3 Courses… Who’s Counting?

Guess what… it’s Restaurant Week in Charleston. A week that local foodies and gastronomes alike have been waiting for ever since, well, last Restaurant Week. As though we really need another incentive to eat out — Charlestonians are spoiled rotten when it comes to good eats! It seems like a new and exquisite place opens up every week ’round these parts. Yet this is our chance to dine at some of the best spots in town for extremely discounted prices.

When I say 3 for $30, I’m not talking shoes, I’m talking courses. This means one thing: Save room for dessert.

Ironically, as I sit here typing to you, the beautifully glossy cover of Bon Appetit’s, “The Restaurant Issue” is staring back at me from a basket sitting on the floor across my living room (I know, Bon Appetit does not belong on the floor, but I have simply run out of shelf space. I apologize.)

Gracing this cover is a particularly lucky little chicken, roasted to perfection by Sean Brock, owner and Executive Chef of Husk. Yes, Husk, recently named the #1 restaurant in America. You didn’t know that? Well now you do, and it’s time to crawl out from under the rock which you’ve been living.

I keep telling myself the decadence will end soon, but when the holidays are followed immediately by Restaurant Week, what’s a girl to do? Strap on some high heels and deal with it I suppose… tough life, I know.

What exactly does decadence stand for anyways? Well, the Concise Oxford Dictionary would have you believe that it refers to “a luxurious self-indulgence.” First of all, I don’t think the Concise Oxford Dictionary is aware of just how much kale I’ve eaten over the past 2 weeks — back off book, I deserve some luxury. Secondly, after last night’s dinner at The Macintosh, I’m pretty sure decadence stands for Bone Marrow Bread Pudding — someone should revise this at once. Third, and most importantly, everyone knows Sundays don’t count.

Apparently Tuesdays don’t count either, because guess what? I’m having dinner at Husk tonight.

Now don’t go pouting, I haven’t forgotten about you. You deserve some luxurious self- indulgence too. So, here are three simple yet sinful courses — it’s Restaurant Week after all.

Caramelized Onion & Mushroom Crostini

1 red onion

1 lb baby bella mushrooms (or whatever you’d prefer)

1 baguette (sliced and toasted)

2 tbsp butter

1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

1/2 cup dry white wine or rice wine vinegar (some kind of acid for caramelizing)

bucherondin (or chevre — plain or herb, up to you)

salt & pepper

Toasted Pecan Tagliatelle with Parmesan & Sage Butter Sauce

1 cup pecans

1/2 – 1 cup grated parmigiano reggiano (depending on how cheesy you like it)

1 bunch of sage leaves

1/2 stick of butter

1/2 lemon juiced (save for zest)

salt & pepper

1 lb of dried tagliatelle

1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

Dark Chocolate Covered Strawberries

1 bag Ghirardelli dark chocolate chips

1 lb fresh strawberries (stem on)

Crostini:

Heat oven to 350. Slice baguette on a slight diagonal for long, thin pieces.

Set on a baking sheet and drizzle with olive oil. Bake until toasted.

Slice red onion and mushrooms thinly.

Melt butter in a large saute pan over medium-high heat.

Cook onions until they become translucent. Add mushrooms, salt & pepper.

Cover and cook on low heat for 10 minutes.

Uncover, pour in wine or vinegar. Increase heat to medium. Leave uncovered. Scrape bottom of pan for juices.

When the liquid has cooked off the veggies should be soft and sweet.

Spoon the caramelized onions and mushrooms onto each crostini and top with bucherondin (aged goat cheese) or chevre.

Serves 4

Tagliatelle:

Bring a large pot of water to boil. Add a good helping of salt and a drizzle of olive oil just before adding the pasta.

*Note: Tagliatelle take no time to cook. Add the pasta towards the end of preparing the sauce.

In a small pan, toast pecans with a couple of sage leaves (be careful not to burn them).

In a separate bowl, pour out about 1/3 of the whole pecans. Pour the rest into a food processor with your parmesan, salt and pepper.

Grind this mixture into a course powder and add it to the bowl with your whole pecans.

In the same pan, melt your butter and continue cooking until golden brown.

Remove from heat and add a few sage leaves and lemon juice.

