Part II with Signore Gonnelli

“The mill was built in 1426, and my family bought this place in 1585. I grew up here, and began working with the olives when I was a young boy — I was fourteen years old. The world was a completely different place.” He points out the window towards his land and says, “All of the land in this region was made up of gardens and olive trees, and there still existed in Italy La Mezzadria.” This term stands for an agricultural agreement that existed between the proprietor of the land, and the farmer who lived on and worked the land with his family. “It was called la mezzadria because they divided the produce in half, mezza — half to the proprietor, and half to the farmer and his family.” Q&A with Piero Gonnelli

“A perpetual love affair…

When you love something THIS much, you never stay away for long...

A sunset without clouds is like a cake without the icing on top...

Cicchetti Misti to start -- marinated salmon, tiny fried fish, and sarde in saor (a Venetian specialty).

Calamari Fritti

I asked for the fish and got two!

The aftermath...

Summer Salads

Nicoise: Mixed Greens, Tuna, Capers, Green Beans, Tomatoes, Lemon & Olive Oil Vinaigrette

Blueberry Fields: Mixed Greens & Arugula, Grilled Chicken, Granny Smith Apples, Blueberries, Sweet & Tangy Cider Vinaigrette

Caprese: Fresh Mozzarella, Ciliegini: Cherry Tomatoes, Oregano, Salt & Extra Virgin Olive Oil

The Umami: Mixed Greens & Arugula, Feta, Blueberries, Granny Smith Apples, Sweet & Tangy Cider Vinaigrette

The Fresh Catch: Mixed Greens, Grilled Salmon, Blueberries, Granny Smith Apples, Feta

Sweet & Tangy Cider Vinaigrette

makes enough for 1 salad

1 Tsp Honey

Just a Pinch of Salt

2 Tbsp Extra Virgin Olive Oil

1 Tbsp Apple Cider Vinegar

Pesto Three Ways

A summer without fresh home made pesto is like winter without a steaming cup of hot cocoa. I woke up one morning this week with the strong urge to a) clean my entire kitchen, and b) make pesto! Not necessarily in that order. My local supermarket was selling a huge mazzo, or bunch, of fresh basil — my morning was made!

Summer Pesto

Basil

Walnuts

Parmigiano or Grana

Olive Oil

Lemon Zest

Arugula

Salt & Pepper

I really didn’t measure while making this recipe. A handful of this, a heavy pour of that, a pinch here and there… just keep tasting along the way!

Pick, wash and dry all of the basil.

In a food processor blend walnuts, grana or parm, lemon zest, salt and pepper.

Add the basil and arugula in manageable batches, each time adding olive oil to keep the mixture smooth. Scrape down the sides and keep blending until a rich paste forms.

Keep refrigerated in a jar -- enjoy!

I’ve been dipping into my jar of pesto all week — I like to use it as a spread on panini and a flavor factor in chicken dishes.

The Italian Flag

Chicken rolled with pesto and basil leaves.

Who needs mayo when you have pesto?!

Stormy Sweet & Savory

Yesterday a wild summer storm swept through Florence and, for once, I wasn’t caught in the middle of it with my umbrella turned inside out. I watched from my cozy bed as the wind and rain raged just outside of my window. I stayed like that all day — surrounded by article notes, with my computer on my lap and a cup of hot ginger tea in hand, enjoying the chill that the storm had left behind. I truly love a good summer storm.

Come dinner time, I was ready for something warm and hearty. What I really wanted was a good glass of red, but the weather had put a damper on my plans to share a bottle of Maremma Sangiovese/Merlot blend with Sarah — she had the wine, I had the food, but the ominous sky had a different night in mind for us. So, I set about cubing, salt soaking and rinsing an eggplant. What I did with that eggplant next was pure genius — I owe my inspiration to the Sicilians who are always combining sweet with savory.

Stormy Sicilian Eggplant:

1 large eggplant

olive oil

garlic

red pepper flakes

capers

course salt

can of tomatoes

sultana raisins

Cut eggplant into big cubes or chunks

In a colander over the sink, cover the eggplant with sale grosso, course salt

Wait 20 – 30 minutes for the water to drain from the eggplant

Rinse the eggplant well

In a pan, heat olive oil, garlic and red pepper flakes

Add the eggplant, toss to coat with the oil, cook 5 minutes

Cover the eggplant with a can of tomato pulp, diced tomatoes, whole peeled tomatoes, whatever you like

Add a half can of water, a pinch of oregano, a spoonful of roughly chopped capers and (the Sicilian surprise) sultana raisins

Cook over medium heat, covered, for 20 minutes (you may need to add more water if the sauce is thickening and sticking to the bottom of the pan)

Stir occasionally, but be careful not to break the chunks of eggplant, this isn’t a pasta sauce, rather a side dish.

