italia

Buongiorno!

I realize it has been a while since we last met. You’ve heard my rantings of this crazy and hectic life, which I’m sure you just as well relate to at times… Thanks for sticking through.

However, this time, I’ve a different story to tell you. One week ago today, I arrived in Rome for the first time! These previous seven days have been the start of probably the grandest adventure in my life thus far: a semester spent in Italia. I am here, in a small town north of Rome, for the next four months. To experience culture. Learn Italian. Eat the most comforting food in the world. Peer into the depths art and antiquity. Take a step toward learning more about myself and about others. And countless other reasons I have yet to discover.

In the past week, my taste buds have already indulged in food unlike anything they’ve known. The first night, I ate bruschetta made with vibrantly red tomatoes and crusty bread, pizza with various toppings like zucchini and authentic pepperoni, and the smoothest, purest gelato that looked like plain old vanilla but released a whole new world of expansive flavor upon touching my mouth. I’ve had a nutella-stuffed donut at nearly midnight, countless squares of pizza, fruit tarts and cookies, and fluffy, creamy cappuccinos costing only a euro. I’ve witnessed the creation of authentic gelato after tasting the classic pistachio flavor, which is as wonderful as people claim.

Last night, friends and I treated ourselves to a more expensive dinner at “La Spaghetteria,” which since 1984 has held the Guinness World Record for the widest selection of sauces at a restaurant. As we flipped through page after page of listings, it was nearly impossible to choose. I settled on a variation of my favorite, however: crema di latte, pomodoro, pancetta, prosciutto, e vodka, for all you Italian-readers. AKA cream, tomatoes, vodka, and Italian ham. All mixed together, sticking perfectly to slightly fatter spaghetti noodles. It was neither overly soupy nor scantily coated. Just enough to produce a hearty harmony of flavors.

Let me tell you, I didn’t use to be this way. Growing up, my palate was accustomed to sitting at the table with its arms folded tightly across its chest, unwilling to consume most normal and delicious foods. Why it was so stubborn, I have no idea. I would take the cheese off pizza (now the most embarrassing and horrid thought to me), demand that my bread be toasted and peanut butter be thickly layered (which I admit, I still require) for PB&J, and refuse mashed potatoes and cheeseburgers. Everything had to be perfect, and I deeply thank my family and friends for having the patience and grace to not abandon me.

I am thankful to know and say that I have come far since those days. Food is an elemental part of culture and people and physicality, and to not experience its vastness is to turn my back on such a joyful part of life.

These things said and shown, I want to direct you someplace else. I have created another blog solely for this time spent in Italy. Because it is so difficult to manage two sites (you’ve seen how slow I can be on even one), I will be posting mainly on the newer space. Though it isn’t solely focused on food- more on honest stories of my time here- I can guarantee that the topic will appear more than frequently.

With that, I invite you skip on over and join me in experiencing and eating my way through Italy! The link can be found both below and on the “connect” tab above.

Ciao for now!

www.ellyndreamsofitaly.wordpress.com

bruschetta, a first dinner

The flavors of my family are as such...

Garlic. Balsamic. Pepper. Olive oil. Parmesan. Dijon. Spinach. Pasta. Basil.

A collective whole that is tangy and zingy on the tongue but full and comforting in body. It bursts with depth, adventure, and richness. The crisp chop of the garlic and the traveling aroma of its mysterious spicy-sweet complexity. The thick creaminess of dijon shaken with balsamic vinegar and bold olive oil... It all combines after the first few cuts on the plate. Chicken, rice, and spinach merge with the mud to create a mix of homey perfection. And when it's all gone, the crispy bread fulfills its role by swooping in and mopping up leftovers that simply cannot be left behind. It is only to be followed by a hoping finger that ventures to the plate and returns to the mouth with a smidgen of the meal's flavors for the taste buds to fight over.

It's an act, an art, a beautiful play. These meals are each lovely and perfect, somehow both new and familiar at the same time. A surge of nostalgia, a hope for a larger stomach, but a joyful resolution nevertheless.