In a large serving bowl, pour browned butter and pecan parmesan mixture into the bottom of the bowl with a few ladles of pasta water.

Cook pasta until al dente — they should still have a slight bite — drain and pour directly into serving bowl.

Gently combine ingredients to create your sauce. Add lemon zest and julienned sage over top.

Serves 4

Strawberries:

In a small pot, bring a few inches of water to boil. Turn off heat.

Set a heatproof bowl over the boiling water. Pour chocolate chips into the bowl (not the boiling water) and stir until melted — ya hear?

Clean and thoroughly dry the strawberries, leaving the stem on.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Hold the strawberry by the stem and dip into the chocolate — don’t eat it yet!

Set strawberries on parchment paper and let the chocolate set (ok, now you can lick the bowl).

*Note: this can be done before preparing dinner, so the chocolate has time to harden. Just be sure to wipe the chocolate off your chin before your guests arrive.

Serves 4-6

Now where are my strappy heels..? I’ve got to get to Husk.

Photos Courtesy of Ms. Minette Hand

Clean Food for a Clean Start

I don’t know about you, but I overdid it this holiday season. There was no amount of chocolate and baked goods, rich dinners, cheese plates, fancy cocktails and luxurious bottles of wine that could satiate my jolly appetite (I say as I rub my jolly belly).

It started around the drive home for Thanksgiving and didn’t let up until New Year’s Day, when — after a Lowcountry Oyster Roast and a heaping plate of BBQ and Hoppin’ Johns — I had to unbutton my pants just to sit down and comfortably enjoy a movie with my folks. 

When you’re so full you wish you could take your pants off in a public place, it’s probably time to reassess the value of a gooey Camembert over common public decency.

This time around, decency triumphed over Camembert, which for me means bumping up my whole foods and plant based diet, and letting animal products — meat, cheese and other dairy — take the backseat for awhile.

What am I talking about? I’m talking about FRUIT people, VEGETABLES, nuts and WHOLE GRAINS! Why? Because it’s freakin’ good for you, that’s why! (And remember that whole decency thing? I’ve never heard anyone say, “Oy, I’ve got to take my pants off, I ate too many almonds.” Am I right?)

So naturally my first stop was to The Vegetable Bin, for which I’ve already sung many praises. I loaded up on kale, bibb lettuce, mango, avocado, tomatoes, red bell peppers, grapefruit and pears.

If I’m going to be eating more simply I like to punch up the volume with color and let the fresh flavors speak for themselves. Just one thing… before you down a “Green Juice” packed with kale and ginger like I did, be sure to drink tons plenty of water, because that’s a lot of fiber — know what I’m sayin’?

(Yes, I know how scary this looks.)

Here’s a Spicy Black Bean Bowl that’s sure to add some spice and vibrance to your clean start… you may even keep your pants on.

1 can Cuban black beans

tabasco (as many dashes as desired)

1 onion

1 sweet potato

1 avocado

1 mango

1 red bell pepper

1 lime

salt & pepper

Dice onion and saute in a pan with hot olive oil

Add a can of spicy Cuban black beans (I like Trader Joe’s brand)

Pump it up a notch with tabasco

Let this simmer while you chop the bell pepper, mango, avocado and sweet potato (skin on) into big chunks

Pour a generous helping of black beans into a bowl and top with your fresh ingredients, adding a few more dashes of tabasco and salt & pepper

For the final touch: a citrusy squeeze of lime right on top

Serves 2

Pizza: Hot & Heavy

Let’s talk pizza. Eewy gooey cheese, chewy crust, tangy toppings, spicy sauce. That’s how I like my pizza.

Now let’s talk friends. Boisterous, hilarious, generous, inspiring, infectious givers of love, laughter and really good times. That’s how I like my friends.

Now let’s talk pizza & friends… ‘cuz that’s how I like my Friday nights. Last night being a perfect example of eewy gooey cheesy infectious friends, really good times, and really good pizza. Homemade pizza.

Crowd 10 friends into a kitchen, give them flour, dough, toppings, and cheese — lots of cheese — get the vino flowing and the IPAs bubbling, and guess what happens…

People get silly, people get tipsy, people get full and happy, mini polaroids get taken, pizza failures turn into calzone success stories, dough starts flying through the air, flour handprints end up in strange places, and suddenly Jimmy Kimmel is on the big screen asking parents to play cruel jokes on their children — like eating all of their halloween candy & giving them terrible Christmas presents.

