I'd finally gotten to bed a decent hour last night and was just falling asleep when I was abruptly awoken. I sat up extremely disoriented, not even sure which direction my bed was facing. And for the first few minutes I was awake, that was what I concerned myself with. Why, when woken suddenly, is that a concern at all and even more puzzling- why does it take preference over the bigger question "what the hell just woke me up?" Regardless, it did and for the next several seconds I sat on my bed trying to orient in my mind the pieces of furniture in my room. When I finally realized my door was to the right, I was able to actually listen. Someone was insistently ringing our doorbell. This is not an action that could go unnoticed because our doorbell just happens to sound like a cross between a old timey alarm clock, a school bell and a fire alarm, and the presser was pushing it with quite some vigor. I was a little uneasy since I knew it was definitely our apartment doorbell and not the buzzer from the street to the inside of the building. I knew this because about a week ago we came home to find the lock to our outside door completely gone. Now to get into our building you don't need a key, just a firm bump of the shoulder.
I sat still for a moment longer after it stopped trying to build a little courage to go check the peep hole. People have buzzed our door by accident before thinking our button was the light but this seemed way too deliberate. I didn't hear anyone else getting up and since my door being the closest to the main door, I decided to suck it up and go check. Then, straight out of a cheesy horror movie, I opened my door and at that very moment there was a strike of lightning and a giant crash of thunder just as my roommate also appeared at the end of the hallway. Seeing each other just as the lightening lit the room was truly terrifying and we both screamed so whoever was outside would be absolutely sure there was someone in the apartment and they were awake. And close. We tiptoed to the door and I apprehensively looked out. Well, we saw no one. Pretty anticlimactic yes, but in the amount of time it took us to get the balls to actually go to the door, even an angry mafia leader probably would have gotten bored and left.
And that got us right in the mood to go to the Serial Killer Museum today. It wasn't covered by our museum passes but we went anyway. Pretty disturbing, gruesome, cheesy (in the way any kind of reenactment is), and kind of fascinating. Complete with audio guide and mini videos at each little station, we learned about Ted Bundy, Jack the Ripper, Blue Beard, Charles Manson... etc. All the biggies.
And Then when we got home, I discovered my lovely friends had set up a mini surprise birthday party for me. It was a few days ago and we went to dinner but not everyone could come since some people had evening internships. But this late birthday had balloons, cake, toilet paper streamers, and candles that sparkled, smelled horrid and wouldn't blow out. It was pretty adorable.
Anyway- only one full week left and then off to travel all over the place for a few weeks. Sa-weet.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Wine Country
Saturday morning around 9ish, Kim, Ross and I made our way down to the car rental to pick up our accidentally fancy car. To explain- I had been pushing for a Tuscan countryside trip. One weekend I wanted to rent a car and drive around looking at sunflowers and drinking wine. A few of our friends were gone in Paris last weekend and with nothing else to do the 3 of us decided this would be the moment. We found a car rental place with an extremely accommodating staff- accept for the little fact that they didn't have the car we wanted. First they weren't entirely sure if they had it and had me leave my number with them so they could call me as soon as they found out. Well they ended up not having it, but they were so sweet we decided to take the more expensive car anyway. Even if they conned us into it... well so be it. It turned out this fancier car had a GPS which we found out was entirely crucial.
We began by spending a nice long morning driving back and forth and around the streets of Florence which proved to be something like the movie In the Mouth of Madness (every time you try to leave you end up back in the middle). Going the wrong way down one way streets doesn't even get you out- we really tried everything. (I wasn't driving. Just for the record).
We eventually got out though, the fates felt pity on us I suppose, and it was like a breath of fresh air. Florence's muggy damp heat immediately began fading away as soon as we started to enter the hills. It is hard to describe the countryside as being anything but exactly what you would expect it to look like; rolling green and yellow hills with scattered villas, farm houses, vineyards and those tall pine cone shaped trees. Just lovely. We didn't have any real destinations. Our hope was to pass through several of little towns in Chianti, do some wine tasting and eventually end up somewhere near Montepulciano and that is exactly what we did. There are numerous little towns in Chianti which take exactly 15 seconds to drive straight through so we stopped in a few to eat, or take pictures, or use a 25 cent bathroom where everything was constantly dripping wet from being sanitized after each use and sported an automatic toilet paper dispenser. I realized as we began to look at what seemed like hundreds of little wineries that I wasn't totally sure if you really could just drive up like you do in Oregon- but as we were nearing the end of the Chianti region we saw a sign saying "Wine Bar" and quickly swerved off the road. Quick decisions made by 3 indecisive people is tough but in this case it was something like,"Wine bar?" "Yes!" "Turn now!" And a great decision it was. Located on top of a small hill, the main building was an adorable old stone structure with a restaurant and free tastings. As we sat outside under ivy covered trellis, drinking incredible wines, looking over a stunning landscape, I thought very contently, "perfect." (The landscape and layout actually looked a lot like King Estates in Oregon, for those of you who have been there). This went on for a while because none of us wanted to leave. There was one other group of 3 people there and the bartender, otherwise it was empty. I couldn't have asked for something better.
Having no reserved lodgings we decided to head toward Montepultiano (once we finally dragged our butts away from heaven) and stay somewhere nearby. The drive down took another hourish, with Kim and Ross in the front battling with our GPS who would occasionally tell us to suddenly turn around, while I battled a bee in the back seat for what seemed like 20 minutes but was probably closer to 2. I ended up conquering while sitting on the floor, cowering behind the driver's seat with sunglasses cases on both hands but it was conquered it nonetheless. When we reached Montepulciano we found it to be a lovely old town that you can drive through but shouldn't. We'd found a cute hotel in our guidebook we wanted to check out and our GPS was leading us through streets about wide enough for 2 vespas to drive past each other but nothing wider, and what street space there was was packed with people. I felt like a movie star with everyone ogling at our car driving a 1/2 mph through the sea of people. We finally parked to check out the place we were looking for and though it was pretty cute we felt we could do better and the streets of Montepulciano were making us claustrophobic. With the second unanimous decision of the day we decided to get the hell out of the town and stay somewhere breathable.
Barely outside of town Kim suddenly said, "Hotel!" pointing to a sign on a hill, like a red Hollywood sign that read- "Hotel." As that was what we were looking for, we decided to investigate. We began our investigation by driving up a steep, curvy, gravel driveway exactly the width of our car with tall shrubs on either side that ended with an iron gate. Excited to try his hand at backing down such a road, since there was obviously nowhere to turn around, Ross inched us down, literally an inch at a time, running into the bushes here, bending the rearview mirrors back there, with the fresh smell of a grinding transmission to sooth us the whole way. By the bottom we were all convinced the real hotel was going to be really great and with our moods brightened we finally found the right driveway and headed up. We first passed what seemed to be a Broadway in the 20s themed restaurant that had once been something fancy and now was gutted and covered in plant life. This was also reassuring and we continued on up. We then came upon the actual building which we had to stare at for a few minutes to figure out if it was in the same situation as the restaurant or actually in operation. Obviously built in the 70s, this building also had sad feel of something once grand that lost it's grandeur. There appeared to be an addition to the building that was begun but never finished. A large open concrete structure was attached to one side but it seemed to have been a project abandoned. This didn't dissuade us a bit. We walked in and checked out the lobby (which now confirmed the 70s origin) toward the desk behind which stood an extremely sad and tired looking man and woman. The following was quite verbatim the conversation, "You looking for a room?" "Yes," "For 3?" "Yes please, if you have it." "We don't." We looked at each other, "Oh... well OK..." "Well we do. We have two. But they're bad." "...They're... they're bad?" What does it even mean when the hotel clerk says their room is bad. Haunted? A recent murder? These were the only things we could think of. "Well," they said, "we'll show you." He led us to two rooms and opened one door. They smelled a little musty (with a sales pitch like that they probably weren't used much) but other than that they were fine. "They don't have views, just construction. 90 euro for both together, breakfast included." He opened the other door and before we had a chance to say a thing headed back to his desk. We looked at each other. Breakfast included? 90 euro? A pool (which I forgot to mention but was a selling point for Ross from the beginning)? Haunted rooms? We were sold. We walked back down the halls that looked not unlike the shining, through a huge dining room with chandeliers and long orange curtains and said "we'll take it!" They seemed mildly surprised.