This is one of those meals.

philadelphia dreaming

My best friend Krysia and I have a dream.

It's a beautiful dream that has existed since our youngest years. Back in the day, we used to talk about how one day we would own a bed and breakfast, in which Krysia would run the front of the house, I would cook all the food, and our third friend would serve meals to guests on her roller-skates. Very sensible, really. 

Sometimes we would practice our skills, to the point of venturing to the park across the street to retrieve onion grass that would soon be sautéed and tasted before tossed in the trash. Or we would concoct marvelously strange drinks consisting of tea, pepsi, lemon, and various other ingredients, later to be forced upon my gracious grandad, who would unfailingly respond with, "that's good!", which fueled our giggles. Sometimes we would practice our entrepreneurial skills with the always-expensive lemonade stand, or we would let our tastebuds guide menu exploration by tracking down that friendly neighborhood summer jingle until our hands were gripping skylite or spearmint snow cones topped with drippy marshmallow sauce.

Although it was all a distant dream at that point, it has all started to become tangible reality since. We have both matured into our designated roles, realizing that our gifts and talents lie in these areas (although the roller-skating seems to have fizzled out). We have been pursuing them through our jobs this summer and it's our goal to come up with a business plan for some sort of cafe or coffee shop by the time we return to school. We have been brainstorming concepts and exploring, both physically and electronically, different cities to see where we might fit. 

And last week... we got to explore Philly.

It's kind of funny actually. For some reason, Philly has just kept arising in both of our lives, both separately and together, in conversation or news articles or inspirations. And neither of us had ever been there. Thus, we're both intrigued by this historic city. So last week, when I had to go to the Italian Consulate to apply for my visa, we and my mom made a day trip of it. And though we'd heard various opinions of this Filthadelphia, we both loved it.

words, a prequel.

It seems that I've been all over the place again. I don't know how it happens, but each week seems to flit past my eyes before I even realize how far into the month we are. The only reason I know the date on a regular basis is because almost daily, my sharpie-gripping hands write onto masking tape those two or three numbers separated by a slash, in order to keep track of all the jolly goods we make at the bakery. I'm thankful for that because otherwise, I'd have no idea what day it is. Probably ever.

Life just seems to be accelerating more and more, and my greatest desire in a normal week is to have one day to just be in the moment. To squint my eyes, gather my thoughts, focus, and try to wrap my head around what is actually happening in my life. It's almost August already. Wasn't it just the first day of summer, like last week? Some weeks I achieve that, and the respite rejuvenates my soul, giving it rest more than ever before. I find joy again and I'm reminded of truth. And I'm recharged, ready to go until the next time that day comes. And then, some weeks don't hold such a day. Some seem to just push me along while I try to look back, point at what has happened, and understand.

Last week, for example. My cling to clarity and peace boiled down to one single desire: to chop garlic. That's it. All week I was craving this. That someone would stick me in a kitchen by myself, give me everything I need, and set me off. To chop garlic. To sizzle it in olive oil. To create a savory mess that begins on a cutting board, matures in a pan, and settles down to rest on a plate. To cook and get my hands dirty and let creativity and soul run free a bit. And though all of that didn't play out, I've had moments of it. And those moments have been completely and thoroughly refreshing. This therapy- I've learned it by reading Bread & Wine by Shauna Niequist. Until finishing her book, I didn't realize how tangibly healing it is to cook and return to the flavors that feel like home. I didn't know it was okay to rest that way, that God actually loves when I rest through the creative output He has instilled in me. I'm thankful to be understanding that more.

So I'm beginning to learn that honestly, life is just this way sometimes. I'm not the only one experiencing it, and others are experiencing it much more intensely. And it's going to be okay. All I need are those moments, those hours, or even days if I'm lucky, of space to be reminded of truth and to do things that bring my soul its greatest delight.

In the midst of all this, I'm seeing how consistent God is. How remarkably He catches my eye with something everyday but also intricate, like the sky. That's mostly where I've been seeing Him lately, come to think of it. And when I settle my mind to focus on Him, how steadily He speaks truth to me and refutes the lies that I so quickly am convinced of. He is beautiful and sweet, that is certain.

