premium, kitchens are small, and everything is fresh, fresh, fresh. Allan tells me that in Italy, ingredients must be fresh (nothing frozen) or it must be indicated on the menu that the items were frozen -- I'm checking this out, so stay tuned). 

Lunch is served from noon to about 2:30 p.m.; after that "la cocina e chiusa" (the kitchen is closed) until "happy hour" at 7 p.m. 

I thought I knew how to cook until today. I was humbled by the fare and just watching as pastas were prepared at the moment -- sprinkled lightly with Parmigiano cheese and served piping. More later about the food (I returned home by bus, alone at 11:30 p.m. -- more on that later as well, so and couldn't sleep most of the night, so I'm too exhausted to go on at this moment. And I'm off to the restaurant now at 8:30 a.m). 

For now, long story short, yesterday was an amazing experience. Ciao, ciao!