We went up to our new rooms and each spent a healthy 15 minutes opening our doors (the skinny keys would go straight through the keyhole and had to be finagled juuust right in order to work). Then we finally opened the blackout curtains to see our lack-of views. They weren't kidding. Kim and I had a nice view of a construction site and Ross... well Ross looked into that old abandoned concrete construction project. It's weird to have a window that looks into something as opposed to outside, let me tell you. And an old concrete skeleton with wheelbarrows and piles of brick that smells faintly of... unpleasantness is even odder. But hell, it had character. We left our stuff and checked out the surrounding area before heading to dinner. I've got to give the outside of the place credit. It wasn't in it's prime but it must have once been a sight to behold. The full name was Hotel Panoramic, and for good reason. Situated on the very top of a hill, it had an absolutely stunning view of the countryside from every angle. Montepulciano, an ancient hill city one direction, rolling hills and a large lake in another, vineyards all around. The pool area was actually very nice. It was outside, well maintained and right next to an olive grove also owned by the hotel. The olive grove was sprinkled with other trees including pears and plumbs and a foosball table. Yup. Right in the middle of the trees. Kim an I had an epic battle the next day which ended in a knock down drag out tie.
That evening we drove back to Montepulciano (and this time we parked the car and walked in). We stopped at a restaurant we'd seen the first time drove through with barrels of wine that must have been 15 ft tall. The dinner was superb, mine being homemade pasta which they brought out and then took the biggest truffle I've ever seen and grated a hefty mound on top. It was still reasonably priced and amazingly good. And of course the wine was delicious as well. That night we brought one more bottle home from the same restaurant and drank it outside on the patio, just above the other side of the red "Hotel" sign, which was a bright green "Panoramic" sign, looking over the scattered lights of Tuscany.
The next morning we were slow to leave. We ate a huge breakfast (which consisted mostly of about 9 different types of pie) and they told us although checkout was at 11, we could stay at the pool as long as we wanted, so we did just that. Finally we decided to get a move on but in a slightly different direction this time. We headed over to Cortona through what was obviously sunflower country. This is my favorite. The fields that from one direction look green, and from another are bright yellow from all their sunny little faces. In Cortona we once again ate a delicious meal (lots of good eating on this trip) and spent some time in an outdoor antique market. But the clouds were looking ominous for the first time in a long time and we were getting tired, so we finally decided to set our GPS toward Florence. Back in the car the rain finally set in but it wasn't until we were right at the top of a mountain that we experienced probably the closest lighting strike any of us had seen. It lit up the already light sky so entirely we couldn't even see where it was coming from and we felt the car rattle before we heard it which was about 1 second later. And with that, it was back home for us.
The rest I don't know because I was sleeping.
Besides the trip, I've been mostly just going to my internship and class everyday. My Italian seems to be having trouble improving but I think I've grown in my sign language. I am the Frutinni queen (little tiny fruit tarts essentially). They occasionally show me another thing or two but that is my go-to everyday responsibility. Also eating. That is also a responsibility. They make me eat some pastry for breakfast when I come in (which I don't argue with) but then continually hand me more pastries and sandwiches throughout my time there (which is two hours). I leave having eaten at least 3 huge pastries, one being a sandwich, each day. My pants remind me everyday these pastries aren't going unnoticed by my waistline and so for the first time today I respectfully declined an offer of food. Now, I'd already eaten pie before I left home (we made it last night and I was making sure it set) and a croissant when I got there. Giovanni asked if I wanted a panino. I said no thanks, I'd already eaten and he brought me one anyway. I said I was full and had eaten but he just continued looking at me saying "Mangi mangi!" but I was really very full. Finally, feeling I'd insulted them enough, I ate half of it. But nope- that's not enough. I got hell for it all day. Comments to the other chef like "well you have to eat 1 and 1/2 because she only ate half of hers." and every now and then it was nudged toward me as though in the 10 minutes after I'd eaten my 3 other meals of the day, I'd worked up an appetite. Finally, the other floater chef came in and said, "whose is this?" picked it up and ate it. Thank goodness. Don't get me wrong, they're absolutely delicious but one can only eat so many pastries between the hours of 6:30 and 7am.
I have learned.
We began by spending a nice long morning driving back and forth and around the streets of Florence which proved to be something like the movie In the Mouth of Madness (every time you try to leave you end up back in the middle). Going the wrong way down one way streets doesn't even get you out- we really tried everything. (I wasn't driving. Just for the record).
We eventually got out though, the fates felt pity on us I suppose, and it was like a breath of fresh air. Florence's muggy damp heat immediately began fading away as soon as we started to enter the hills. It is hard to describe the countryside as being anything but exactly what you would expect it to look like; rolling green and yellow hills with scattered villas, farm houses, vineyards and those tall pine cone shaped trees. Just lovely. We didn't have any real destinations. Our hope was to pass through several of little towns in Chianti, do some wine tasting and eventually end up somewhere near Montepulciano and that is exactly what we did. There are numerous little towns in Chianti which take exactly 15 seconds to drive straight through so we stopped in a few to eat, or take pictures, or use a 25 cent bathroom where everything was constantly dripping wet from being sanitized after each use and sported an automatic toilet paper dispenser. I realized as we began to look at what seemed like hundreds of little wineries that I wasn't totally sure if you really could just drive up like you do in Oregon- but as we were nearing the end of the Chianti region we saw a sign saying "Wine Bar" and quickly swerved off the road. Quick decisions made by 3 indecisive people is tough but in this case it was something like,"Wine bar?" "Yes!" "Turn now!" And a great decision it was. Located on top of a small hill, the main building was an adorable old stone structure with a restaurant and free tastings. As we sat outside under ivy covered trellis, drinking incredible wines, looking over a stunning landscape, I thought very contently, "perfect." (The landscape and layout actually looked a lot like King Estates in Oregon, for those of you who have been there). This went on for a while because none of us wanted to leave. There was one other group of 3 people there and the bartender, otherwise it was empty. I couldn't have asked for something better.
Having no reserved lodgings we decided to head toward Montepultiano (once we finally dragged our butts away from heaven) and stay somewhere nearby. The drive down took another hourish, with Kim and Ross in the front battling with our GPS who would occasionally tell us to suddenly turn around, while I battled a bee in the back seat for what seemed like 20 minutes but was probably closer to 2. I ended up conquering while sitting on the floor, cowering behind the driver's seat with sunglasses cases on both hands but it was conquered it nonetheless. When we reached Montepulciano we found it to be a lovely old town that you can drive through but shouldn't. We'd found a cute hotel in our guidebook we wanted to check out and our GPS was leading us through streets about wide enough for 2 vespas to drive past each other but nothing wider, and what street space there was was packed with people. I felt like a movie star with everyone ogling at our car driving a 1/2 mph through the sea of people. We finally parked to check out the place we were looking for and though it was pretty cute we felt we could do better and the streets of Montepulciano were making us claustrophobic. With the second unanimous decision of the day we decided to get the hell out of the town and stay somewhere breathable.