I tell you, there are few funnier things than watching a kid unravel at the sight of a half eaten sandwich, sent with love from Santa. As long as it’s not your kid, because an up-close-and-personal encounter with a temper tantrum is a scary, scary sight. I know this because I stole a kids halloween sack this year.

Nah, I didn’t really do that. But if I did, Jimmy Kimmel would probably want me to tape it for the sick pleasure of the general viewing public. What’s your deal with asking parents to torture their children Jimmy? Keep it up, I laugh my face off every time.

After the laughter and the foosball, when the last hot and heavy pizza stone is lifted from the oven and the eating comes to a halt, people get sleepy around a bonfire. One by one, friends say their goodbyes, they hug and high five, and promise to do it again next Friday.

By then, Jimmy will have found another twisted way of making children cry…

Ah… I can hardly wait.

Eggplant + Prosciutto + Sage = Let’s do this

Christmas 2011

Top 5

It doesn’t get any cuter than…

#1: The Penguin Troops

#2: “E” — 4 months old, just rescued

#3: “Eggplant Scrolls” wrapped in Prosciutto with Sage Leaves

#4: Kitten Love

#5: Mom’s homemade Limoncello

Now for a closer look at those Eggplant Scrolls, which are a lot like these Prosciutto Pockets, but cuter…

2 medium eggplants

1 package of prosciutto

fresh sage leaves

olive oil

course salt

Slice eggplant into strips the height and width of your pointer finger, make them as uniform as possible

In a colander, cover eggplant “scrolls” with course salt and set over a sink for 30 minutes

preheat oven to 350°

When water has drained, rinse salt completely from the eggplant and towel dry

Lay eggplant flat on a baking sheet, drizzle with olive oil

Bake until partially cooked, 20 minutes

Remove from oven. When cool, group 4 eggplant “scrolls” together with 1 sage leaf and wrap with a strip of prosciutto

Heat a pan to medium-high with a generous pour of olive oil

Sear the eggplant scrolls on one side, 3 minutes, and flip to other side until golden brown

*If eggplant isn’t your thing, you could substitute with asparagus, zucchini, sweet potato… etc.

Serves 6-8

Christmas Frittata

You know what I love about the holidays? The colors… I love the way the lights reflect off of the streets, I love hanging my bright red stocking over the fire place, I love decorating cookies for my Mom’s annual cookie exchange, and I love the way a fresh Christmas tree even smells green.

I also L.O.V.E. a German Christmas Market on a cold winter day. For the past 2 years I have overindulged in my fair share of brats smothered in curried onions, jumbo pretzels, and hot alcoholic beverages that warm the cockles of the heart while snow falls all around and toes begin to numb.

This year, however, I haven’t decorated a thing — no lights, not even cookies — and I certainly don’t have a fireplace where I can hang my stocking. Instead, I have an ancient gas heater, which makes squeezing a Christmas tree into my 1 bedroom flat a bit of a fire hazard to say the least. As for the German Christmas Market — I miss it so, so much. Possibly more than I miss these guys…

Just kidding. No really.

For me, it isn’t truly the holidays until I’m surrounded by family. But I’m not going home for Christmukkah this year, so you could say I’m seasonally confused. Perhaps the tropical temperatures have something to do with it — not only can I feel my toes, they’ve been wigglin’ free in flip flops, which is just… weird. It’s December. I want to wear mittens and sweaters and drink hot tea and whiskey. I want to see my breath dammit!

Yesterday, I drove with all of my windows down and the sun roof open while Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas’ blared out of the radio, and it just felt so, terribly, wrong.

Today, however, there’s finally a chill in the air. People are all about finishing their last minute errands, including myself. Two trips to two different grocery stores and another trip to The Vegetable Bin (insert angels descending from the Heavens here) and I am ready for Christmas Eve dinner with friends. What’s on the menu? I’ll tell you…

Caramelized Onion & Mushroom Crostini — paired with Prosecco

Tagliatelle in Toasted Pecan, Parmiggiano & Fried Sage Sauce — paired with a Cab Sauv from Washington State

Dark Chocolate Covered Strawberries with espresso 

A dear friend and I are planning to open our Christmas presents together tomorrow morning (as I speak, she is criticizing my love for Elvis Christmas music — “This is why we’re friends; You’re blunt, I sweep things under the rug… You love Elvis, I can’t stand him — We’re both learning to be tolerant.” Ahh, I always wanted a sister). While I am excited about presents, I’m even more excited about breakfast! I’m caught between Chocolate Banana Crepes, or this Zucchini & Goat Cheese Frittata that I made for lunch the other day.

