Home made gianduia spread (fools would call it home made Nutella)

Every Italian in his thirties and twenties grew up eating Nutella. And if he says he didn't, he is either lying or a very sad affair (we won't even talk about Italians who claim not to like Nutella, because they don't deserve any of my time).

When I was a kid, sugar wasn't considered poison (I remember afternoon breaks where my only snack was a slice of wet bread with half a cup of sugar on top...and I never had a cavity until I was 35), so nobody cared that sugar was the first ingredient of Nutella. And Ferrero - the maker of Nutella - never marketed Nutella as a "healthy breakfast" alternative, like it is doing now in the US. First and foremost because nutella is seldom eaten at breakfast in Italy...Secondly because such a claim in Italy would have been stupid, whereas in the US - where a stack of 8 pancakes with 1/2 cup of maple syrup is considered a legitimate breakfast - you can see how Nutella's claim can start to make sense. Everything is relative, after all.

Anyway. I have come across many recipes for home-made "nutella". All of these recipes have one huge problem: one cannot simply make Nutella at home. It is as simple as that. Anyone who tells you that their home made Nutella tastes exactly like store-bought nutella is a liar or a fool (or perhaps he/she has never tasted the real deal).

Now, what is Nutella? It is a specific version of gianduia. Gianduia is nothing more than chocolate (milk chocolate) mixed with hazelnuts, and can be under the shape of small candies (gianduiotti) or spreads.  Nutella is extremely heavy on sugar and palm oil (that gives the creamy texture that I love), hazelnuts are only the third ingredient, and there is very little cocoa. There is a lot of other BS in it, as in any processed product.

Most of the recipes I have come across try to replicate the creamy texture of Nutella by using coconut oil or other oils. To me that's just nonsense. If you are in the right frame of mind and you accept the fact that Nutella cannot be replicated at home (do I really need to say this one more time?), you will choose a different route. You will then not end up with an oily grease ball (but it's homemade!!!) that has nothing to do with Nutella and tastes like shit.

Then what should you be doing? Try and not make Nutella, but make a gianduia spread.

I saw this recipe first on the magazine Bon Appetit. As every loser claiming to be making Nutella at home, they also claimed that this was better than Nutella, but at least they had the decency of admitting that it was very different. And in fact it is: there are no oils to deliver creaminess...it only lasts 4 days at room temperature and four months in the fridge, and it doesn't taste like Nutella at all: because it is just a very, very good chocolate/hazelnut spread that tastes like hazelnuts and chocolate, and has very little sugar, and some butter and cream. Flavor-wise, it reminds me a lot of the chocolate spread you can find at Pain Quotidien.

So, here is the photo recipe. Arm yourself of patience: the recipe is super easy, but peeling the hazelnuts is a pain. Also: I am using black chocolate because I love it. But really, you should be using semi-sweet.

You can see the photo recipe bigger by clicking here.

Carbonnade Flamande - photo recipe with a step-by-step guide

I have made a photo step-by-step guide on how to cook the Carbonnade Flamande (Flemish beer beef stew), a recipe that I had already published. What do you think of this format? Is it better than a written recipe? (By placing your mouse on the blue Mouse over for image description you will see the notes I have written for most of the photos, with precise instructions).

Also, since I published the original recipe, I have tried to make it with a number of different beers. This is a dish where you must use the right beer, since the flavors depend 90% on the beers you use. I had mentioned how I had obtained the best results here in the US with the Flemish red Douchesse de Bourgogne, which however was very expensive ($18 for four small bottles). Surprisingly, I have obtained excellent results with 2012 Vintage Ale by Trader Joe's (brewed by Canadian Unibrue). At $4.99 for a large bottle, this is the best way to save money on the beer and still get the authentic flavors in the Carbonnade. Give it a try.
     

The new Coca Cola freestyle fountains: an illustration of the American mentality

The first time I saw one of the new Coca-Cola Freestyle fountains, I could only say one thing: What.The.F.?!

If you are not familiar with these machines, they really look - and probably are - the next generation of soda fountains, with a touch screen that gives you access to more than 100+ flavor combinations. One may wonder if you really need 100+ flavor combinations, but this is America, baby: if you can think it, you shall have it. (And I love this about the US).