Barely outside of town Kim suddenly said, "Hotel!" pointing to a sign on a hill, like a red Hollywood sign that read- "Hotel." As that was what we were looking for, we decided to investigate. We began our investigation by driving up a steep, curvy, gravel driveway exactly the width of our car with tall shrubs on either side that ended with an iron gate. Excited to try his hand at backing down such a road, since there was obviously nowhere to turn around, Ross inched us down, literally an inch at a time, running into the bushes here, bending the rearview mirrors back there, with the fresh smell of a grinding transmission to sooth us the whole way. By the bottom we were all convinced the real hotel was going to be really great and with our moods brightened we finally found the right driveway and headed up. We first passed what seemed to be a Broadway in the 20s themed restaurant that had once been something fancy and now was gutted and covered in plant life. This was also reassuring and we continued on up. We then came upon the actual building which we had to stare at for a few minutes to figure out if it was in the same situation as the restaurant or actually in operation. Obviously built in the 70s, this building also had sad feel of something once grand that lost it's grandeur. There appeared to be an addition to the building that was begun but never finished. A large open concrete structure was attached to one side but it seemed to have been a project abandoned. This didn't dissuade us a bit. We walked in and checked out the lobby (which now confirmed the 70s origin) toward the desk behind which stood an extremely sad and tired looking man and woman. The following was quite verbatim the conversation, "You looking for a room?" "Yes," "For 3?" "Yes please, if you have it." "We don't." We looked at each other, "Oh... well OK..." "Well we do. We have two. But they're bad." "...They're... they're bad?" What does it even mean when the hotel clerk says their room is bad. Haunted? A recent murder? These were the only things we could think of. "Well," they said, "we'll show you." He led us to two rooms and opened one door. They smelled a little musty (with a sales pitch like that they probably weren't used much) but other than that they were fine. "They don't have views, just construction. 90 euro for both together, breakfast included." He opened the other door and before we had a chance to say a thing headed back to his desk. We looked at each other. Breakfast included? 90 euro? A pool (which I forgot to mention but was a selling point for Ross from the beginning)? Haunted rooms? We were sold. We walked back down the halls that looked not unlike the shining, through a huge dining room with chandeliers and long orange curtains and said "we'll take it!" They seemed mildly surprised.
We went up to our new rooms and each spent a healthy 15 minutes opening our doors (the skinny keys would go straight through the keyhole and had to be finagled juuust right in order to work). Then we finally opened the blackout curtains to see our lack-of views. They weren't kidding. Kim and I had a nice view of a construction site and Ross... well Ross looked into that old abandoned concrete construction project. It's weird to have a window that looks into something as opposed to outside, let me tell you. And an old concrete skeleton with wheelbarrows and piles of brick that smells faintly of... unpleasantness is even odder. But hell, it had character. We left our stuff and checked out the surrounding area before heading to dinner. I've got to give the outside of the place credit. It wasn't in it's prime but it must have once been a sight to behold. The full name was Hotel Panoramic, and for good reason. Situated on the very top of a hill, it had an absolutely stunning view of the countryside from every angle. Montepulciano, an ancient hill city one direction, rolling hills and a large lake in another, vineyards all around. The pool area was actually very nice. It was outside, well maintained and right next to an olive grove also owned by the hotel. The olive grove was sprinkled with other trees including pears and plumbs and a foosball table. Yup. Right in the middle of the trees. Kim an I had an epic battle the next day which ended in a knock down drag out tie.
That evening we drove back to Montepulciano (and this time we parked the car and walked in). We stopped at a restaurant we'd seen the first time drove through with barrels of wine that must have been 15 ft tall. The dinner was superb, mine being homemade pasta which they brought out and then took the biggest truffle I've ever seen and grated a hefty mound on top. It was still reasonably priced and amazingly good. And of course the wine was delicious as well. That night we brought one more bottle home from the same restaurant and drank it outside on the patio, just above the other side of the red "Hotel" sign, which was a bright green "Panoramic" sign, looking over the scattered lights of Tuscany.
The next morning we were slow to leave. We ate a huge breakfast (which consisted mostly of about 9 different types of pie) and they told us although checkout was at 11, we could stay at the pool as long as we wanted, so we did just that. Finally we decided to get a move on but in a slightly different direction this time. We headed over to Cortona through what was obviously sunflower country. This is my favorite. The fields that from one direction look green, and from another are bright yellow from all their sunny little faces. In Cortona we once again ate a delicious meal (lots of good eating on this trip) and spent some time in an outdoor antique market. But the clouds were looking ominous for the first time in a long time and we were getting tired, so we finally decided to set our GPS toward Florence. Back in the car the rain finally set in but it wasn't until we were right at the top of a mountain that we experienced probably the closest lighting strike any of us had seen. It lit up the already light sky so entirely we couldn't even see where it was coming from and we felt the car rattle before we heard it which was about 1 second later. And with that, it was back home for us.
The rest I don't know because I was sleeping.
Besides the trip, I've been mostly just going to my internship and class everyday. My Italian seems to be having trouble improving but I think I've grown in my sign language. I am the Frutinni queen (little tiny fruit tarts essentially). They occasionally show me another thing or two but that is my go-to everyday responsibility. Also eating. That is also a responsibility. They make me eat some pastry for breakfast when I come in (which I don't argue with) but then continually hand me more pastries and sandwiches throughout my time there (which is two hours). I leave having eaten at least 3 huge pastries, one being a sandwich, each day. My pants remind me everyday these pastries aren't going unnoticed by my waistline and so for the first time today I respectfully declined an offer of food. Now, I'd already eaten pie before I left home (we made it last night and I was making sure it set) and a croissant when I got there. Giovanni asked if I wanted a panino. I said no thanks, I'd already eaten and he brought me one anyway. I said I was full and had eaten but he just continued looking at me saying "Mangi mangi!" but I was really very full. Finally, feeling I'd insulted them enough, I ate half of it. But nope- that's not enough. I got hell for it all day. Comments to the other chef like "well you have to eat 1 and 1/2 because she only ate half of hers." and every now and then it was nudged toward me as though in the 10 minutes after I'd eaten my 3 other meals of the day, I'd worked up an appetite. Finally, the other floater chef came in and said, "whose is this?" picked it up and ate it. Thank goodness. Don't get me wrong, they're absolutely delicious but one can only eat so many pastries between the hours of 6:30 and 7am.
I have learned.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The Internship
I stood in front of the bakery with its closed/ gated front, sweating from my 30 minute walk, thinking- "how the hell am I going to get in there?" I met the owner of the shop I'm interning at once last week. I have her phone number but it was 6:15 am (by far the deadest I've ever seen the streets of Florence. Even in comparison to say 4 am) and she usually isn't there with the baking crew in the morning. Luckily at that moment a guy walked in front of me, put in his key and raised the gate. I walked up and said, "Ciao! Mi chiamo Adria. I'm the new intern here for the next few weeks." He smiled silently and then said, "...here?" "..Si." "Oh... OK. Upstairs."