Meet Bucheron: aged goat cheese, bloomy rind, gooey outer layer, crumbly interior. Your life will never be the same.

Zucchini & Goat Cheese Frittata

5-6 baby zucchini

1/4 orange bell pepper

2 eggs

bucheron or any soft goat cheese (as much as your heart desires)

1 tbsp shredded parmesan

salt & pepper

olive oil

Chop baby zucchini and bell pepper

Heat olive oil in pan over medium heat

Saute veggies with a pinch of salt and pepper

Beat 2 eggs in a bowl

Once veggies have softened (about 5 minutes) add eggs to the pan

Reduce heat to medium low

Sprinkle eggs with salt, pepper & parm

Cover pan for 5 minutes — or until eggs have cooked through (you may want to flip your frittata)

Slide that pretty thing onto a plate and add crumbled bucheron before folding your frittata in half

Serves 1-2

Merry Christmas Eve! 

A Home Style Meal

Hello? Is anybody there? Anybody…?

My 1 year anniversary of returning to the States has come and gone, and I fear my blog fans have done the same.

It’s my fault really… I’ve neglected you, and in doing so, I’ve neglected myself.

You see, the only thing I love more than the experience of cooking, eating, drinking, and indulging, is sharing that experience. In a sense, I get to relive every memorable meal and recipe that I write about. Just as Clifton Fadiman put it in the introduction of M.F.K. Fisher’s The Art of Eating,

“Good eating itself is of course the nub of the matter. But good books about good eating have their own noble uses. While the most exquisitely balanced dinner can never be relived, a book may evoke its graceful ghost.”

Yes, you guessed it — I am quite nostalgic. I hang on to old photos and journals and trinkets that remind me of a special person or place. There are even a few stuffed animals I have never been able to give up perched next to my book case. Likewise, there are certain meals and certain bottles of wine that have made certain evenings unforgettable, and I relive them as often as possible.

I think that’s why I started cooking in the first place — I wanted to recreate whatever my taste buds deemed worthy. So the kitchen became my playground, the dining table my stage, and boy did I have an audience!

Mom was all too thrilled when I’d offer to make dinner, and as long as someone was cooking the men didn’t complain either. My very first recipe involved chicken, lemon juice, green olives (the super briny ones stuffed with a pimiento straight from the jar…) and rosemary. That was my dish, and it was the jam! Until I discovered the olive bar, which changed my life, and my chicken dish.

That was high school — my kitchen curiosity only grew once I started cooking for myself and friends in college. As I experimented with new techniques and ingredients, my audience grew too.

Cooking, and eating, for me has always been about the full experience; the food and drinks of course, but the company and the atmosphere too. And, I’ll admit, sometimes I enjoy planning the menu and preparing the meal more than I enjoy the meal itself.

For me, the meal is always over too soon… except for the ones that go on forever. (If you’ve ever been fed by an Italian woman, you know what I’m talking about.) Which brings me back to my inherent need to cook and to write about what I cook —  I’m a nostalgic Italian woman, and that’s a fierce combination!

So, yes, I’ve neglected you, but fear not — I haven’t been neglecting my appetite. I’ve been cooking in and eating out, and discovering new wine, beer, and cocktails, and I’ve been documenting every bite, sip and slurp.

Things are going to be changing around here… maybe you’ve already noticed? I’m going to be posting plenty of recipes and photos, and I’m going to make it easier for you to find inspiration for your next meal — didya notice the photos to the right? That sidebar is designed like a menu — if you’ve come here looking for a pasta dish, just click on “Pasta” – it’s that simple.

I’d like to bring you video soon too, but let’s take this one step at a time, shall we? Starting with the basics — as I said, I just celebrated my 1 year anniversary of returning to the states.