I have talked about this aspect of the American mentality many times: the theme of endless choices - think about Starbucks versus the coffee options you have in the average bar in Italy - the possibility for the consumer to ask whatever he wants without being told to shut up like it would happen in Belgium if you asked for an additional piece of bread. I am not saying this all translates automatically into better flavors, but it definitely says a lot about the concept of freedom.

It was about time this all transferred to the fountain soda, frankly. I am surprised it took so long.

So what's so special about these fountains?

Well, putting one of these next to the traditional fountains is like putting a 21st century car next to a car from the 's70s. Same feeling, really. Plus - and this is the real selling point, I believe - you can literally get a lot of flavors that are not available in the traditional fountains. You can also create your own combination...feel like Fanta zero (which I had never seen elsewhere) with a dash of Sprite peach? No problem, you can have it. Feel like a raspberry coke with some Powerade zero in it? No problem.

Of course you can also be as boring as I am, and take a simple flavor like Coke zero: the machine will gladly give you that too. I understand the machines also send data back to Coca Cola, so that the company can collect information on what we drink, and come up with something that suits your needs. You may find this disturbing or wonderful, it is up to you.

What I like about these machines is that they can also provide free entertainment: take your non-American parents to a place that has those, and see how they interact with it. When I brought my parents to have a burger at a nearby Five Guys, I purposely told them to go fetch the drinks, laughing to myself. My parents are not super old (mid-60s), but they couldn't figure it out...

One real disadvantage as far as I am concerned is that the touch screen really gets greasy: people are dirty, and they use their dirty fingers to select their drink...so whatever they have touched will end up in your mouth, because chances are you will use your fingers to eat. You may say that this is true for all fountains: perhaps you are right, but here it is visible. If I were Coca Cola I would try to make the screens matte or have service agreements with the vending locations to have someone wipe the screen every 10 minutes.

So, if you find one of these machines somewhere go and play with them. And mix some crazy drink: you may see it sold on the shelf someday...

Next Kyoto

During my previous life as a young corporate champion, I was fortunate enough to visit Japan and Kyoto multiple times, including in the Autumn. It is difficult to express how beautiful that whole country is in every season, but how surreal, oneiric, and at the same time absolutely flabbergasting its beauty is in the Fall. 

Autumn in Japan

It is probably in Japan that I fell in love with food for the first time in my life. I always liked food, obviously, but love and like are two different concepts. So I have fond memories of Japanese food and of the whole dining experience. The peace you experience in visually taking the presentation of Japanese food has always been 50% of the pleasure for me. Obviously, having clients taking you to the best restaurants in Tokyo and Kyoto on a company credit card helped me appreciate the cuisine even more, at times. But cheap food in Japan is probably the best cheap food I have had anywhere. 

A much younger version of the Tuscan Foodie in his Japanese days eating a cheap and delicious bowl of udon in the middle of a Japanese nowhere - 2003

Why is all this relevant? Because last Sunday I made it to Next, Kyoto. For those who are not familiar with it, Next is a new concept restaurant by Grant Achatz, one of the world greatest chefs, according to a lot of rankings. Next's menu changes completely every few months, and it is thematic: the first menu was Paris, then there were Thailand, Childhood, Tribute to El Bulli, Sicily and now Kyoto. Next's objective is to really make the diner feel transported to that time and place through food. They also have what I think is a completely fucked up reservation system: you need to buy "tickets", whose price varies depending on the time and day you want to go. A neat idea in theory, but practice says otherwise: "good tickets" at decent times go away within seconds of being put online, and I am not joking. 

A much younger me in Japan

Since I don't think one should spend hours in front of a pc trying to score a table at a restaurant, irrespective of how good that restaurant may be, I always refused to go through the ticket ordeal.  But my friends Jesse and Heather managed to score four tickets for a Sunday night at 10pm. Normally I would have said no way (I eat my meals by 7,30, thank you very much) but this was the Kyoto menu, so I happily said yes in spite of the price: for $256 (sake pairing, tips and taxes included), I was expecting to be blown out of my mind, and be transported back to my young days of Japan. 

The menu is made of 14 courses, and it is a traditional kaiseki menu. Kaiseki is a special type of meal that was originally served as an accompaniment of tea. It is normally a real feast, and the menu served at Next was no exception. 