I walked up stairs. There were a few levels. And a few half levels kind of Being John Malkovich style. So by "upstairs" I was already confused. I just decided I'd go all the way to the top. There were a few small kitchens and I walked in the first one I saw. 3 men were bustling around and I waltzed on in and introduced myself the same way as before. Again I got some silent stares. Finally one said, "you work here?" ".. er.... I think so." By this point I wasn't so sure anymore. "OK" He introduced himself, having a very ethnic African name I couldn't say even after repeating it aprox 7 times and then promptly forgot. He introduced me to the head pastry chef (Giovanni?) and didn't even bother with the other guy who was apparently an assistant. Neither of the other two spoke a lick of English. My one English speaker (ish) friend showed me where to put my bag, explained to the other guys sort of what I was doing there (although I don't really think any of them entirely understood) and promptly left to do something else. And there I was. Standing in the way of the work these guys were trying to do, complete with a language barrier about 2 feet thick. I'd like to add here, that when I first came in to the shop and met the lovely owner Joanne, she was the only person I met and she is actually British so of course spoke English. That put me in the comfy mind set that there was at least English to fall back on. This was not the case.
Now, for those of you who have never worked in a commercial kitchen or have ever just cooked with several people around- the worst thing you can do is be in the way. Unfortunately, since these guys couldn't ask me if I'd had any experience, or how long I'd been in pastry school (I tried to explain... but I think when I speak Italian they still think I'm speaking English at them) they couldn't explain anything or ask if I knew how to make things. I'm quite sure they assumed I knew nothing. So my problem was: I was in the way. I don't have a problem watching. It was actually fascinating to watch how quickly and smoothly they worked. A well oiled machine really. But I figured if staying out of the way was the most helpful thing I could do, I was gonna show them I could do it damn well. I tried to keep my reflexes sharp and move before I needed to be asked. So far so good.
At one point, Giovanni looked at me and said, "colazione?" (breakfast) and pointed to rolling racks full of croissants, turn overs and plenty of things they couldn't describe to me. "Si?" I asked, and he made a gesture to said take any of them. Gladly I did. It was some sort of laminated croissant type dough filled with pastry cream. Quite delicious. And that became a theme of the day. If I was standing doing nothing, (believe it or not, it happened once or twice) they'd say, "mangiare, mangiare" ("eat, eat") and push croissants and danishes at me from a pile of those misshapen and unsellable. Other times the cooks would come over from the other side with sandwiches that were shoved in my face (and holy cow one was this amazing salami one on focaccia with parmesan and sort of a cabbage salad) but you better believe I was taking all that was given to me. I guess, in a small way, I was doing my part.
Eventually, I did get my hands a little dirty- and not just from washing the dishes that I gladly snatched up as something to do. I was given the job of placing fruit on a few trays worth of adorable mini assorted fruit tarts and brushing them with apricot glaze. A job I've done countless times and so as he was showing me what apricot glaze was, I excitedly exclaimed, "capisco, capisco!" In other words- I understand this! I also tried to joke with them a little, implying it would look nice to put whole kiwis on top of tiny tarts, and at least got them to smile. Although I do think they thought I was "just that dumb" for a second before they saw I was joking. I did this partly because the main chef was another one of those giant biceps, I-could-mees-you-up type looking guys, and was trying to get on his good side. He definitely told his assistant what-was-what a few times in a tone I'd like to avoid hearing aimed at me, so I certainly tried my best to listen closely, seem always interested and smile sweetly like I thought the place was just the most charming thing I'd seen. I haven't been yelled at yet, partly because I haven't done much. But. Let's keep it that way. Oh, I also got to fill cannoili shells. And learned how to use what was pretty much a mini food elevator. I say that as opposed to saying a dumbwaiter because it had buttons just like an elevator and...now that I think about it, maybe that's still what a dumbwaiter is but I always picture them with the rope pully thing. Anyway. I used one of those.
Watching these guys work really was a kick though. I often understood what was going on even if their process was different than how I'd been taught, and trying to sound informed I'd sometimes point a dough and ask "cornetto?" (Italian croissant) or "pate a choux?" (batter used for eclairs etc). I just wanted them to know I'd seen this stuff before. The sanitation in the joint was pretty awesome. Chef Harris (for those of you who don't know him is exceptionally clean and a stickler for sanitation) would have loved it here. And by loved I mean passed out. Hands weren't washed, sweat was wiped off faces (though that couldn't be helped, I could feel it dripping down my back and stomach), and best of all, Giovanni smoked a good deal of the time. He stood at the sheeter (a large machine for rolling dough extremely thin) with one hand on the lever to operate it and the other holding a cigarette and tapping it in the ash tray on top of the machine, while practically leaning against a No Smoking sign. Other times he'd just set the cigarette on the work bench with the lit part hanging off the edge. He would smoke and then pick up ready-to-eat foods (how very Food Handler's Permit of me) with his bare hands and place them on trays- something we'd probably be kicked out of school at South for doing. This being said, don't think I thought poorly of this establishment. Quite the contrary. The products were lovely and delicious. I think this speaks more of Italian culture as a whole. Not that sanitation is not important at all but they certainly aren't germaphobs. As Chef Berger, our French chef at South, says in his explanation of the Tart Tartin (basically a french upside down apple pie) "it was invented by two French sisters who dropped pie on the floor. Now, in France we have the 30 minute rule, so they had time to think about what to do and finally they just picked it up and said 'Tart Tartin.' "
At the end of my shift I managed to butcher some Italian into the basic shape of, "I'll be here for three weeks, just a few hours each morning, I get in at 6:30 and the go to class." They seemed to understandish. There is the worry that I will get there tomorrow and not just Happen to arrive with someone else to open the door and be suck outside just to throw rocks at the top floor window and yell, "buongiorno!" over and over because I don't properly know anyone's name. It's a real possibility.
I walked up stairs. There were a few levels. And a few half levels kind of Being John Malkovich style. So by "upstairs" I was already confused. I just decided I'd go all the way to the top. There were a few small kitchens and I walked in the first one I saw. 3 men were bustling around and I waltzed on in and introduced myself the same way as before. Again I got some silent stares. Finally one said, "you work here?" ".. er.... I think so." By this point I wasn't so sure anymore. "OK" He introduced himself, having a very ethnic African name I couldn't say even after repeating it aprox 7 times and then promptly forgot. He introduced me to the head pastry chef (Giovanni?) and didn't even bother with the other guy who was apparently an assistant. Neither of the other two spoke a lick of English. My one English speaker (ish) friend showed me where to put my bag, explained to the other guys sort of what I was doing there (although I don't really think any of them entirely understood) and promptly left to do something else. And there I was. Standing in the way of the work these guys were trying to do, complete with a language barrier about 2 feet thick. I'd like to add here, that when I first came in to the shop and met the lovely owner Joanne, she was the only person I met and she is actually British so of course spoke English. That put me in the comfy mind set that there was at least English to fall back on. This was not the case.
Now, for those of you who have never worked in a commercial kitchen or have ever just cooked with several people around- the worst thing you can do is be in the way. Unfortunately, since these guys couldn't ask me if I'd had any experience, or how long I'd been in pastry school (I tried to explain... but I think when I speak Italian they still think I'm speaking English at them) they couldn't explain anything or ask if I knew how to make things. I'm quite sure they assumed I knew nothing. So my problem was: I was in the way. I don't have a problem watching. It was actually fascinating to watch how quickly and smoothly they worked. A well oiled machine really. But I figured if staying out of the way was the most helpful thing I could do, I was gonna show them I could do it damn well. I tried to keep my reflexes sharp and move before I needed to be asked. So far so good.
