Orgasm in a Cup: The Marocchino

There are two kinds of people in the world, coffee drinkers and tea drinkers. I am definitely in the tea drinking camp. If you asked me to describe one of my favorite pleasures, I would say: Drinking a cup of tea--black with milk and honey in the morning and mint or rooibos in the afternoon and evening. Add a rainy day, a fantastic novel, snuggling on the couch, or chatting with friends, and I'm as happy as a Milanese woman with a new Furla purse.

The problem is, no one really drinks tea in Italy. This is the land of espresso. But it's not like I pictured it would be: people sitting around in cafes, chatting as they savored their cappuccinos and lattes. Oh no. That's France. In Italy, people drink coffee like they drive--friggin' fast. A typical Italian walks into a bar during her morning break, orders an espresso, then stands at the counter and kicks the coffee back like a shot of whiskey. She'll chat with her work friends for a few moments, finish off her brioche (croissant) then head back to work. There is no lingering.

Smoked Herring (Kipper) with Capers and Onions

You know the ol' "if you were stranded on an island" game, where you have to choose what you'd eat or what you'd read, which CD you'd listen to, or who you'd take with you? The one where you're forced to think deeply, and perhaps a bit pointlessly about the that you'd want with you forever and ever?

Okay, I admit it, I love to play it, especially when hiking long stretches of trail, or waiting for delayed trains, planes, and automobiles. I am usually quite horrible at it though, because when asked, I suddenly forget the name of every musician I love and every book I've ever read.

Food though--food I don't forget. I remember thinking long and hard about that one when asked a few years back. I thought about squash soup, dark chocolate, bread warm and fresh from the oven with butter spread on top...mmm...and the list goes on and on. But I finally decided that I'd be willing to live off of wild berries (we were being a bit generous with our categories) and smoked salmon. Yup, basically the diet of an Alaskan Grizzly bear.

Why I have a crush on Jamie Oliver

If you live in the States, I'm a little jealous. Not just because you're closer to my family, but because you can watch a television show that I am completely in love with:  Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution.

I am not the kind of girl that watches television--in fact, I've never owned one until I moved in with Guido, and we only used our basic cable once to watch the World Cup (Hey, I'm in Italy, what can I say?). So, thank goodness for airline entertainment. I was fortunate enough to watch the Food Revolution while traveling over the Atlantic on the way back from the United States. After watching the forty-minute pilot episode, I was totally inspired and moved by Jamie's mission to transform the unhealthy eating habits in the United States. Now this is the kind of television I can get behind.

Here's the premise of the show: Jamie travels to Huntington, West Virgina (population 50,000), recently named the unhealthiest city in America because of its high rate of obesity-related deaths. A 2008 report from the Center for Disease Control reported the following facts on Huntington: 45.5% of the residents over 20 were overweight (that's half!), 21.6% of those over 45 reported a diagnosis of coronary heart disease, and 13% of those over 18 had diabetes (the national rate is 7.8%). Jamie's goal is to try to get the residents to change their addiction to fast and unhealthy food and show them that with just a little extra effort their lives can be healthier and much, much longer.

Simple Squash Soup

I miss my dad. This time of year my dad and I both really love cooking and planning our big family gatherings like Christmas and Thanksgiving. Now that I'm in Italy, we'll have to plan our separate menus over the phone. Living in Italy is really wonderful, but I can't lie--being away from my family during the holidays hurts.

One dish my dad and I love to prepare this time of year is squash soup. It was a tough decision in the past, because he and I were the only ones who really enjoyed it. Growing up, my brothers were so much younger (by six and nine years) that the flavor didn't appeal to them. My mom wasn't crazy about eating a sweet soup either. In her mind, soup should be savory--like the gumbo she grew up with in the south--and squash soup was a strange anomaly that rebelled against her philosophy and taste. Squash soup was right up there with tapioca, or fish eyes and glue, as she used to call it.

Roasted Asparagus Wrapped in Prosciutto

Moan alert. Of all the things Guido and I have prepared since my arrival, I have to say that this is one of the most orgasmic recipes, moan-worthy recipes I have to offer. And the fantastic thing is that it is oh so simple.