None of us diners had a camera, on purpose: without coordinating ourselves, we all came to the conclusion that there was no point in bringing a camera when there were already good photos of the menu out there. Just sit back and enjoy the food. If you want to read a good detailed explanation of each course of the menu from someone who seems to know what he/she is talking about - together with good photos - you should read this. 

I will limit myself to a few lines: did I have a very good meal? Yes, I did. Did I have the feeling, as Next promised, of experiencing "Autumn in Kyoto: the moon viewing, the changing hue of the maple leaves, the last crickets of summer, wind blowing through the river grass..."? Yes, I did. 

Yet, I don't think Next-Kyoto was one of my most memorable meals. Far from it. 

My wife says it is because I am blasé. I may be, but I don't think that's the reason I wasn't blown away. We all found the food was great, but we all felt we had had better meals elsewhere for a fraction of the cost. 

Now, I am not saying that we were ripped off. Although I agree with my fellow Italian Chicagoan Fabrizio when he says that usually restaurants that cost 100% more than average only offer around 30% better quality than average, I did see where my money went: the sakes and liquors we had were absolutely amazing, and plentiful. And they married beautifully to the food. 

But my issue is that if I remember something of this meal in ten years from now, it will be the sake, in particular the Mizuho Kuramatsu Kembishi: when it hit my tongue I could sense all of my taste buds feeling I was dead and gone to Paradise. 

But the food? Yes, it was extremely good. But it wouldn't be something that made me want to go back to Next (assuming I could spare another $250). I have had other kaiseki meals in Japan, and this was as good as those. Which is probably an achievement in itself, but perhaps my expectations were higher.

Also, for that price, I would expect each and every server to know their menu inside out, and be able to answer questions and explain things to me as if I were five. This was the case in most cases, but not always. One staff in particular seemed to be repeating things he had learnt by heart, mixing words, forgetting things, unable to answer questions. Did this ruin my meal? No, absolutely not. Did I think I would see this in a $250 meal restaurant? No, I didn't. 

Perhaps my expectations were too high, perhaps I didn't understand all the subtle nuances that were going on, perhaps my palate is not as good as I would like it to be. All this could be true. Or perhaps my experiences from the past come to mind sweetened by long lost time, and are therefore better than the present, as every good memory is. Who knows. I would give the experience 8/10. I just wanted it to be a 11/10 though, that's the reason of my disappointment.

If the whole point of NEXT is to offer a menu at the top level of the cuisine of choice, they nailed it. And from a technical point of view it is a phenomenal feat that these guys can pull a Japanese menu like that, when three weeks ago they were doing Sicilian, and before that El Bulli. I mean: they really are fantastic. I think the problem (in my case) is that I was expecting it to be a memorable experience like I hear Alinea is.

PS: my favorite course was this matsutake chawanmushi, a savory custard which has all the flavors that I personally associate to Japanese cuisine. Some of my dinner partners thought it was too salty, I thought it was just perfect. Too bad the pines next to it weren't fragrant at all. Photos from here.

Planned obsolescence in the kitchen

Today we are going to talk about planned obsolescence. If you are not familiar with this expression already, you should get real soon. Because it is one of the biggest way - perhaps THE biggest - that manufacturers of every consumer product in the world use to take advantage of you. 

We all had the feeling that that damned printer broke down for no reason after 2 years, right? Not to mention those smartphones that phone companies sell you with two-year contracts, to lock you in, and that MYSTERIOUSLY break down exactly after two years from the purchase. So that you are locked in again for an additional two years, if you want to buy another one…Were you really so stupid to think this was all coincidence?

Why am I talking about this here? Because planned obsolescence - like the Matrix - is all around us, even in your kitchen. If you'd like to continue to think that you are in control of your buying decisions as a consumer, then take the blue pill, close this browser and move on with your life. But if you want to know the truth, take the red pill...and let's see how deep the hole goes. 

I bought a wooden spoon. Actually, I bought four wooden spoons over the past 6 months. I even paid 12$ for one of these wooden spoons, because I am stupid and because I thought that 12$ would guarantee me many years of service. Alas, I was wrong: each and every single one of these wooded spoons, of different brands, has started to crack after only a few weeks of service, irrespective of the woods and of the construction (single piece or assembled). 