Uncover for the last 5 minutes to allow the sauce to thicken a bit

Eat with a nice chunk of bread or over top a grilled piece of chicken or pork.

Would be excellent paired with a hearty Tuscan red like the Maremma blend I have still yet to share with Sarah…

“You’ve got to hold on tight and off you go!”

I sure have been on one hell of a ride this year! Today marks exactly one year since the day I left Charleston, which was by far the hardest day of my life for too many reasons to get into right now (or ever again, for that matter). I woke up crying that day; today I woke up laughing! When I realized what day it was, I laughed some more; life is always surprising me.

"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation." Kahlil Gibran

Well, no need to reflect on the past — let’s talk about the present! I have been hustling ever since getting back to Florence this past month, and it has paid off! I met up with Professor Massimo Coppetti as soon as I returned; he wanted to discuss the wine textbook we’ve been working on in collaboration with several of his sommelier students (it will be published this November… it will be published this November… it will be published this November). And I wanted to discuss possible job opportunities.

Tuscan clouds reflected on the Arno

When Massimo and I meet, we always go for aperitivo at Fusion Bar near the Ponte Vecchio — super chic, fabulous cocktails. As I sipped on a Sunday Morning (campari and rosemary vodka martini — that’s some kind of Sunday morning!) unexpectedly great things started to happen: Massimo asked me to edit our book “Living the Wine: Beyond the Books,” and in exchange he offered me a (free) spot in his Pairing Food & Wine class this fall. Depending on the success of Living the Wine, he’d like me to write a book based on his pairing class as well… cross your fingers for me!

Within days I had also received my next assignment from The Olive Oil Times — an interview with Piero Gonnelli. I’m currently working on Part II of this article, which should be published any day now.

The olive harvest at Santa Tea, the Gonnelli estate. Photo courtesy of Piero Gonnelli.

Then I met a guy… an Australian… a tall, charming Australian cook to be precise… I know, sounds great right? It wasn’t… it fizzled out before it even began to be honest. Even so, feeling those fluttery butterflies again after such a long time, getting all gussied up, going out on a date and dancing all night — it doesn’t matter if he turned out to be a bloody wanker — the experience, however short lived, took me by the shoulders and shook me right out of my emotional coma… it was time to wake up!

Finally, I've got my groove back!

On to the next…

I’ve been going out of my mind with this babysitting gig — it’s extremely hard work for extremely little pay. Every evening I come home beyond exhausted, wondering how I’m going to pay rent for the month, covered in little baby fingernail scratches and the faint smell of dried puke and dirty diapers — no wonder I haven’t been dating. Everything about this job has made me feel used, abused, bored and lonely — babies can be great, but imagine hanging out with one all day, everyday; they’re not great conversationalists.

Baby James -- he's a hand full!

Needless to say, I was hoping to find something else by September, and then POOF! There it was! My boss let me go — she can’t afford a babysitter, her mom is moving in with her… yada yada. I went home, called an old boss who used to own a wine shop in town, and asked her if she had any ideas for me — I’m looking to work with wine. She didn’t just have ideas, she had a position! I met her in Chianti the very next morning for an interview and got the job the following day!

The Principe Corsini estate, Le Corti, in the heart of Chianti.

When I get back from vacation at the end of August — I’m visiting relatives in Venice and spending a couple of days in Croatia with my dad and younger brother — I’ll be starting at the Fattoria Le Corti, a villa owned by Principe Corsini in the Chianti region. They produce wonderful wines and olive oils, and I will be taking happy vacationers on tours of the cellars and property, giving wine tastings and serving lunch, and helping out with the wine and olive harvests!!! Best of all — puke and poop on the job are highly unlikely, and I’ll be making more than enough to pay rent!

Not a bad view from my "office window"

To top it all off, I just had a birthday — a really, really great birthday! I got the news about my new job the night before the big day, so my roommates and I went out for a long, lingering Tuscan dinner. I came home so fed, full and happy, that by midnight when the “Auguri!” started I was already in bed dreaming of Pecorino drizzled with honey, Crostini Toscani, Chianti Classico, and hearty Lesso Rifatto.

