rose colored glasses

fall fog

hello my dears,

Sorry I have been a little absent lately here at RCG. These past fall weeks have been a whirlwind and the dark-at-5:30pm and fall Parma fog have left me in a bit of a fog myself. 

The weather is gloomy and makes me want to do nothing but curl up under my down comforter, eat soup and drink hot toddies while watching The Wire. For the past two days I've eaten several meals of white bean soup and roasted veggies in an effort to detox from the meat and wine orgy that was our amazing trip to Tuscany (more deets on beautiful Tuscany soon). Roasted veggies in the fall are the best.

For tonight, I'll leave you with a photo of the stunning romanesco I picked up from my favorite vegetable vendor as I walked home from the bus tonight. Romanesco is such an lovely lovely vegetable. I've decided it's half dinosaur and half cauliflower. Before chopping it up, I inspected it for several moments, totally in love with its twists and turns. 

xo, kb

 

tuscany

...in Tuscany this week with my class. We are driving through the hills and gazing at the vines-ablaze with autumn's magical colors, visiting vineyards and tasting wine, learning about pork and salami and sustainable tourism while enjoying our last days together. 

Ode to Salt by Pablo Neruda

 

This salt
in the saltcellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won't
believe me,
but
it sings,
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.

I shivered in those solitudes
when I heard
the voice of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a broken
voice,
a mournful
song.

In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.

And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food. Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste infinitude.

producers and their products-cascina roera

Friends Claudio Rosso and Piero Nebiolo (what perfect names!) joined forces in 2002 and opened Cascina Roera Winery in the stunning hilly Costigliole d'Asti, a small village in the heart of the Barbera D'Asti appellation in the Piedmont region of Italy's northwestern corner. 

I had the great pleasure of visiting them a few weeks ago with some friends. As we toured the vines I was struck by the true steepness of the Piedmont landscape; at certain moments, I had to hold on to the vines to keep my balance. We then toured the production facilities where I, with great glee, saw grapes being pressed for the first time in my life. A fantastic tasting in the cellar followed the tour; we ran through their chardonnay blend and several barberas, all very impressive and showing off their nuanced differences of age and oak.

Cascina Roera practices natural and biodynamic winemaking, both methods show great reverence for their soil and grapes. This careful work shines in their wonderfully structured wines. Keep your eye out for them in natural and biodynamic wine shops across the U.S.  

 

 

 

ode to the onion by pablo neruda

 

Onion,

luminous flask,

your beauty formed

petal by petal,

crystal scales expanded you

and in the secrecy of the dark earth

your belly grew round with dew.

 

Under the earth

the miracle

happened

and when your clumsy

green stem appeared,

and your leaves were born

like swords

in the garden,

the earth heaped up her power

showing your naked transparency,

and as the remote sea

in lifting the breasts of Aphrodite

duplicating the magnolia,

so did the earth

make you,

onion

clear as a planet

and destined

to shine,

constant constellation,

round rose of water,

upon

the table

of the poor.

 

You make us cry without hurting us.

I have praised everything that exists,

but to me, onion, you are

more beautiful than a bird

of dazzling feathers,

heavenly globe, platinum goblet,

unmoving dance

of the snowy anemone

 and the fragrance of the earth lives

in your crystalline nature.

producers and their products-chocolatier burie

Inspired by my recent intoxicatingly wonderful trip to the biennial Terra Madre (Mother Earth) and  Salone Del Gusto (Salon of Taste) in Torino, Italy, I'm starting a weekly photo column here at Rose Colored Glasses entitled Producers and Their Products.

Salone Del Gusto is a 3 pavilion expanse of booth after booth of small producers from all over the world proudly sharing their carefully made products. These craft brewers, goat farmers, cheesemakers, vanilla harvesters, olive oil producers, winemakers, mustard makers, charcutiers, coffee growers, etc etc etc together build the foundation of a diverse and vibrant food system and economy. With the promotion of their products, they fight to maintain the diversity of our increasingly McDonaldized landscape and to protect their own livelihoods. I was so inspired how the Salone Del Gusto experience allowed these producers to reach new markets and to share their stories with consumers and other producers from across the globe.

I've had the great honor of visiting many producers like the ones featured at Salone Del Gusto this year, each one exuding their passion for their craft as they tour us around their facilities and proudly share with us tastes of their products. I've blogged about phyllo in Crete and bbq in South Carolina; today, it's the gorgeous chocolate of Chocolatier Burie in Antwerp, Belgium. 

                           

Why I Can't Cook for Your Self-Centered Architect Cousin by Beth Ann Fennelly

Because to me a dinner table's like a bed -

 without love, it's all appetite and stains. Let's buy

take-out for your cousin, or order pizza - his toppings -

but I can't lift a spatula to serve him what I am.

Instead, invite our favorite misfits over: I'll feed

shaggy Otis who, after filet mignon, raised his plate

 

and sipped merlot sauce with such pleasure

my ego pardoned his manners. Or I'll call Mimi,

the chubby librarian, who paused over tiramisu -

 

"I haven't felt so satisfied since . . ." then cried

into its curls of chocolate. Or Randolph might stop by,

who once, celebrating his breakup with the vegetarian,

 

so packed the purse seine of his wiry body with shrimp

he unbuttoned his jeans and spent the evening

couched, "waiting for the swelling to go down."

 

Or maybe I'll just cook for us. I'll crush pine nuts

unhinged from the cones' prickly shingles.

I'll whittle the parmesan, and if I grate a knuckle

 

it's just more of me in my cooking. I'll disrobe

garlic cloves of rosy sheaths, thresh the basil

till moist, and liberate the oil. Then I'll dance

 

that green joy through the fettuccine, a tumbling,

leggy dish we'll imitate, after dessert.

If my embrace detects the five pounds you win

each year, you will merely seem a generous

portion. And if you bring my hand to your lips

and smell the garlic that lingers, that scents

the sweat you lick from the hollows of my clavicles,

you're tasting the reason that I can't cook

for your cousin - my saucy, my strongly seasoned love.

heart

                                                                                                                     via it's mary ruffle

sights from the Alba Truffle Festival

Pretty much every day these days I feel like Julia Roberts in the Thanksgiving scene from Eat Pray Love* when she says "I'm the luckiest girl in the world."

*(For the record, I love this scene but for me it's darling Julia saying "I'm the luckiest girl in the world" that I love, not Elizabeth Gilbert, because Elizabeth Gilbert is annoying). 

I've crossed off some serious life bucket list items this year, including

 see the pyramids | go on a trip in Italy with Helen and Caroline (my 2 high school best friends) | live in Italy | work at a vineyard 

 and go to the Alba Truffle festival

This past weekend I journeyed up to Piedmonte for the truffle festival, proving once again that I am the luckiest girl in the world. 

                                                    we ate (and ate) a dinner for the books here

                                                                        I loved their tablescaping.

                 We ordered the parmesean cream, poached egg and white truffle to share.                  The server arrived at the table with a cake plate (complete with glass top)                  housing the foraged gems, lifted one out of the assortment, shoved it under                 our noses for approval and gracefully shaved it over the plump egg.  

                                                                            .

                                                          The next morning we arrived at the truffle market.

 

There was so much beautiful cheese. 

 

And so many people selling their treasured truffles. 

                                                  Including this adorable man who had truffles on his hat. 

   And there was lots of fresh 'plin', the regional pasta of Piedmonte. Plin means pinch! 

 

a new take on the food pyramid

The Barilla Center for Food and Nutrition is a new food and nutrition think tank founded by the Italian pasta giant. Their double interpretation of the food pyramid includes not only suggested daily portions, but a look at the environmental impact of what we eat.