So for now, it's only words, in an effort to explain my situation. Soon, hopefully this week, I'll share in further detail about my foodie occurrences as of late. I can't wait to tell you about them.

Until then, seek your respite. Perhaps garlic. Or a good book. Or travel. Or family. Or coffee. Or coffee and something else, if you're anything like me. And enjoy.

garlicky guacamole

My goodness. I can't believe it's been almost a month since I was last here. I'm telling you people, this past month has, once again, been chaotic. How can so much change be happening in such a concentrated amount of time.

We'll get to the guacamole in a minute, but quickly, to give you a practical low-down... Since last we met, my life has transitioned again. While my family's house still hasn't sold, I've moved up north to the town of my youth to start working. I'd been coming up sporadically, looking for jobs and staying with my best friend in the world. Got an interview. Got a job. Moved my portable, nomadic life to the gracious and generous home of my second family, as we call them. AKA my best friend and her delightful kin. Slowly I have made the change, again, to a new place. But this time not so new.

All of this has been so joyful, yet so hard. I'm doing life here, reacquainting myself with the sights and roads that the young me knew so well from the familiar back seat of the parent-driven car. This bump in the road. That restaurant. That school. This stop light. It all comes flooding back via the lens of earlier years. Everything seemed a bit bigger then, a bit more homey. But it's been several years since I've lived here, years full of change and growth, and I now carry a different perspective.

Just a few days ago I had a wonderful conversation with a dear high school friend. We are similar, though sometimes I forget how very similar. We talked about crazy connections of our thoughts and mindsets, and how we constantly think that one day, we will find the ideal. We'll find the perfect city. The perfect man. The perfect friendships. That it will all just come, at that one point in your life that you are always convinced will come. But in reality, it probably won't. Rather, it's our position to adapt, to stop criticizing, to find the beauty in the imperfection. Maybe we all move to the same town together, to preserve some beauty that we are currently familiar with. Whatever it is, we know that we are going to grow and we're going to learn with our hearts to be content and overjoyed with both the present and the hope. Seemingly undoable. But doable.

So I realize that it wasn't necessarily this town that made my youth so cherished. It wasn't even Graul's chicken tenders with fantastically delicious honey mustard. No, more the people. And today, that is what remains to be the greatest treasure. Annapolis has changed. My eyes have changed. But people I love are still here. And I'm meeting new people I love. And though other people I love are scattered elsewhere too, that is worth it. I'm learning to find new beauty in the wake of memory, and I think I'll be learning this my whole life.

Thus, a new beauty: I work in a bakery. Daily, I get to roll out pate brisee for quiches while listening to French-themed music. I get to hear the squeals of overjoyed customers receiving cakes for their baby showers. I get to have flour all over me and I get to learn new things, like glazing petit fours and filling macarons. Some days it hits me all over again, and I'm filled with joy and thankfulness. So blessed to be doing what I love. More on that later.

Friends, I'm not entirely sure how guacamole fits into all this. Maybe because it's just something I've perfected over the years and can easily make in whatever setting, so it's a comfort. Maybe it's the fact that it so often accompanies summertime food, so it brings a sense of joy and freedom. Maybe it's the fact that whenever I get home from work, all I want is garlicky, salty, savory food to cleanse my palate. Maybe it's just that I love guac, and so does everyone else.

Easy instructions. Adaptable ingredients. But I have a few rules. Always use either lime or cilantro, or both, but never without. Always use tomato or red pepper, but preferably tomato, and never without. Never onion, it's too overpowering. And when you taste test and think to yourself, "It still needs something..." The answer? Garlic. More garlic. Always.

But those are just my rules. Go skip in your kitchen with playful music and make your own.