Now, I also have older wooden spoons. In particular, I have one that I have continuously used to cook for the past 9 years. I inherited it from my mother's kitchen, so I have no idea how old it is. And yet it is still there. 

All this brings me to planned obsolescence: in a nutshell, planned obsolescence means that all of the products you buy, from a lightbulb to a printer, from a fridge to a stereo, from an ipod to a TV, from a wooden spoon to a microwave, are designed to fail and break down after a certain amount of time. 

Yes, you got that right: products are designed and manufactured to fail.

Wikipedia has a very long and exhaustive page about planned obsolescence, that is defined as follows: 

“Planned obsolescence or built-in obsolescence in industrial design is a policy of deliberately planning or designing a product with a limited useful life, so it will become obsolete or nonfunctional after a certain period of time. Planned obsolescence has potential benefits for a producer because to obtain continuing use of the product the consumer is under pressure to purchase again, whether from the same manufacturer (a replacement part or a newer model), or from a competitor which might also rely on planned obsolescence.”

Again, in simpler words: the products that you buy every day are DELIBERATELY DESIGNED by manufacturers so as to FAIL within a LIMITED amount of time, forcing you to BUY them again. Products are purportedly engineered BELOW the current achievable standards, so as to force consumers to replace them sooner than technology would allow. 

If you think I am joking, you should watch this documentary, which is extremely detailed and well done. If you don't have the time, then simply think about these very simple examples of planned obsolescence in your life: 

• Lightbulbs: there is a lightbulb in California that was switched on for the first time in 1901 (yes: 111 years ago), and it is still working. Check it out for yourself. Now you tell me: how often do you have to change your lightbulbs? Do you really think we do not have the technology to make lightbulbs last longer? The technology to manufacture lightbulbs that last tens of years existed already 110 years ago. We have proof of that! When lightbulbs manufacturers realized what they had done - i.e. they had created a perfect, durable product, that consumers would only need to buy perhaps once every 20-30 years - they realized they were shooting themselves in the foot. So they got together and agreed among themselves to manufacture and market products BELOW the technical standards of the time: the life of a lightbulbs was reduced by designed from thousands and thousands of hours, to only a few hundreds. This is not some crazy conspiracy theory: it is a historically proven fact. Of course you don't hear it in our schools, and I really wonder why (sarcasm). 
• MP3 players. The most famous is Apple’s ipod/iphone, which comes with a sealed-in battery that you cannot replace yourself. Surprise: the battery fails well before the product does, forcing you to either buy a new ipod, or to send the ipod to Cupertino for an expensive replacement. Do you really think that Apple - or Sony, or any other - can’t make batteries that last more than 2 years? Do you think that there isn’t the technology to do that? Also: do you really think that the new Iphone5 could have not been charged with the previous chargers? Do you think there is a technological need to redesign the jacks forcing you to throw away all the previous chargers? PLEAAAAAAZE.
• Home printers: there is a chip in most home printers that, after a certain amount of printed pages, will activate a switch that will block your printer. In other words: the company manufacturing the printers decides after how many pages your printers will stop functioning, so that you will be forced to replace it. Beware: I didn’t say the printer will break, because it won’t. The printer will do exactly what it is supposed to do: the chip will activate and the  printer will stop printing, even if all its components are perfectly functioning. You may object that the printer’s manufacturer may not benefit from it, because you may end up buying a printer from a different brand. But you are missing the big picture, my friend: ALL MANUFACTURERS do exactly the same, this is a sort of industry agreement. The industry as such will benefit. 
• My wooden spoons: do you think that 21st century men lack the technology to build a freaking wood spoon that lasts more than 4 months and doesn't dissolve in the soups that it is supposed to stir? Seriously now. 

Governments, corporations and green fascists will tell you that planned obsolescence is necessary to upgrade products and make them safer and more environmentally friendly (think about the lightbulbs, again: we are told that everything is good for the environment...). This is bullshit. They are all in on this. They all want your money, they all want you to believe the lies they tell you. Start thinking for yourself. Open your eyes. 

Gosh, am I not mad for those wooden spoons...

