Genuine stuff about muffins in coffee shops

Isn't it funny how at certain points in your life, you sense that God is slowly pulling something out of you that is poisonous and untrue, and you form this idea in your head of how that process is going to go and what it's going to end up like; and then a while later, while you're frustratingly in the throes of something really truly difficult, you realize it's the same rope He was pulling before and what you're experiencing is His actual plan of action, not your own?

This happens to me a lot. And it certainly has in the last three months or so. At the beginning of the semester, I remember talking with the friend whom I disciple, and we were sharing our lives and I was telling her about what I thought God was going to work on in my life this semester. They were things I could feel Him pressing on. She asked me if I was nervous, knowing that this might be a painful process. With a smile, I shook my head and said no, that I was ready and excited. These are things that have plagued my peace and threatened my joy for as long as I can remember, things that He has gradually been healing throughout the past three years. I was- I still am- ready for freedom.

One of these things was anxiety, and I think another one might have been self-image issues. I was just flipping through my journal to see if I could find a time when I wrote about it, but I couldn't. I'll have to rely on my memory. When I was thinking about these things at the beginning of the semester, and being free from them, it all seemed so straightforward. God would just tackle anxiety as a whole and help me to stop being anxious in the knowledge that He cares and is in control. All of this is true, but I'm finding that this isn't the way God works.

weird state of life, but oatmeal chocolate chip cookies

These past three months have most certainly been a time of transition. Changing from one country to another, relearning American culture, adjusting to the countless differences, experiencing the heaviness of American schooling versus that of Italy. Constant schedules, crazy busy, any hopeful spare time spent on life-giving sources. When all I really want to do is spend my days with the friends I love in this city in which I've taken root for the last four years, cooking and eating glorious food and celebrating life in general.

In the midst of my reacquaintance, I've been itching to return to writing and photographing and cooking, but the traction to do so collaboratively has been completely absent. So I'm sorry, and I thank you for your patience as I rally myself and my life together again.

coming back

I love food. I love people. I love talking about food, eating food, sharing food, making food. It's all beautiful.

I miss Italy more than I can say, but I'm finally coming back here. I'll post soon, as soon as the inspiration and lighting and ingredients align. I can't wait for it.

But until then- a snippet into my day. Finally, a few hours of introvert time on a sunny warm day that whispers the coming of spring. Sitting in a coffee shop down the street from my house, reading, spewing words into my moleskine, studying, regaining vivacity while others around me do the same. There's a glass bottle of Coca-Cola on the counter ahead of me, an inch of liquid left in it and an empty stool in front. And just behind, the resting oven with the baking rack to the right, full of bagged breads, cartons of spices, and two bottles of flavoring that particularly caught my eye. This is beauty to me, the sun pouring in from my right, music dancing above, ceiling fans tossing strands of my hair, and the joyful view of a well-used oven, well-used creativity.

Coming back.

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