While I was gone, I missed my family and I missed my Mom’s cooking: simple, traditional, with a little piece of home in every bite. So I decided to make myself a “Welcome Home” meal, just like Mom did the day I returned from Florence. It went something like this…

A little something green, a little something starchy, and some kind of protein. Boom… Momma’s home style dinner. The something green is my take on some perfectly-cooked-yet-still-kind-of-crunchy broccolini that I recently had — they were coated with garlic, salt and plenty of butter, which I swapped for olive oil instead.

For something starchy I went with Quinoa, because it’s quick, it’s filling, and it’s pretty dang good for you. Also, the brown basmati rice I had originally picked out needed 40 minutes to cook and I was way too hungry for that nonsense.

Finally, my protein — don’t judge me, I bought something pre-marinated — Bool Kogi! It’s Korean, it’s beef, it’s salty and sesame-y, and Mom makes it often. Although somehow hers is better, probably just that Mom touch — you know?

I had to round out my meal with something sweet, so I sliced up a pear just like my Dad does after dinner almost every night. I can picture him, standing over the sink, slurping up a juicy pear and slipping a slice to the dog every now and then.

Sometimes memories are just as good as the real thing, if not better…

Garlic Broccolini

1 bunch broccolini

2 garlic cloves

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil (or butter, if you’re feeling decadent)

pinch of crushed peperoncini (if you like some heat)

1 tsp of salt & 1 tsp cracked black pepper

Smash garlic with the back of a wide knife and peel

Heat pan over medium-high heat, add olive oil or butter

Add whole smashed garlic to the hot oil (add peperoncini now if you’re feeling wild)

Cook garlic ’til translucent (a bit of brown caramelization is encouraged)

Add the broccolini, season with salt & pepper

Saute on both sides — 3 to 5 minutes each (add a little water and turn temp. down)

Now I like my veggies cooked just enough for that still-kind-of-raw-crunch, so I turn the heat off after about 8 minutes when the water has evaporated and the broccolini are just starting to get tender. If you’re diggin’ the tender, add more water and leave broccolini over low heat for another 8 minutes or so.

Serves 4

“We carry within us the wonders we seek without us.” Sir Thomas Browne

I don’t blog much anymore, mainly because this blog was such a part of my travels, which have tapered off now that I’m “home.” So much has changed…

I have almost everything I longed for while I was away living a vagabond life of sorts — wonderful friends, a steady job, a house to call my own, a healthy routine, family in the same time zone, a garden, and a community. I even have house guests… they’re arriving tomorrow, and as I make preparations — dusting, cleaning, sweeping, organizing — I feel happy, and I feel fortunate, and I feel pleasantly surprised.

Surprised because I had no idea this was coming… this life. The entire time I was living abroad I never knew what was coming next, and I suppose that was a blessing and a curse all at once. It was thrilling and invigorating to live day by day — I’m such a planner, but this way of life forced me out of my shell and into a new kind of comfort zone. A comfort that I now dearly miss. This too surprises me, because while everyday was so new and exciting, it was also rather scary and overwhelming. I often longed for balance and consistency — I like to be prepared, but there was no way to prepare myself for the unknown of a foreign place.

Looking back, I’m so thankful that I carried myself so far away, and allowed myself to truly experience every part of my new and strangely wonderful life (without judgement or hesitation). Every new encounter — with a person, a place, a tangible thing (a bottle of wine, a zucchini flower, a bus ticket) a sound (the morning market, the roar of scooters racing by me on my bike, church bells) and a smell (the canals of Venice, a plate of fresh pressed olive oil sprinkled with salt, espresso bubbling on the stove in the morning) — was also a brand new encounter with myself. People have so many facets… if we only take the time to discover them.

So here I am sweeping my floor, cleaning my stove, drinking a glass of wine, humming to the music playing from the other room, getting genuinely excited for my guests to arrive tomorrow, and feeling fully content with where I am in this moment… Then a song called “Home” starts to play, a song that I used to listen to at the beginning of last summer, when the days were getting longer and warmer, and I had just bought myself a bike that I rode through the streets of Florence while the wind whipped through my hair as I passed the Duomo and the Palazzo Vecchio, and nothing else mattered, because I was in love.