Yesterday Guido and I went to the questura, which is the Italian word for "hell" (okay, it's what they call the local police station). I'm in the process of finishing the fabulously labyrinthine process for my permesso di soggiorno, which is sort of like my green card/identity card for my next year in Italy. Anyway, we had an appointment slip for 8:16am and thought that we'd walk right up to the window at the ever so exact time printed on the paper. I mean, why else would they say 8:16am, unless that time slot was specifically for us?

Pasta with Mushrooms, White Wine, and Cream

I got into this simple dish when I was living in Turkey. I lived in an isolated home about 45 minutes from Isparta's city center, with windows so badly insulated that it sounded like I lived in a tea kettle whenever the wind blew--which was every day, all the time. I swear the house could have been in the 1939 production of Wuthering Heights. Anyway, one day I finally found out where to buy alcohol in my town--it's not easy once you're out of the tourist destinations. I had a chunk of parmesan from my last visit to Italy that Guido (my Italian boyfriend) had wrapped in foil and stuffed in my suitcase. Finally, I had a precious bag of gluten-free pasta that my best friend Melanie sent me for my birthday. All I knew was that this meal had better be delicious if it was going to use my precious ingredients (wine, parmesan, and gluten-free pasta). Fortunately, the creamy deliciousness totally satisfied.

Surprisingly Fabulous Tuna Pasta (and Hand Gestures You Shouldn't Make in Italy)

I just have to come out and say it--this pasta may not look fabulous, and it may not sound fabulous, but it is surprisingly super duper fabulous...even though it's made with canned tuna.

When Guido pulled out the canned tuna to try out this recipe one evening, I had my doubts. So did he, which is why when I came in to the kitchen to help cook, he jokingly referred to his dish as "la cena del cornuto."

Prociutto Salad with Apple, Walnut, and Parmigiano

While traveling in California introducing Guido to my family, we impressed my Santa Barbara relatives with a simple prosciutto salad. This version is a more embellished version, but you can simplify it by cutting the extra ingredients.

Ah...Proscuitto di Parma. Sigh... There are few things in Italian cuisine that I love as much as prosciutto crudo, a thinly sliced salt-cured ham produced in central and northern Italy, most famously in Parma. It's slightly ironic that I love it so much, since I hadn't eaten pork products for almost 15 years before I started coming to Italy in 2010. One evening Guido set some prosciutto on the table along with a few slices of bread, some parmigiano (parmesan), and a little wine. I took a bite, hesitant...I don't really like to eat mammals. But once the thin, salty slice touched my tongue I was helpless against it and secretly ate the rest when Guido went to work the next day. All I can say is that prosciutto is one of the reasons the word "Orgasmica" appears in my blog.

Potato and Tomato Frittata with Chives

Welcome to the first official recipe co-created with my dad. I'm traveling in the U.S. at the moment, visiting family, and as usual Dad is wowing me with his fabulous eats. Yesterday I begged him for a frittata, an Italian egg dish that's much like a Spanish omelet. I prefer my dad's variation, which is with potatoes, spiced up with some vegetables and herbs from his backyard garden. Yum!

Let's talk quickly about which pan you should use. You need a pan that can work on the stovetop AND in the oven. I'm a big fan of the cast iron pan (or carbon steel, which is more pricey). But you can use any kind of non-stick pan you like that is stove and oven-safe. For this amount of eggs, a round pan with a nine-inch base should serve you well.

Orgasmic Watermelon Salad

Okay, I'm going to be up front with you. This dish is NOT Italian. However, I did serve it to a bunch of Italians whilst in Italy, so perhaps that's enough of a qualifier. They all loved it--the flavors are exotic for an Italian palate, but the flavor combinations are familiarly Mediterranean. The final flavor combination fireworks in your mouth: salty black olives, sweet and crunchy watermelon, creamy feta, oniony onions (okay--how do YOU describe onions?), and the gentle snap of mint. I found this recipe on one of my new favorite blogs, Rachel Eats, whose beautiful pictures inspired me to upgrade my Canon lens.

So, without further ado...here's the recipe for an Orgasmic Watermelon Salad. Eat it sitting down, so you don't embarrass yourself by falling to your knees in rapture at the first bite.

Coffee Granita--it deserves its own post!