Crostini Toscani -- chicken liver puree -- smooth, decadent and earthy.

The following day I slept in, then headed to Mama’s Bakery to treat myself to a breakfast cupcake and coffee. My roommates joined me on the outdoor patio where we read our newspapers in the shade, thoroughly enjoying the uncharacteristically cool weather.

Devil's Food Cupcake -- Happy Birthday to me!

Mama’s Bakery is situated in a part of Florence that I’ve fallen in love with — not far from my neighborhood. There are artisan shops on every corner, very few tourists, and a piazza that reminds me of Paris (I’m keeping it my little secret, sshhh). So I went for a walk and wound up in a very cute wine shop where, at 11:45 am, customers were already stopping in for a quick glass of chilled white wine.

The owner, Luca, seemed disbelieving when I said that I’m very interested in wine, so I played the name dropping game (I interviewed some wonderful wine makers for Living the Wine) and his eyes lit up. After engaging in some light banter with his customers, I was in — a friend, a fellow wine lover, and possibly… a Florentine? When I mentioned that I was celebrating my birthday, Luca pulled out a bottle of prosecco and everyone raised their glasses saying in unison, “Auguri!”

I left with a skip in my step and a bottle of Pinot Nero from Northern Italy in my purse. I’d already crossed off several wishes from my list of birthday demands: rain or shine (I actually got both), good cold bubbly, gelato (from my favorite place: La Carraia), a long Italian meal involving Bistecca alla Fiorentina, dancing, and a late night visit to the secret bakery.

Acqua Al 2, also located in San Diego and Washington, D.C.

After a leisurely day of indulgence and a slew of birthday wishes from friends and family back home, in Venice, and even from my boys in Germany, I headed to dinner at Acqua al 2 with Sarah where we shared the house vino rosso, the assaggio di primi (a taste of five pastas), and we each ordered our own steak — mine came coated in a rich balsamic glaze that was so decadent, it tasted like chocolate, while Sarah’s was smothered in blueberry sauce. The steaks were so beautifully cooked that our knives slid through the meat like warm whipped butter  – each bite was more like eating a delicate piece of tuna tartare rather than red meat.

Beautiful and delicious!

Sarah and I at the end of a fabulous meal.

Around midnight we paid the bill and joined our friends at a nearby pub. Teela, a friend of mine from an Italian class I took last fall, had just arrived by train from Viareggio. We all headed down the river to Central Park, an outdoor discoteca with multiple dance floors and endless mayhem. We cheers’d to my birthday motto, “23 and bullshit free!” and then danced the night away! When I got home the sun was beginning to rise and I had a fresh chocolate cornetto in hand.

These girls made my birthday truly special!

Something tells me that this is going to be a very good year, full of reasons to wake up laughing...

For Family Making Olive Oil for 425 Years, Practice Makes Perfect

“In 1585, 21 year-old William Shakespeare became a proud father of twins. Later that year, the Gonnellis bought a mill from local monks and started making olive oil. They’re still at it…“

Santa Tea Olive Estate

The Gonnelli family oil mill dates back to 1426

Giorgio Gonnelli took me on a tour of the family mill -- from harvest to bottling, I learned about the production process of extra virgin olive oil.

I hope you enjoy the article!

My Mountain Weekend

Upon my arrival at Giocalto for a mountain weekend getaway, I was greeted by the strong scent of jasmine and wild lavender.

We sat out on the loggia and had a spectacular meal of fresh tagliatelle with a spicy vodka tomato cream sauce and green beans cooked with onions, lemon and prosciutto.

The next morning we hiked to the tiny town of San Martino, stumbling upon ruins and wild raspberries along the way.

Later that evening we sat out in the garden enjoying the cool breeze and a spritz, one of my all time favorite before dinner drinks.

Saturday morning I learned how to make the perfect crepe, a trick that will serve me well throughout life!

We visited the nearby town of Poppi and I climbed to the top of the castle tower to enjoy the view of the valley.

Another night, another wonderful meal: Shrimp on the grill and Steve's "World Beat" Rice.

On our last morning we walked around Quota, an even smaller hilltop town. I snapped pictures the whole time.

After a refreshing salad, we boarded the bus back to the heat of the summer city...