I didn’t even realize then, but my relationship with Italy has been the most romantic courtship of my life, and Florence was one of my most memorable lovers.

All it takes is this one song to stir up so much emotion — the smells and sounds and sights and people come rushing back — and it hurts so bad, I could double over with the pain and the longing. And this makes me want to laugh and it makes me want to cry, because I have so much — SO MUCH — but I still want more. I have everything I wanted, but I want what I had too.

I want to wake up and say good morning to Giovanna as she makes us coffee and asks me how I slept. I want to lean out my window, pushing the green shutters back so I can watch the street traffic below and feel the sun on my face and eavesdrop on my neighbors arguing about the weather. I want to crest the top of my favorite bridge on my bike, and go coasting down the other side while the Arno gleams back at me and the Ponte Vecchio draws closer. I want to look up at the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio under the moonlight and be overwhelmed by the beauty of the sculptures crowding the piazza. I want to sing karaoke and drink Scotch with Sarah at our favorite pub until the bartenders close it down and take us to the late night lounge where we’ll all dance until they kick us out and the only thing left to do is to follow the scent of butter and sugar coming from the secret bakery where we’ll get two chocolate pastries for the walk home before collapsing into bed. I want to hop on a train and be in Venice or Rome in two hours. I want to order a bottle of the most extraordinary Chianti Classico and eat until I’m uncomfortable and grappa starts sounding like an excellent idea.

I would do it all over again if I could, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

I used to think that my greatest fear was of losing myself. Now that I’m “home,” having discovered some of the missing pieces along the way, maybe what really scares me most is the thought of losing who I was — who Florence made me become. That fearless girl who spent everyday chasing the end of the rainbow. And maybe that’s the point of life… to chase the path that stirs your soul, and lights up your heart, and fuels your inner fire so that we may all burn through life like shooting stars. And maybe I don’t need to be so scared of losing my way, because all it takes is one song to bring me back.

Find whatever it is that makes you feel like you can fly… hold onto it, and don’t ever let it go. “For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.” Leonardo da Vinci

“Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.”

I miss Florence in the Springtime

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about where I was one year ago today, and where I’d like to be at some point in the future. I’ve also been having vivid dreams of people and places from my past, yet the dreams are set in the future… it’s really starting to screw with my head.

One year ago I was longing to be here, and now that I am, I’m longing to be back there. Ridiculous right? I used to wonder if I felt incomplete while living in Italy because some sense of home and belonging was missing. Now I’m back in the US, and I still sometimes feel that same sense of loneliness. How long will I wonder “What’s missing?” until I find it?

This guy was like mixing a cocktail with champagne -- seems like a fun idea at the time, but boy does it knock you over the head the day after.

Maybe I should have prefaced this self-pitying with the fact that I recently decided to stop seeing someone who I knew would be no good for me. I’m trying to learn from my past mistakes and break away from the wrong person/people before I’m so attached that I can reason why it’s right. I liked this one, but he was not a keeper, so I’m trying to respect what’s best for me in the future instead of indulging in what feels good for now (easier said than done). I’ve been there done that, and swore I wouldn’t do it again — the pleasure isn’t always worth the pain. As Ray said… Bye bye love.

On that note, I’m ready to get out of my head and into my work — I have FINALLY started a full time job that is right up my alley! I’m working in the Specialty Dept. of an organic supermarket that supports local farmers and does not support products containing high fructose corn syrup, hydrogenated oils, artificial colors, sweeteners, antibiotics, bleached flour, animal by-products and inhumane treatment of the animals providing our food.

Bucheron, blackberries, sun dried tomatoes and a bottle of Cotes du Rhone after work

What do I do in the Specialty Department? I play with cheese, wine, beer, olives, and coffee. Our cheese counter is a foodie’s dream, and our beer selection could make a grown man giggle like a little boy with a brand new remote controlled airplane. I’m surprised by how many types of Prosecco we carry, and pleased by the variety of Old World wines that I have yet to try.

The chalky center is what the French refer to as the "soul" of this creamy goat cheese. Bucheron comes from the Loire Valley and delivers a tang on the tongue. I not only love the flavor, but the texture as well -- creamy around the rind like Brie at room temperature, but claylike in the center. This crumbles nicely into salad and dissolves on the tongue.