Sorry to be repetitive with the recipes here, but Guido and I had THE most amazing treat yesterday--coffee granita. If you love coffee and would like a summertime pick-me-up, you have got to try this.  I know I blogged about lemon granita below, but this was so good, it deserved its own blog!

Servings: 2 to 4 people, depending on how much coffee you can handle, and your level of restraint.

Prep time: Including making the coffee and time to let things cool, about 15 to 20 minutes.

Granita: The perfect summer treat

Guido and I went to Rome recently, and while reacquainting myself with the city I saw so many years ago as a teenager, he decided to take me to the famous Piazza Navona, sight of the Tre Fontane (The Three Fountains). I went to Piazza Novana sixteen years ago on a tour in high school, and vaguely remembered savoring a delicious gelato while sitting next to one of the Tre Fontane at night.

Well, it wasn't night this time; it was the hottest part of the day. Guido and I were wilting in the heat, so much so that we stuck our feet in one of the fountains (like everyone else, in our defense) and ended up getting yelled at by the carabinieri (the police).

We finally managed to drag our sweaty selves to Tre Scalini, a famous gelateria, to salivate over their tasty gelati. I don't know why, but we decided to skip their most famous dessert: divino tartufo, a heavenly chocolate concoction (wait, why did we skip it again?). Instead, we dipped our plastic spoons into an over-priced but mouth-puckeringly delicious lemon granita. Our moods improved immediately.

Zucchini, Yogurt, and Mint Soup (Zuppa Fredda di Zucchine e Menta)

Looking to make a yummy cold soup for dinner on a hot July night, I stumbled onto this zucchini, mint, and yogurt soup recipe. It was in a couple Italian food blogs, but Guido seemed a bit mystified that it was an Italian recipe. We discovered that it's considered a "modern Italian creation," as yogurt is not a very integral part of Italian cuisine. Regardless, it's creamy, delicate, and easy to make...and (supposedly) Italian.

The Birds: Update 1

Guido and I discovered a nest of blackbirds on our balcony (as in "Blackbird singing in the dead of night..."). These are not black birds, but actually the Common Blackbird (Turdus murula), a lovely songbird that's especially cherished and protected in England. Well, it just so happens that they're also in Italy.

The newly hatched babies are so cute that I have to include some pictures here, and will continue to update them. We're trying to figure out how to enjoy our balcony without scaring the parents away, and some progress has been made. The mother used to fly away as soon as I stepped onto the balcony, but now she'll let me sit out here and type, which I love.

Super Orgasmic Slow Food Festival

Today Guido and I went to Caglio, a small town super close to the Swiss border (which explains why I had "The Sound of Music" in my head). A friend of Guido's told him about a Slow Food festival in this little mountain village, and Guido, being the amazing boyfriend that he is, knew that we had to go.

Tucked into the foothills of the Italian alps about ninety minutes north of Milan, Caglio was the perfect location to display locally handcrafted foods from the province. (You can see a fun blog about Caglio here--but the photos are taken in winter.)

There were so many sweet things to see. First we had buckwheat polenta (recipe for that later), followed by the most amazing gelato I've ever had (it was some of the best Guido has ever had too, and since he's Italian, that's saying something). The three flavors we tried: mandorle di Noto, almonds from Noto, a Sicilian city famous for its almonds; riccota and amaretti (a type of cookie); and zucchini (!). They were all amazing, but I have to say that the ricotta and amaretti gelato was totally orgasmico.

Slow Food and La Cucina Orgasmica

There's only one way to start a blog, and that's to start it. So what better way to start off than a little background on the Slow Food movement and my vision for La Cucina Orgasmica?

A quick history of Slow Food: The Slow Food movement was founded in 1989 by (Italian) Carlo Petrini to "counteract fast food and fast life, the disappearance of local food traditions and people’s dwindling interest in the food they eat, where it comes from, how it tastes and how our food choices affect the rest of the world."

And I super like this last line: "To do that, Slow Food brings together pleasure and responsibility, and makes them inseparable."

Ah...leave it to Italians to combine pleasure and responsibility. Che miracolo! I don't know where I got my fabulous guilty conscience from, but I've spent most of my life feeling guilty for pleasure, as if the only meaningful thing I could do was be responsible for everything and everyone, instead of actually having a bit of fun.

Boring!