How desire can change your life

I am writing this with mixed emotions. As my regular followers amongst you know, I do not like  to share too many details about my private life. But I feel I need to make an exception this time. I need to try and explain the reasons that pushed me to some drastic changes. 

I would love to be able to say that my story is unique. And yet, I would be lying. This is a story common to many a man, of different upbringings and ages. You will have heard it many times: men who are not perfect, but who have tried for a long time - perhaps too long? - to respect their commitments, keep their promises, remain on the chartered path that was laid in front of them. Men who at some point came to the conclusion that they just couldn't take it anymore. They felt that Passion - with a capital P - can only be avoided and kept at bay for a limited amount of time: sooner or later it will set you on fire and burn to ashes everything you deemed real: certainties, commitments, promises. 

The first time I saw her she was wearing a red dress. A sensuous, carnal red, yet at the same time as inviting and relaxing as a velvety chesterfield couch. Her white skin, hidden by a hat also red, was barely visible. Yet, the effect that skin had on me was barely containable. I felt my desire thrashing everything else inside me, growing with no control, merciless, like a son who claims that everything you owned is now his. 

My wife was next to me. I don't know if she immediately understood what was happening. What I can tell you though, is that my sense of guilt engaged in a fiery fight with my new desire. A fight it immediately lost. I felt like a chained dog realizing its leash had finally been broken: a split second of uncertainty, the desire of old caresses, of faithfulness, and then away, running away free. No more looking back. 

I knew this time I wouldn't be able to resist. But wat frightened me the most was my realization that for for the first time in my life I did not want to resist. 

There had been times in which I had wanted to change, turning everything upside down. But nothing I had ever experienced compared to what I felt the moment I saw her. In the past, I always had something hollering me back home, to the comfort of my familiar things. Those wishes of something new, of unknown flavors, always resulted either too weak or too exotic to really lure me into a new life. 

This time none of it mattered. 

Even before my lips touched her skin I knew that this time it woud be different. I knew she would  become my everything. I knew I could not mount any resistance: her smell told me so with extreme clarity. I heard her words whispering into my mind: bite me, touch me, undress me, lick me. Get dirty with me, of me, lick my flavor off your fingers. 

The moment I saw her I knew there would be no redemption. There would be no bank to block the flood. My life would have been parted in a before and after. She would be the after. The before would not matter if not as a path which lead me to her. 

And here I am. Still watching the photos I took of her the first time I saw her. Just trying to live in my head - like in a infinite loop - the flavor of that first kiss. 

I am leaving you with a photo of her. Perhaps you will be able to understand why my lustful love only has one name now: Red Velvet Cupcake with cream cheese. 

(*) I had written the Italian version of this a long time ago, the first time I had tried a red velvet cupcake. I thought it would fit well in here too. 

Flaky pies

Yesterday my wife and I hosted a pie party. The idea was for guests to bring their best pie (savory or sweet) and let the best pie win. 

We had seven pies, five savory and two sweet. The photo below has the spread. Starting from the top left, in clockwise order: 
1) A lemon meringue pie, with a speculoos (a Belgian cookie) crust;
2) A pumpkin-date-honey pie with golden marshmallow and a graham cookie crust;
3) A potato-onion pie;
4) A pie filled with cheese and eggplants;
5) A pie filled pork shoulder, ground pork and potatoes;
6) The Outrageous Pie, a lard crust pie filled with layers of mac and cheese and chili con carne;
7) A roasted tomatoes with goat cheese pie.  

There is a reason why the roasted tomato/goat cheese pie has the largest photo: it won the popular vote. By a small margin, but it won. And I am not surprised: this is a pie that my wife often bakes when we have guests, and it never fails to amaze people. 

I am personally disappointed: my "Outrageous pie" didn't win, but it came a good second. I had the idea for that pie while talking to the friend who woud then bring the pork shoulder pie (excellent pie, by the way). I was telling him how I wanted to make something outrageous, and I was thinking of having a mac and cheese filled pie. He then mentioned an Italian regional specialty called Pasticcio Ferrarese, which is a pie filled with layers of pasta, meat ragu' and cheese. 