Summer in the City

Saturday July 10th

A few journaled thoughts while sitting on a bench in Poppi…

This weekend I’ve tagged along with Rebecca and baby James to Giogalto —  their countryside getaway “Under The Tuscan Sun” in the Tuscan subregion of Casentino. The lavender and jasmine grow in abundance and my thoughts run wildly down the dirt roads and play in the shade of cypress trees.

In Florence I so easily forget that I am living in Italy. The Italy I know is small and quaint, too antique to handle big roads and traffic. The Italy I know is hot and smelly in the summer — wonderful smells of my youth: the Venetian fish market, handmade leather purses baking in the sun, salt water wearing away at wooden boats, prosciutto hanging from high ceilings, fritti misti just waiting to be devoured — and it’s peaceful yet alive with sounds of plants being watered, boats docking up and down the Grand Canal, and greetings being thrown around like promises; not always genuine, but nevertheless abundant — and it’s full of light, so many kinds of light depending on the time of day and the angle at which it bounces off of the lagoon or settles into the Tuscan hilltops.

In Florence I end up looking down instead of up, watching my step as buses and vespas whiz by, and I’m too hurried to notice the view — for a split second I cast a glance along the Arno as I cross the bridge into town on my way to work. I’m lucky if a midnight breeze fills my room with the tantalizing scent of jasmine. Even greetings, just like promises, are few and far between.

Yes, I needed a break from summer in the city…

Where Am I?

It’s 1am — what am I doing up? I went to bed 2 hours ago. It was either the noise of the fan or my legs sticking to the sheets or the rumble in my belly that woke me. My first thought was, “This is not my bed,” then, “This is not my house,” and shortly after, “Where am I?”

I was only gone for a little over 2 weeks, but upon arriving in Florence yesterday evening, everything seemed so foreign, like I’d landed on another planet. The heat and humidity has transformed my bright and happy apartment into a cave of musky smells and murky air — yes, even the air looks different.

I’m a big girl, but I’ll admit, I felt some pangs of homesickness when I walked into “my room” and sensed, well, nothing familiar. Whatever bond or attachment or feeling of home I had managed to create here seemed to have vanished with the cool June breeze.

I set about cleaning, reorganizing, changing sheets and doing laundry, unpacking a heaping pile of books — a foodie’s ideal summer reading list: Anthony Bourdain, Ruth Reichl, and Laurie Colwin, to name a few. All in the hopes that going through the motions of taking care of “my home” would remind me that it is, home.

After a shower and the discovery of my very own fan, I was starting to feel a bit more human and quite ready for bed. Turning out the light just didn’t feel right without saying goodnight to Mom, Dad and Danny. Maybe that’s what woke me at 1am.

I hopped on facebook and found Danny, my brother, getting ready to fall asleep himself (he’s a swimmer, and gets up at 3:30am most mornings) and then I called my Mom on skype and I told her about the long wine list on one of my flights, and that whipped mascarpone snack topped with some kind of strawberry stew, and she told me about her day of bead foraging (she makes beautiful jewelry, and recently has been having success selling it at a few local stores).

We said goodnight, and I felt just a little less far away.

I’ve made myself a cup of ginger tea despite the heat, and instead of reading I’m writing — something I’m going to have more time to do these days. I have some choices to make over the next couple of months, and in case you hadn’t noticed already, I work through these sorts of things by clicking away at the keyboard — it’s a source of free therapy for me, and perhaps a vicarious pleasure for you, as my therapy sessions seem to take place in Venice or along the Italian Riviera, and quite often over a glass of really good wine.

I suppose tomorrow morning I’ll get right back to it — the daily routine — and then it will be hard to deny that this is home. But you know what, for me, home is a state of mind, and Florence and I have never truly agreed. I’m getting tired — tired of being away.

When I first set out on this journey I wrote, “I have struggled to find a balance between my love for the Italian way of life and my reality back home in the States. This struggle has led me to return to Italy time and time again, always seeking a new answer to the same questions: Where do I belong? What am I meant to do?”

You know, I think when I said that bit about finding a balance between my love for Italy and my life back home, I had convinced myself that this meant loving Italy less and finding a way to love America more. But over the time that I’ve been away, my love for Italy has deepened; it’s changed, but it hasn’t diminished, and it never needed to. Instead, my love for home has grown just as deep as my love for Italy.

So there, I found my balance… but I still can’t figure out where I am at 1 in the morning.