At one point, Giovanni looked at me and said, "colazione?" (breakfast) and pointed to rolling racks full of croissants, turn overs and plenty of things they couldn't describe to me. "Si?" I asked, and he made a gesture to said take any of them. Gladly I did. It was some sort of laminated croissant type dough filled with pastry cream. Quite delicious. And that became a theme of the day. If I was standing doing nothing, (believe it or not, it happened once or twice) they'd say, "mangiare, mangiare" ("eat, eat") and push croissants and danishes at me from a pile of those misshapen and unsellable. Other times the cooks would come over from the other side with sandwiches that were shoved in my face (and holy cow one was this amazing salami one on focaccia with parmesan and sort of a cabbage salad) but you better believe I was taking all that was given to me. I guess, in a small way, I was doing my part.
Eventually, I did get my hands a little dirty- and not just from washing the dishes that I gladly snatched up as something to do. I was given the job of placing fruit on a few trays worth of adorable mini assorted fruit tarts and brushing them with apricot glaze. A job I've done countless times and so as he was showing me what apricot glaze was, I excitedly exclaimed, "capisco, capisco!" In other words- I understand this! I also tried to joke with them a little, implying it would look nice to put whole kiwis on top of tiny tarts, and at least got them to smile. Although I do think they thought I was "just that dumb" for a second before they saw I was joking. I did this partly because the main chef was another one of those giant biceps, I-could-mees-you-up type looking guys, and was trying to get on his good side. He definitely told his assistant what-was-what a few times in a tone I'd like to avoid hearing aimed at me, so I certainly tried my best to listen closely, seem always interested and smile sweetly like I thought the place was just the most charming thing I'd seen. I haven't been yelled at yet, partly because I haven't done much. But. Let's keep it that way. Oh, I also got to fill cannoili shells. And learned how to use what was pretty much a mini food elevator. I say that as opposed to saying a dumbwaiter because it had buttons just like an elevator and...now that I think about it, maybe that's still what a dumbwaiter is but I always picture them with the rope pully thing. Anyway. I used one of those.
Watching these guys work really was a kick though. I often understood what was going on even if their process was different than how I'd been taught, and trying to sound informed I'd sometimes point a dough and ask "cornetto?" (Italian croissant) or "pate a choux?" (batter used for eclairs etc). I just wanted them to know I'd seen this stuff before. The sanitation in the joint was pretty awesome. Chef Harris (for those of you who don't know him is exceptionally clean and a stickler for sanitation) would have loved it here. And by loved I mean passed out. Hands weren't washed, sweat was wiped off faces (though that couldn't be helped, I could feel it dripping down my back and stomach), and best of all, Giovanni smoked a good deal of the time. He stood at the sheeter (a large machine for rolling dough extremely thin) with one hand on the lever to operate it and the other holding a cigarette and tapping it in the ash tray on top of the machine, while practically leaning against a No Smoking sign. Other times he'd just set the cigarette on the work bench with the lit part hanging off the edge. He would smoke and then pick up ready-to-eat foods (how very Food Handler's Permit of me) with his bare hands and place them on trays- something we'd probably be kicked out of school at South for doing. This being said, don't think I thought poorly of this establishment. Quite the contrary. The products were lovely and delicious. I think this speaks more of Italian culture as a whole. Not that sanitation is not important at all but they certainly aren't germaphobs. As Chef Berger, our French chef at South, says in his explanation of the Tart Tartin (basically a french upside down apple pie) "it was invented by two French sisters who dropped pie on the floor. Now, in France we have the 30 minute rule, so they had time to think about what to do and finally they just picked it up and said 'Tart Tartin.' "
At the end of my shift I managed to butcher some Italian into the basic shape of, "I'll be here for three weeks, just a few hours each morning, I get in at 6:30 and the go to class." They seemed to understandish. There is the worry that I will get there tomorrow and not just Happen to arrive with someone else to open the door and be suck outside just to throw rocks at the top floor window and yell, "buongiorno!" over and over because I don't properly know anyone's name. It's a real possibility.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Kos
We had it all planned out. It was Friday, our last day of finals and if Michelle, Kim and I finished our finals in under an hour and brought our stuff with us we could run and juust catch the bus that would take us to Milan so we could catch our early plane the next morning to Greece. We'd made this decision last minute to avoid the fact that the trains were striking on Friday. With little time to spare, we made it out of our finals in time and booked it to the bus stop but were a little confused to see just a few empty buses and a couple of bus drivers smoking and talking. We apprehensively showed them our printed out bus tickets and asked them where we should be. They looked quietly and then told us to catch that bus at the train station. So we ran there. We found a few buses lined up and one said to Milano. We showed the driver our printed tickets and he looked quietly and then said, "No, I have no idea what this is. This is not a ticket. This is not for this bus. We're leaving." Shut the door and left. That was the exact time our bus was supposed to leave and there is still debate on whether that was our bus or not but we ran over to the ticket office anyway to see what we could do. She also claimed to never have seen such a paper and at this point we were out of luck. We'd wasted some money and done a lot of running for nothing. Wherever this so-called "bus" was that we'd booked, it was surely gone by now and there were no others that left Friday night. We were forced to do what we'd been trying not to do, go hang out at the train station and wait for the strike to end.
The one upside of the extremely frequent strikes is there are some trains thats still run. We weren't sure that we wanted to risk it- hence the bus tickets- but we had no choice now but to hope that for some reason Milano bound buses were still running. We were in luck. To Milan was one of about 2 buses still running. This was both a relief as well as a slap in the face just Really emphasizing the fact that we didn't need those godforsaken bus tickets. But we weren't in a situation to complain, so when the train came we got on with our Eurail Passes and thanked our stars that at least this worked out for us. At that point a woman came by saying we were in here seats. Having a Eurail pass means you don't need to book seats and anyone sits wherever they want. We had noticed this train was nicer than most however, and now we were faced with the fact that a few trains do require reservations, we didn't have one and the train was about to leave. We walked back and forth a little, being careful to be as in-the-way and touristy looking as possible when we finally found the conductor, stepped off the train and explained our situation. He looked at our passes, and made a phone call. We waited. We looked around. We gave each other looks like "Does this call involve us or is he talking about something else and just happening to stand by us?" when finally he looked back and said, "10 Euros each." And we were on our way.
We didn't have much time to spend in Milano. It's a huge city, it was late-ish when we got in, we were tired and we needed to find a hostel. Michelle had written down a few so we thought we'd find one close to the train station and probably just relax. The first one we looked up on the map was relatively close so we went straight there. On the top floor, we made it up, sweaty and exhausted to have the two friendly Italian brothers who owned the place tell us they had no room for three. We started to get up, buuuut they had a room for 2 and a 4 person room with 1 bed left. We took it. Heck, we're not picky. As we made the arrangements and paid up, they noticed my last name and refused to speak to me in English anymore. With a name like that they said I had to speak Italian. One brother said, "to you, I speak only in Italian," to Michelle, "to you in Korean," and to blond, blue eyed Kim, "and to you.... I don't speak at all." The rest of our time in Milan was uneventful. We found a nice restaurant close by and sweated ourselves to sleep just to wake up at 4:45 am to catch a taxi to the train station, a shuttle to the bus (an hour) and then catch our Ryanair flight to Kos.
But then finally, we were in Kos. Why Have I Not Been To Greece Before? It was simply amazing. Kos was less of a hilly island with all white buildings and blue roofs but more a mixture of that and Hawaii. We rented a little blue car right by the airport and drove the 15 minutes to our town. (It takes about 40 min to drive the length of the entire island). When we got to our adorable little beach town of Tigaki we began looking for our hotel. They don't have hostels in such a little place but they do have some really cheap hotels. We drove through the entire town in about 1 minute and a half and didn't see it so we turned and went back. Still didn't see it. On the third time through we decided to pull into a parking lot of an unmarked building to turn around again when we noticed on the sign, we'd arrived. Not looking at all like a place that would cost only 17 euros per person a night, the Irina Beach Hotel looked to us like paradise. A big white building with blue columns, a big bar lounge area opening into a back patio/ pool area with a pool bar and steps leading down directly to the beach. And lets not forget that the first thing we saw when we walked in was a baby kitten running around that I promptly picked up, named Hercules and carried around the entire time. The staff was lovely (everyone in Greece speaks English. Everyone), and the little old British woman who was the bartender made us fancy drinks every day as we lounged by the pool and even gave us her signature uozo, sambuca and lemonade. Almost too good.