Garlicky Guacamole
- 4 avocados
- 12 cloves of garlic, mashed and chopped (Yes, you read correctly. I probably average 3 or 4 cloves of garlic per avocado.)
- 1 large tomato, diced small
- Juice of one lime
- 2 to 4 tablespoons of cilantro, chopped
- salt and pepper to taste

Start by halving and pitting your avocados, then scooping them out into a large bowl. Smash with a fork, leaving some clumps behind. Add your garlic, tomato, lime, cilantro, and salt & pepper. Mix and mash to desired consistency. Taste with and without a chip, then add whatever you think is necessary. Serve with bubbly beer and salty chips.

traveling eats

The past been month can be characterized by abnormality and franticness.

Finish the semester. Pack up and move out of house at school. Go straight to grandparents' house. Pack up and move that place. Immediately go home. Pack up that house. Get it on the market. Meanwhile, take trips up north to find a job in the city we're moving to. Back and forth. Up and down. Sore muscles. Allergies. Never enough sleep.

Until today... When the chaos paused and the slate of the schedule wiped itself clean. A much needed respite for slowing down, breathing, and feeling. Time and space for God to reawaken my soul and make my heart flutter again. The freedom to read and journal, to curl in and be introverted in order to stretch out again, to skip downtown in the rain for a strong americano and an extended linger in my favorite card shop. And to get back here, a branch of reflection that reminds my tizzied self of the joy laid out in front of me and all around me. My heart is softly mouthing words of gratitude.

You know these times. I'm sure you can recognize the familiarity of disorder, and thus you can relate to the motion of every other part of your life being shoved into the dark corners of the closet, only cautiously peaking its head around the doorway when noise subsides. One of these aspects is undoubtedly food, especially nutritious food. For many, the stomach becomes a nuisance because it yells at us until we are forced to stop accomplishing for just a few minutes in order to attend to ourselves. And though we stop, we are unable to muster enough energy for proper care. Goodness, this is the truth of our household recently. Eating on the fly all the time. Sadly, then, I have no recent delicious creation to share, although I did make a key lime pie last week for my boyfriend's birthday- definitely a favorite in my family circle and beyond. But I'm sure to make it again this summer and thus it will reveal its tangy self here at some point. Preview in the meantime.

So instead of the usual, I've chosen a conglomeration of eating experiences that occurred before I departed from school. Nibbles from road trips and surprise adventures, all tasted in the community of sweet friends.

THAT chocolate cake

I have this thing for you.

It's that chocolate cake. You know what I mean. Rich, soft, and dense, with just the perfect amount of icing. Almost like you can taste it as you slice into it. It's the cake incapable of producing leftovers, and if for some unheard of reason it did, it's the cake you'd eat for breakfast because you can't wait until afternoon coffee to once more taste its luxuriously stacked chocolate.

There's something about cake... I like pie. Pie is tasty and flaky and sweet and tart. And sometimes I really crave pie. But cake... I like cake. Something about cake is celebratory and unique, giving me cause for joy and anticipation. On a warm summer birthday with melting ice cream. On a chilly afternoon with a steaming drink. As a late-night snack. First thing in the morning. With tons of friends. Alone. Second-day cake (usually the best). Third-day cake. Cake until it's gone. Cake's crumbs whose sole purpose is to stick to your finger when your tastebuds are trying to salvage the not-so-distant memory.

I really like cake.

And this cake is certainly that celebratory cake. Recently, I attended a cookout held for a campus ministry in which I'm involved. Prior, they had asked if anyone would bring dessert. "CHOCOLATE CAKE," I proclaimed. I'd been wanting to make this cake for a while and it seemed like the perfect time. True to chocolate-cake-versatility, it fit right in with everything. Though the purpose of the event was to prepare for school in the fall, it was accompanied by an air of summer. Warm weather was playfully teasing us, dinner was cookout fare that is so anticipated and every year is met with such unmentioned excitement that it seems we've never eaten it before. But there's just nothing like it.