I thought: why not replacing replacing the Italian ingredients with American classic comfort food? Why not do this with layers of mac and cheese and chili con carne? So I came up with this: 

What I thought would make me win was instead my nemesis: the crust. I had bought home made lard, because I thought that would give me the flakiest crust. The problem? I wasn't entirely clear on what flaky meant. I had been reading a lot about how lard gave you the best crust, as in the most "flaky". It didn't occur to me to double-check on the dictionary what flaky meant. It means that it crumbles! So the crust came out technically perfect, flaky alright. But was it the ideal crust for such a heavy pie like mine? Nope. 

I must say though that I was very happy with the final result: this is a pie that needs a bit of refinement (I need a better separation between the layers, because I would like them to be better defined and to show clearly), but it is a a very good pie, if you ask me...

The second pie I made was a pumpkin-honey-dates pie with a graham cracker crust and a marshmallow golden topping. The pie was good, but nothing to write home about. I didn't think you could taste the dates, and I am not entirely sure of the contrast between the fridge cold pie and the warm marshmallow. I had taken the recipe from the book Pie, by Ken Haedrich.  

Anyway, I had already thought of giving out the recipe of the roasted tomato - goat cheese pie in the past. I guess now I have no excuses to delay. In my next post you shall have it. For my outrageous pie you will have to wait until I find the perfect crust. 

The copycat

A few months ago I had noticed that some of my photos had started to appear on a (quite famous) Italian recipe blog. I didn't do anything at the time, dismissing the whole thing as a classic case of harmless copycatting. I was also too busy with other things to actively investigate the matter, which seemed more complex than a straightforward copycatting: in some cases, the photos posted on that website were actually new photos shot exactly with the same composition of my original photos. So the photographer went through the pain of taking my photos, and actually arranging things (a dish, a bread, a kitchen) exactly like in my photos. One case is a coincidence. Two cases are not. Especially because there also were a lot of my original photos posted without permission and with the "tuscanfoodie" watermark conveniently cut out...

This morning I saw another one of my photos appearing on the Facebook page of this famous blog. My reaction? Unsubscribe from that blog, and just say a huge "Fuck it", and move on.

I am not sure if this is the right approach though. At the bottom of my blog, I have clearly stated that all my work is licensed through the creative commons licence which authorizes anyone to republish my work UNDER THE CONDITIONS that the work is attributed to me, it is not used for commercial purposes and it is not altered or transformed.

Now, obviously this guy doesn't attribute my work to me (he only did it once, which for me gives another indication that he is indeed taking these stuff from me); he is now making money out of his recipe blog; he is transforming my work. I am not sure about the third one, but I am definitely sure that this guy is bastard copying my work and making money out of it.

The thing bothers me a little, I must admit. Especially because this guy has a very followed blog, and he doesn't need to steal other people's work. Although - after what happened to me - I wonder if any of his work is actually his own.

A few years ago, when I was younger and angrier, I would have probably tried to bring havoc to this guy. Now I am kind of "yeah, whatever". But really, what should I do?

The lost recipes

"There's a new obsession at the intersection of genealogy and foodie culture" -  wrote the Wall Street Journal back in February this year - "reconstructing beloved, long-lost family recipes. Fueled by nostalgia and thrift, legions of eaters are returning to the kitchen for some food detective work, searching for the half-remembered dishes they grew up sharing at the family dinner table".

We all have certain foods that we grew up with, associating them to a specific person. Foods whose smell or flavors immediately make us think of that specific person; foods that we try and replicate precisely because we long for that person, or we are trying to re-experience those feelings we used to have growing up. 

Think about it: a pie that grandma - and only grandma - used to make in a certain way; a soup that your mom or aunt used to make when you were sick - and only when you were sick. You probably know that the version you used to eat is not the best in the world from a purely technical point of view: that you (or someone else) could improve upon them, developing better flavors. And yet, you also know that doing such a thing, improving these recipes, would be very, very wrong (sinful?). And if I need to explain you why, then we obviously do not share the same vision of the world.

But perhaps I am projecting, and it is not true that "we all have" those foods. But I certainly do. I can think of five, in particular. Three were made by my mother: the "torta della nonna" (Grandma's tart) with lemon custard, that sooner or later I will talk about; the pasta e fagioli that I already talked about here; the sole filet with butter and lemon that I always - and I mean always - had when I was sick with a flu, laying in bed. (There is a funny side story to this: up until when I was 25, I honestly believed that you only had sole when you were sick: I assumed this fish contained a portentous medical ingredient that allowed us all to feel better during flu time. When I moved to Belgium and found out that "sole meuniere" was one of the national dishes that people ate EVEN when they were not sick I was really very surprised). 