As part of my training, I am reading The Cheese Primer by Steven Jenkins. Not too long ago I interviewed Steve, and we have continued to keep in touch since then. It’s a funny sensation to be reading a book written decades ago by someone who has become something of a mentor to me. It wasn’t until getting to know Steve that I even considered the grocery business, but as he said, “It’s the only way to get to know the products!” And it’s true — I’ve only worked two days so far and I have already been exposed to at least 3 dozen cheeses I’d never met before in my life, and I’ve finally met a cheese I do NOT like.

This cheese from upstate NY was like death wrapped in a baby diaper… like an exhumed grave full of shit. It was rude, and foul, and it had the staff in painful hysterics as we all laughed at each other’s tortured faces.

Roasted Eggplant & Bucheron Crouton

I think I’m going to like it here. I just need to get the hang of being on my feet all day, and I need to become comfortable with our products so that I can advise customers from a place of knowledge and experience. Perhaps I’ve found my niche… somewhere where I can stay and grow and learn over the next few years while I make plans for my own little cafe (where I will serve salads like this…)

Bucheron & Arugula Salad with Warm Asparagus & Honey Citrus Vinaigrette (if I ate bread I'd add a nice crusty chunk or a fresh roll on the side).

Dill, Sweet Red Onions & Swiss Chard Frittata

I’m also eager to throw myself into a project that will be a time consuming commitment to say the least; I’m going to write a book… or two.. or three. I haven’t decided yet how the story will play out, but I’m thinking it could be a series. My one concern is the research — I’m going to have to do some digging into my past, the contents of which I long ago boxed up and left behind.

Something tells me these crazy dreams are here to stay (like this frittata recipe I threw together this evening).

Ingredients

3 eggs

1/2 red onion

swiss chard

fresh dill & thyme

pinch of salt & pepper

splash of milk

serves 1

heat pan with a spoon of extra virgin olive oil

slice onions thinly and sweat over low heat until they become caramelized

add thinly cut swiss chard & a pinch of salt

while the leaves are wilting, whisk 3 eggs, coarsely chopped dill & thyme, salt & pepper together

add to the pan, turn heat to low, cover the mixture and let it set (takes 5 minutes)

when the egg mixture is almost cooked through, turn the frittata out of the pan onto a plate and slide back into the pan to cook the other side — turn heat off and give this side just 1 minute to finish cooking

serve immediately with a garden salad of fresh arugula and a cheese plate

don’t forget the wine

I just think frittatas are the prettiest thing

 

The Original Garden Salad

Sweet buttercrunch bibb lettuce waiting to go in the ground

Romaine and spinach ready, set, go!

Miss Grey up to her old tricks

Bibb lettuce just three weeks later thanks to a little water and sunshine

Crisp romaine shooting up like a tree

My favorite Spring scent

Greens drying off after a fresh rinse

Sweet & Tender: romaine, bibb, red, spinach, arugula, and cilantro

Just a sprinkle of Slovenian fior di sale and a sploosh of Tuscan olio nuovo with a squeeze of fresh lemon

Life’s a Garden, Dig It

The monthly Art Walk is one of my favorite (and free) social events in Charleston, SC. Despite the fact that up until rather recently I was living in one of the most magnificent art capitals in the world (Renaissance Florence, Italy) I greatly missed strolling in and out of galleries on Broad or Queen with a glass of wine in hand on a warm Coastal Carolina night.

Charleston Waterfront

To say that I have come home would be an understatement. I felt a deep sense of comfort after returning to Charleston — a comfort that shocked me, because had you asked me if I ever saw myself coming back here just one year ago I would have said absolutely not. When I left Charleston, I was running from a life that had failed me. That life was due to my own choices, my own submission to what I thought I wanted, and to a person who I thought I wanted to be with.

Walking down Sullivan's Island

I feel like things have come full circle since then. At this time last year, the trees were just starting to bloom in Florence. I had taken a babysitting job in Fiesole, and everyday I would bike from the Oltrarno, past the Duomo, to San Marco square where the buses come hurling through like bowling balls — ready to take down any pin in their path. It’s a miracle that I survived on that bike of mine — Bertha, may she rest in peace.