Our days consisted of waking up at some point (we were never actually quite sure what time it is. I'm pretty sure there isn't a clock on the entire island), having a lunch breakfast on the patio with a nice tequila sunrise to start the day, laying in the sun and chillin in the water for the rest of the day, and driving to one of the little towns to wander around and have dinner, and finishing up the evening with a bottle of wine on our balcony, playing with Hercules and once even smoking cigars. At one point we found ourselves in a grocery store buying cards, wine and cigars. Apparently after just about 2 days in Greece everyone starts to turn into little old men who hang out on the steps of churches doing those very things. If we'd stayed longer we would have fully transformed. I pretty much had to shave off my gray mustache when I got home.
We found a few cute little shops in which the owner was also the maker of everything in them. One made beautiful fancy white crocheted (?) table cloths, one of which I bought and the little old woman gave me a free little souvenir bell with Kos painted on it to go with it. Another sold mugs, plates and other pottery painted by the little woman working there, with pictures of gorgeous Greek island scenes. Lovely. And apparently the Greeks love to give things away for free. Besides the drinks and the bell, one day when we went to a little fruit stand to get some veggies, apparently the onion, tomatoes and cucumber we'd picked out would have cost so little she just told us to take them.
Oh and let's not forget the fact that the food was just ridiculous and Greek food being pretty much my favorite kind, I was in heaven. I could have just sat around eating that Tzatziki sauce with a spoon. And I did. And the Kalamata olives were like none I've ever had.
Long story short, if you're thinking of going to Greece, go. It is wonderful. Oh and the trip home was much less eventful then the trip there. It went off almost too smoothly. We kept expecting something to be late or canceled but it never was. And so, we were lucky.
The one upside of the extremely frequent strikes is there are some trains thats still run. We weren't sure that we wanted to risk it- hence the bus tickets- but we had no choice now but to hope that for some reason Milano bound buses were still running. We were in luck. To Milan was one of about 2 buses still running. This was both a relief as well as a slap in the face just Really emphasizing the fact that we didn't need those godforsaken bus tickets. But we weren't in a situation to complain, so when the train came we got on with our Eurail Passes and thanked our stars that at least this worked out for us. At that point a woman came by saying we were in here seats. Having a Eurail pass means you don't need to book seats and anyone sits wherever they want. We had noticed this train was nicer than most however, and now we were faced with the fact that a few trains do require reservations, we didn't have one and the train was about to leave. We walked back and forth a little, being careful to be as in-the-way and touristy looking as possible when we finally found the conductor, stepped off the train and explained our situation. He looked at our passes, and made a phone call. We waited. We looked around. We gave each other looks like "Does this call involve us or is he talking about something else and just happening to stand by us?" when finally he looked back and said, "10 Euros each." And we were on our way.
We didn't have much time to spend in Milano. It's a huge city, it was late-ish when we got in, we were tired and we needed to find a hostel. Michelle had written down a few so we thought we'd find one close to the train station and probably just relax. The first one we looked up on the map was relatively close so we went straight there. On the top floor, we made it up, sweaty and exhausted to have the two friendly Italian brothers who owned the place tell us they had no room for three. We started to get up, buuuut they had a room for 2 and a 4 person room with 1 bed left. We took it. Heck, we're not picky. As we made the arrangements and paid up, they noticed my last name and refused to speak to me in English anymore. With a name like that they said I had to speak Italian. One brother said, "to you, I speak only in Italian," to Michelle, "to you in Korean," and to blond, blue eyed Kim, "and to you.... I don't speak at all." The rest of our time in Milan was uneventful. We found a nice restaurant close by and sweated ourselves to sleep just to wake up at 4:45 am to catch a taxi to the train station, a shuttle to the bus (an hour) and then catch our Ryanair flight to Kos.
But then finally, we were in Kos. Why Have I Not Been To Greece Before? It was simply amazing. Kos was less of a hilly island with all white buildings and blue roofs but more a mixture of that and Hawaii. We rented a little blue car right by the airport and drove the 15 minutes to our town. (It takes about 40 min to drive the length of the entire island). When we got to our adorable little beach town of Tigaki we began looking for our hotel. They don't have hostels in such a little place but they do have some really cheap hotels. We drove through the entire town in about 1 minute and a half and didn't see it so we turned and went back. Still didn't see it. On the third time through we decided to pull into a parking lot of an unmarked building to turn around again when we noticed on the sign, we'd arrived. Not looking at all like a place that would cost only 17 euros per person a night, the Irina Beach Hotel looked to us like paradise. A big white building with blue columns, a big bar lounge area opening into a back patio/ pool area with a pool bar and steps leading down directly to the beach. And lets not forget that the first thing we saw when we walked in was a baby kitten running around that I promptly picked up, named Hercules and carried around the entire time. The staff was lovely (everyone in Greece speaks English. Everyone), and the little old British woman who was the bartender made us fancy drinks every day as we lounged by the pool and even gave us her signature uozo, sambuca and lemonade. Almost too good.
Our days consisted of waking up at some point (we were never actually quite sure what time it is. I'm pretty sure there isn't a clock on the entire island), having a lunch breakfast on the patio with a nice tequila sunrise to start the day, laying in the sun and chillin in the water for the rest of the day, and driving to one of the little towns to wander around and have dinner, and finishing up the evening with a bottle of wine on our balcony, playing with Hercules and once even smoking cigars. At one point we found ourselves in a grocery store buying cards, wine and cigars. Apparently after just about 2 days in Greece everyone starts to turn into little old men who hang out on the steps of churches doing those very things. If we'd stayed longer we would have fully transformed. I pretty much had to shave off my gray mustache when I got home.
We found a few cute little shops in which the owner was also the maker of everything in them. One made beautiful fancy white crocheted (?) table cloths, one of which I bought and the little old woman gave me a free little souvenir bell with Kos painted on it to go with it. Another sold mugs, plates and other pottery painted by the little woman working there, with pictures of gorgeous Greek island scenes. Lovely. And apparently the Greeks love to give things away for free. Besides the drinks and the bell, one day when we went to a little fruit stand to get some veggies, apparently the onion, tomatoes and cucumber we'd picked out would have cost so little she just told us to take them.
Oh and let's not forget the fact that the food was just ridiculous and Greek food being pretty much my favorite kind, I was in heaven. I could have just sat around eating that Tzatziki sauce with a spoon. And I did. And the Kalamata olives were like none I've ever had.
Long story short, if you're thinking of going to Greece, go. It is wonderful. Oh and the trip home was much less eventful then the trip there. It went off almost too smoothly. We kept expecting something to be late or canceled but it never was. And so, we were lucky.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
To Travel
First of all, the quote of the week:
In breads class the other day chef was playing around with some decorating bread (able to be shaped into braids etc.) and made one into the shape of a fish. After tweaking some part of it, a fellow student said, "Ah no chef! What are you doing? It looked better before!" and so on and after a moment or two of thought chef said, "...eets just a fucking feesh!"