Friends, summer is near.

the wild hair and homemade granola

Two weekends ago held an earthy day... It was Friday and I'd finished classes and resolved to stay on campus to do some things. However, five minutes into settling in at one my favorite quiet places, I realized I just couldn't do it. Resolution? Go home and nap. Reality? Not so much. The progression of actual events went as such: Enter the house and notice the unfortunate scent of damp towels. Swiftly waltz to the little building in my backyard that houses the laundry machine. On my way out, notice a broom. Snatch. Sweep. No more pollen on my porch. Or my steps. Ponder about a rake. Found. Commence removal of pine needle layers. Discoveries made: fresh, perfect dirt and once-treasured stepping stones. Also roots too robust for my hands, finally halting this wild hair of mine.

And then I proceeded to pick fresh rosemary from my parents' garden whilst chatting with my best friend about life, dreams, and the remarkably no-longer-surprising fact that we are always working through the same things, even though we haven't lived in the same town for five years.

And then this happened. It was an earth-day on Summerville Avenue for sure.

I had never made homemade granola until about a month ago, but had wanted to since I discovered how much sugar is in the store stuff. This batch was my second go-around... And way tastier than store bought!

Some of my best friends live in a house just a couple of blocks away. Since I moved into my own house, theirs has been my second home... The place I can walk, ride my bike, or drive (if I'm feeling lazy) to if I need some company or wisdom or just want to relish in friendships. These friends have been some of my dearest since I've come to college- sweet souls who love Jesus and life and joy.

Last week, my second home temporarily became my first. One of these sweet sisters was out of town and offered her bed and space while she was gone. I jumped at the offer, excited to spend the week elsewhere from my home, which easily is lonely. And my goodness, the Franklin girls couldn't have blessed me more than they did.

trisha and suzi's no-bake cookies

Funny how certain things just take you right back, wherever that destination actually is.

I can't recall a certain memory of eating these cookies, but everything about them sent me to the guilty pleasure I can always remember when eating them. I'm telling you, these cookies are not great for you. But they are so unbelievably delicious.

My mom has perfected these over the years, beginning in her youth as she grew up in the No-Bake Wonderland that is western Pennsylvania. She and Trisha, the best friend with whom I am so acquainted due to stories of childhood, would whip these up and then eat pizza (since there was no such delicacy in the Duryea household) and have themselves the best of times. Sometimes I'll ask my mom about these stories. Sometimes they just come up. Or sometimes we visit family and she points out all the places of her childhood. Whatever the situation, her eyes unfailingly brighten when she recounts her memories. She grins in genuine nostalgia, and it's as if she's reliving it all right then and there. The pizza. The laughter. The snow-dampened socks.  And the bonus spoonfuls of sugar tossed into the cookies because they were ten years old and nothing else mattered but the extra grit it gave.

whole wheat blueberry muffins & looking forward

Since my minor is hospitality, I'm currently enrolled in a Nutrition class- it's really fascinating and I'm totally loving it. Recently, we were assigned different recipes to explore the topic of food science. We were each assigned different variations of baked goods to see how a slight change in ingredients or processes could alter the food entirely. I was given blueberry muffins, the alteration being my close companion: whole wheat flour.

I bake with this helper quite often. Most often, in fact; all in the attempt of creating healthier versions of delicious baked goods, especially as I serve them to people. I haven't figured it all out yet, but one thing I have concluded is that using entirely whole wheat flour forms an overwhelmingly dense result. Sometimes this effect slips unnoticed with the power of other flavors, but in this recipe... it was undeniable.

introductory insight

These things I love.
To compose them, create them, and savor them.
These things- the following culinary experiments of mine that I have made over the past year or so- you will see much of, hopefully with continual improvement and passion and expertise of each.

Breakfast. Scones, waffles, pancakes, eggs, oatmeal. All with coffee of course.

slipping in

I think the time has come.

I've been dreaming, experimenting, saving, collecting, documenting, cataloging, hoping, and waiting. But I'm delighted (though I admit, also somewhat anxious) to kickstart a new pocket of my life that will entail and assemble the many aspects of my passion for food in an arena that invites you inside.

May this be a place of inspired exploration, a calm escape, and a practical resource, both for you and me. I look forward to what it will hold: the words I will pen for the first time, my failed experiments, the dreams I will peruse, my favorite flavors that I will share, and the common ground we get to share in it all.

Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just attempts at genuine living.