The view from the Oltrarno

I always took the seat in the back of the bus, that’s where you could find the best breeze and enjoy the best view without losing your head like a spinning top — surviving public transportation in Italy was a miracle as well. I think it was just about the beginning of May when these gorgeous clusters of purple flowers started to spread like weeds onto every branch and trellis; its intoxicating perfume cascaded into the streets all through the day and night. There was one particular turn on the way up to Fiesole that I always looked forward to — approaching a wall hanging heavy with these heady flowers, I’d turn my face into the breeze and drink it in. I think that was the first time I really started smiling again.

The flowers that spread like a wildfire

I never wanted to leave Charleston, but I didn’t feel I had any other choice. Now I know it was the best decision I ever could have made for myself. But there was no way of knowing that back then, so I struggled with doubt and fear and a sense of loss that echoed in my bones for far too long. I think the start of Spring that year marked my new beginning — it’s funny, as I write this I am realizing that today marks the first official day of Spring 2011. Yes, things have come full circle.

Garden Plan 2011

I remember daydreaming all the way up that hill on an almost daily basis about one day coming back to Charleston — it was a fantasy, it didn’t seem like a real possibility. I honestly didn’t think I had the strength to face my past. In a very roundabout way, I discovered an artist, Brendan James, whose lyrics were raw and honest and stirred something within me. I listened to his ballads during those bus rides; I listened to his heartbreak and suddenly understood mine. One line in particular struck a chord, “Nothing like a storm in your heart to wake you up. Someone by your side and you know they’re not enough. Maybe you should try and stay, maybe you should walk away.”

The beginnings of my garden -- back breaking digging, weeding, and tilling

A couple of weeks ago, I saw Brendan James in concert here in Charleston, SC — I was with an intimate group of his personal friends, and it was a beautiful and touching experience; especially because it meant something symbolic to me to be standing there watching him sing words I’d only listened to alone on a bus so far away.

Phase 1 complete

I’m not going to paint you a perfect picture here — it hasn’t all been gravy since moving back. It’s been difficult finding my footing in old and familiar, yet new and different surroundings. I have changed, and so has my perspective of this place. Things didn’t freeze in time while I was gone; people moved on, I hear my ex is headed towards marriage with a young single mother who lived up the street from us. That doesn’t weird me out, although passing him in his truck last week did make my stomach flip flop, and forced me to pull over on the side of the road so I could simply catch my breath.

Swiss Chard

I have faced roadblocks, I have been disappointed by people who I thought I could count on, I am learning to trust myself and stand behind the strength in my own voice, and reclaim this place that I once loved. During this month’s Art Walk, I found myself in a gallery showcasing a sequence of vibrant paintings depicting scenes from around the world — Greece, South America, a deserted street in Paris. The artist had printed her info on the back of a postcard that read: “WANDERLUST: Innate desire to wander or travel and explore the world.” That postcard now leans against the mirror in my bedroom. I suppose I keep it there as some sort of reminder — I don’t want time to march on without the memory of the life I created for myself an ocean away.

Lettuce waiting to go in the ground

A recent job possibility started me studying up on my wine notes again. Pouring over maps of Piemonte & the Rhone Valley, I couldn’t help but think about my life in Florence, which I honestly have not processed since leaving Italy. As the weather gets warmer and the days get longer here in Charleston, I’m finding myself craving the comforts of my past Tuscan lifestyle. In an effort to bring the fruttivendolo straight to my backyard, I recently planted a 6×6 garden overflowing with lettuces, leafy greens, herbs and tomatoes. While cultivating my new home here in the States should somehow “root” me to a place, I can’t help but feel the itch of wanderlust from my fingers to my toes.

As Mom always says, "Busy hands are happy hands."

As I added some thyme and basil to the garden today, a familiar fragrance caught my attention. Hanging high from a neighbor’s tree just beyond my fence were those same flowers that made me smile one year ago in a way I hadn’t smiled in so long. It’s funny that it took coming back for me to realize how far I’ve gone to get here — far from this place and from the person that I once was. And it’s comforting to know that no matter where I am, some things stay the same; I can picture that wall, heavy with flowers, just before my favorite turn up the hill, all of Florence laid out below — the Duomo, my bike route, my favorite bridge on the way home — just knowing that it’s all still there makes me smile.

Perugia, Summer of 2010

This time I gotta get it right…