Anywho, this weekend was a nice change of pace because I really haven't been out of the city much yet. On Saturday we signed up for a trip through our school that took us through Parma and Modena to go see Parmesan being made, a Prosciutto factory and a place that makes fancy Balsamic Vinegar. Being a bunch of nerdy foodies, we were pretty stoked. Parma is about 3 hours away by bus. The countryside was lovely and the little Parmesan establishment in Parma was pretty adorable. It was small and the cheese makers wore cute little cheese making outfits and there was oh so much cheese. Thousands of pounds of cheese. We saw them cooking and stirring and shaping it and then how it was cured and stored for the 2 years before it is sold. At the Prosciutto factory, we walked into what was actually an impeccably clean facility. They showed us the different storage rooms at different temps where the meat goes before/ after/ during the curing process etc. I have never and will never again see that much meat in all my life. A vegetarian's nightmare, behind each door were racks sky high with Thousands of legs of pig. They said they ship aprox 50,000 (what do you call them... pig butt/leg combos?) around the world each year. They then led us upstairs to our lunch where (a vegetarian would pass out) each table setting was complete with a plate entirely covered in meat. Different kinds of prosciutto, salami etc piled in front of every chair. Full to our throats with meat, we then headed to Modena where they make a special kind of balsamic that takes years to ferment. There is nothing in the vinegar but grapes. No sugars no added acids, no wine, just grape juice and time. We tasted vinegars that were aged up to 25 yrs and sold for 78 euros for a tiny bottle.
So the trip was interesting and informative- BUT may I now point out its downfalls. It contained a few of us who had chosen to come on the trip + about 50 who were forced to be there. 80% 18 yr old girls who said things like, "it doesn't even taste good" after tasting just about the most perfectly made Parmesan cheese that can be made. Or girls who would walk into a meat factory (which smelled surprisingly little) and would plug their noses in disgust as the tour leader/ owner was proudly showing us around. Turns out I can't stand American teenage girls. Yeah I was one not long ago... but whatareyougonnado.
Sunday was a welcomed relief. My friends Michelle, Kim and I took a hour and 40 min train south west to a town called Castiglioncello. An adorable little beachy getaway, there were lots of people on the beach but actually almost no tourists. Almost everyone was Italian. The beaches were beautiful but you simply HAD to purchase a lounge chair/ umbrella to sit on. Not because it was required but because the sand was so hot that even while sitting on your towel, the sand would literally burn you. Now granted, my threadbare, Snorkelsaurus towel was probably made in 1982 and has been used generously since then, but I wasn't about to try to tough it out. And something about this sun makes you sweat more intensely than sun usually does. Moments after getting out of the water you would be dry and a single moment later you would be dripping again.. but with sweat. Wonderful and relaxing though regardless of some horrid tan lines I acquired. But there will be time to even those out next week when I'm in GREECE!
Friday marks our last day of Italian 1 with Francesca (I'm actually gonna miss her) and breads with Chef Gabriele. We then have a week break in which me and two friends are going to the Greek island Kos for half the week then parting ways to do a little more European sight seeing before school starts. I'll be coming back to Florence because my dear friend Jenny from Seattle will be in town! And I'm oh so excited to show her around.
But now it's time to study and get things ready for the trip. Wish me luck! (Pictures from last weekend are up on my snapfish for anyone curious).
In breads class the other day chef was playing around with some decorating bread (able to be shaped into braids etc.) and made one into the shape of a fish. After tweaking some part of it, a fellow student said, "Ah no chef! What are you doing? It looked better before!" and so on and after a moment or two of thought chef said, "...eets just a fucking feesh!"
Anywho, this weekend was a nice change of pace because I really haven't been out of the city much yet. On Saturday we signed up for a trip through our school that took us through Parma and Modena to go see Parmesan being made, a Prosciutto factory and a place that makes fancy Balsamic Vinegar. Being a bunch of nerdy foodies, we were pretty stoked. Parma is about 3 hours away by bus. The countryside was lovely and the little Parmesan establishment in Parma was pretty adorable. It was small and the cheese makers wore cute little cheese making outfits and there was oh so much cheese. Thousands of pounds of cheese. We saw them cooking and stirring and shaping it and then how it was cured and stored for the 2 years before it is sold. At the Prosciutto factory, we walked into what was actually an impeccably clean facility. They showed us the different storage rooms at different temps where the meat goes before/ after/ during the curing process etc. I have never and will never again see that much meat in all my life. A vegetarian's nightmare, behind each door were racks sky high with Thousands of legs of pig. They said they ship aprox 50,000 (what do you call them... pig butt/leg combos?) around the world each year. They then led us upstairs to our lunch where (a vegetarian would pass out) each table setting was complete with a plate entirely covered in meat. Different kinds of prosciutto, salami etc piled in front of every chair. Full to our throats with meat, we then headed to Modena where they make a special kind of balsamic that takes years to ferment. There is nothing in the vinegar but grapes. No sugars no added acids, no wine, just grape juice and time. We tasted vinegars that were aged up to 25 yrs and sold for 78 euros for a tiny bottle.
So the trip was interesting and informative- BUT may I now point out its downfalls. It contained a few of us who had chosen to come on the trip + about 50 who were forced to be there. 80% 18 yr old girls who said things like, "it doesn't even taste good" after tasting just about the most perfectly made Parmesan cheese that can be made. Or girls who would walk into a meat factory (which smelled surprisingly little) and would plug their noses in disgust as the tour leader/ owner was proudly showing us around. Turns out I can't stand American teenage girls. Yeah I was one not long ago... but whatareyougonnado.
Sunday was a welcomed relief. My friends Michelle, Kim and I took a hour and 40 min train south west to a town called Castiglioncello. An adorable little beachy getaway, there were lots of people on the beach but actually almost no tourists. Almost everyone was Italian. The beaches were beautiful but you simply HAD to purchase a lounge chair/ umbrella to sit on. Not because it was required but because the sand was so hot that even while sitting on your towel, the sand would literally burn you. Now granted, my threadbare, Snorkelsaurus towel was probably made in 1982 and has been used generously since then, but I wasn't about to try to tough it out. And something about this sun makes you sweat more intensely than sun usually does. Moments after getting out of the water you would be dry and a single moment later you would be dripping again.. but with sweat. Wonderful and relaxing though regardless of some horrid tan lines I acquired. But there will be time to even those out next week when I'm in GREECE!
Friday marks our last day of Italian 1 with Francesca (I'm actually gonna miss her) and breads with Chef Gabriele. We then have a week break in which me and two friends are going to the Greek island Kos for half the week then parting ways to do a little more European sight seeing before school starts. I'll be coming back to Florence because my dear friend Jenny from Seattle will be in town! And I'm oh so excited to show her around.
But now it's time to study and get things ready for the trip. Wish me luck! (Pictures from last weekend are up on my snapfish for anyone curious).
Friday, July 2, 2010
An Improvement
When I woke up this morning and my paper thin linen sheet wasn't shoved to the bottom of my bed in anger (my thought process in the middle of the night- "why would they give us such heavy bedding in the middle of the summer?"), I knew it was gonna be a good day. I was actually comfortably wrapped in my sheet, the night having proved to be slightly cooler than usual. Usually we must choose between nearly dying of heat stroke with the windows closed or get eaten alive by swarms of mosquitoes and listen to the unnecessarily loud buses all night with the windows open. But thanks to mosquito spray, an incense that repels them and a plug in that periodically releases mosquito repellent, we were finally OK with the windows open and were so tired from lack of sleep, the buses weren't even a problem.