My mother's Torta della Nonna, replicated by yours truly: I will talk about that soon.

My mother being (thankfully) alive, these three recipes are not lost: in spite of her absolute lack of precision in measuring ingredients ("just put some flour and some water...how much, you ask? Why, enough for the recipe to come out, obviously...you'll need to eyeball it"), after a lot of trials and errors I was able to replicate the flavors of these recipes (the sole was easy; grandma's tart and pasta e fagioli were not). 

However, two additional recipes are now lost: they ended up in the grave together with my two grandmothers who used to make them. One recipe - the "miglieccio" - was some sort of a pie made with a specific type of flour that my paternal grandma used to bring home from her tiny village. Now, if I google that name, a lot of things come up, but none of them has any resemblance with the dish I have been trying to replicate with a 100% failure rate. I know nothing about this dish: not even a single ingredient aside from water. And water, my friends, is not an ingredient unique enough to try and replicate a recipe from...

If the miglieccio is an unsolvable mystery at the moment (and I fear it will remain such for a long time), the last recipe is a puzzle whose pieces I have been increasingly closer to put together, but whose solution escapes me yet: riso con le patate. Rice with potatoes, guys. Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong. It is a soup with very few ingredients (as most of Italian "poor" cuisine): rice, potatoes, water, canned tomatoes. And yet I have NOT been able to replicate the consistency nor the flavors of the soup that my grandmother used to make. 

Again, nobody seems to be able to help me. It comes out good, no question about that. But it doesn't come out as it should. And I know it is not a question of complexity of the recipe: my maternal grandmother was a terrible cook. So whatever it is that I can't replicate, it is not a question of techniques. I remember she was playing some voodoo with the plates, covering up the bowl for some time after pouring in the soup, so that the soup had time to develop a thin film that you could "crack" with your spoon...this is not a soup to be eaten hot out of the pot. Yet, no luck.  

Riso con le patate: we are almost there, but we are not there yet

"An aroma, identified in the brain's limbic system, can trigger an emotional memory, but it takes hard work in the kitchen to put the right ingredients together in the right proportions to produce the ancestral potato salad, pasta sauce or crumb cake", continues the WSJ.

I sometimes wonder whether my lack of result is simply due to the fact that my memory never existed: what I remember as flavors is perhaps a mixture of childhood past dreams, feelings of security, memories of long gone smiles. And yet I know I can do it: I have made it with other recipes, I can make it with this one. And if I can make it with riso con le patate, then miglieccio here I come...

Random dining, anyone?

I am always amazed at the lack of spelling abilities in alleged Italian restaurants abroad (this is by far not a US-only phenomenon). I am not saying you should speak Italian fluently if you open an Italian restaurant. But I would expect you would make the effort of picking up that wonderful linguistic tool called "dictionary" and look up the 20 Italian words that will come up in your menu. I know I would do that, if I tried to open my taco shack back in Europe.

Yet, how many times have I read "tagliatelli"? How many times have I read "pene arabiata" (so you know, people, pene is penis in Italian. You may still like it, but it shouldn't be on a menu, right? Unless you are into this thing here on the right).

But "Italian" family dining chain Carabba's is bringing its lack of understanding of the Italian language to laugh-inducing levels. They are very happy to introduce their "cucina casuale".

The fools at Carabba's think that "cucina casuale" means "casual dining" in Italian. Alas, it doesn't: it means "random dining", as in "not very well thought dining", as in "I don't know what the F I am putting together dining". Sounds appealing? Not so much.

So here is my offer to all Italian restaurants (and self proclaimed Italian cooking gurus) out there: I offer you my services to help you spell your menu correctly, so that you avoid the ridiculousness of launching a multi million dollar campaigns in which you are basically saying that you cook like shit (I am not saying Carabba's cooks like shit: I am saying they claim they do, at least in Italian).

I promise, I won't charge much. Even you Carabba's. Get in contact with me.