Next we skipped our way to Italian class to take a test. We bubbled with excitement because, who doesn't love irregular verbs? (slight exaggeration). Francesca was especially silly today spouting such gems as "when I have time to think about activities to do in class, I can be dangerous," or "the song was sappy and horrible... I wanted to- " and made a wrist slitting mime. PC-ness is not a concern of the teachers in Italy. She has certainly told us "I kill you," enough times (I can tell though. She's bluffing). She then read to us a few passages of a newspaper article which she thought was particularly hilarious. We didn't understand the Italian at all and when she translated it into English it was really not at all funny... however seeing her have to hold onto the table because she was laughing so hard at really mediocre statements was quite a show. But the best part was her surprise. She was so excited when she sat her gift bag on the table that we had to be excited too. Out she pulled a 2 ft tall American flag on a flag pole (to celebrate the 4th for us), But Wait! There is more. She then pushed a button on the base of it and it started playing "our country tis of thee" and the flag waved. She told us "I love things like this." I can just imagine her kitschy apartment full of Lisa Frank erasers and year-round Christmas decorations.
After our test was over, Michelle and I celebrated by going to our favorite sandwich shop where the owner is stoney faced man whose neutral look seems to say, "I could mess you up." The sanitation in this country would make our chefs at home (well the American one) cry. They make your sandwiches, take your money, set different kinds of meat on top of each other, and gloves? Ha! If you can't handle the germs, get a better immune system... is what they imply. But this place has unmatched sandwiches. The crispy toasted bread cuts up the inside of your mouth like it's been through an epic battle but it is oh so worth it. And though the owner could kick me apart, he'll grace you with a brief smile from time to time (usually when I mess up my Italian) and again it's worth it. It's a tough love sandwich shop.
Nursing my mouth wounds we walked over to the Boboli Gardens to hang out during our nice obnoxious 3 hour bread between classes. The gardens are across the river, about 30 min from our house. It's beautiful and much less touristy on the south side of the Arno which makes for a nice little getaway. After a relaxing hour or so in the garden we walked home marveling our lack of sunburns thus far, during which we each developed nice little shoulder and cheek sunburns. (Just moments ago Michelle cut up cucumber slices and set them on my shoulders. Soothing. I just realized they were still sitting there though, like those little Sgt Pepper jacket shoulder thingies....?)
When we got home I was sweating on every inch of my body and we both collapsed on our beds about 10 minutes before we had to leave again for class. Putting on a uniform and baking bread just did not sound like fun today. We both seriously considered ditching for the first time. We never had before... what could one day hurt? But we knew Mark, our other fellow South friend in the class, would give us crap and after a minute we sucked it up and went. We were glad we did because apparently the rest of the class had the same thought and No One Else Showed Up. Just Mark, Michelle, me 'n Chef Gabe. The other 9 decided to ditch apparently. If we'd actually decided not to come, Mark would have given us more crap than we realized! He'd have been the only one. But as it was, the class ran more efficiently than ever before. We got more done in a shorter amount of time, joked with chef, and made the best breads we've made yet. Suckers. It was even relatively cool in the classroom with 9 less people. AND after telling chef that I was an actor, chef told us about this little old town not far from here that has a medieval festival in just a few weeks with what he described as the best street performers in Italy. There are puppet shows, stilt walkers, fire eaters and other carnival type acts that go on in little secret secluded courtyards all over town. He said it was amazing but hard to get to but if we were all interested he'd help us find a way to get there. Yup. Best breads class so far.
A good day.
One more note- a interesting thing I've found being here is, I expected to perhaps start saying a few Italian words/ phrases without thinking, just like in New Zealand. You just hear them so often that they work their way into your vocab. Well... that hasn't really happened. What has happened is I find myself occasionally starting to say/ think phrases in broken English- the way they talk to us. I've had to stop myself from talking back to them the same way a few times. I don't want them to think I'm making fun of them, it just comes out.
Next we skipped our way to Italian class to take a test. We bubbled with excitement because, who doesn't love irregular verbs? (slight exaggeration). Francesca was especially silly today spouting such gems as "when I have time to think about activities to do in class, I can be dangerous," or "the song was sappy and horrible... I wanted to- " and made a wrist slitting mime. PC-ness is not a concern of the teachers in Italy. She has certainly told us "I kill you," enough times (I can tell though. She's bluffing). She then read to us a few passages of a newspaper article which she thought was particularly hilarious. We didn't understand the Italian at all and when she translated it into English it was really not at all funny... however seeing her have to hold onto the table because she was laughing so hard at really mediocre statements was quite a show. But the best part was her surprise. She was so excited when she sat her gift bag on the table that we had to be excited too. Out she pulled a 2 ft tall American flag on a flag pole (to celebrate the 4th for us), But Wait! There is more. She then pushed a button on the base of it and it started playing "our country tis of thee" and the flag waved. She told us "I love things like this." I can just imagine her kitschy apartment full of Lisa Frank erasers and year-round Christmas decorations.
After our test was over, Michelle and I celebrated by going to our favorite sandwich shop where the owner is stoney faced man whose neutral look seems to say, "I could mess you up." The sanitation in this country would make our chefs at home (well the American one) cry. They make your sandwiches, take your money, set different kinds of meat on top of each other, and gloves? Ha! If you can't handle the germs, get a better immune system... is what they imply. But this place has unmatched sandwiches. The crispy toasted bread cuts up the inside of your mouth like it's been through an epic battle but it is oh so worth it. And though the owner could kick me apart, he'll grace you with a brief smile from time to time (usually when I mess up my Italian) and again it's worth it. It's a tough love sandwich shop.
Nursing my mouth wounds we walked over to the Boboli Gardens to hang out during our nice obnoxious 3 hour bread between classes. The gardens are across the river, about 30 min from our house. It's beautiful and much less touristy on the south side of the Arno which makes for a nice little getaway. After a relaxing hour or so in the garden we walked home marveling our lack of sunburns thus far, during which we each developed nice little shoulder and cheek sunburns. (Just moments ago Michelle cut up cucumber slices and set them on my shoulders. Soothing. I just realized they were still sitting there though, like those little Sgt Pepper jacket shoulder thingies....?)
When we got home I was sweating on every inch of my body and we both collapsed on our beds about 10 minutes before we had to leave again for class. Putting on a uniform and baking bread just did not sound like fun today. We both seriously considered ditching for the first time. We never had before... what could one day hurt? But we knew Mark, our other fellow South friend in the class, would give us crap and after a minute we sucked it up and went. We were glad we did because apparently the rest of the class had the same thought and No One Else Showed Up. Just Mark, Michelle, me 'n Chef Gabe. The other 9 decided to ditch apparently. If we'd actually decided not to come, Mark would have given us more crap than we realized! He'd have been the only one. But as it was, the class ran more efficiently than ever before. We got more done in a shorter amount of time, joked with chef, and made the best breads we've made yet. Suckers. It was even relatively cool in the classroom with 9 less people. AND after telling chef that I was an actor, chef told us about this little old town not far from here that has a medieval festival in just a few weeks with what he described as the best street performers in Italy. There are puppet shows, stilt walkers, fire eaters and other carnival type acts that go on in little secret secluded courtyards all over town. He said it was amazing but hard to get to but if we were all interested he'd help us find a way to get there. Yup. Best breads class so far.
A good day.
One more note- a interesting thing I've found being here is, I expected to perhaps start saying a few Italian words/ phrases without thinking, just like in New Zealand. You just hear them so often that they work their way into your vocab. Well... that hasn't really happened. What has happened is I find myself occasionally starting to say/ think phrases in broken English- the way they talk to us. I've had to stop myself from talking back to them the same way a few times. I don't want them to think I'm making fun of them, it just comes out.
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