America – It’s What’s For Lunch
November 30, 2011 in Ex-Patriate Games, Oishii, spazarific
This just happened.
Ohhhhh, mama.
America – I love us.
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Hungry. Will Stand on Ridiculously Long Line for Seafood.
August 25, 2010 in Italia, Looking, Oishii, spazarific
Walking around City Centre I suddenly realize that, after the 25-minute bike ride into town, I’m feeling too lazy to cook dinner. Well, am I living on the beach or what? Heck yes, I’m living on the beach. That means fresh seafood at bargain price all over the dang place. So I head to a fish restaurant – a Pescheria - and park my bike against a tree. It’s a large shack, with “take away” written in English underneath the large neon name. A dry/erase sign reads: Fried Calamari 5 euro. Roasted potatoes 3 euro. Mixed antipasto 6 euro. I’m sold.
I look up. A long line is snaking outside of the shack, arching past me. I hear Neapolitan tourists shouting: Do we take a number or what? How do we do this? Children are crying: How much longer do we have to wait, Pappa? Can’t we get a pizza instead?
I check my watch: it’s 9:15pm. It’s the same old death match – laziness versus greed. Greed ftw, every time.
Knock Knock
August 23, 2010 in Italia, Oishii, spazarific
“Ciao, Olivia.”
“Hi, Zia Malevola. How are you?”
“I saw that you put a lot of plants on your balcony. Why did you do that?”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re all out there. And then the tree you have on the other balcony, you should really put a stick in the pot to make sure the branches don’t break.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I’m not sure why you put the plants out there. I guess it looks nice.”
“I think so.”
“Flora said you weren’t feeling well.”
“Not really. I have a sore throat and a sinus headache.”
“Aren’t you taking medicine?”
“I already did salt water gargles and I still have some medicine from Ireland.”
“Good, good. Try gargling with vinegar – that also works.”
“Okay.”
“Well, look – I wanted to give you this. It’s three frozen pieces of veal.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. We’re heading back to Rome tomorrow and they were left over. But don’t cook it. You can put it in your freezer. I don’t know how you cook it. But it should feed you for a few days.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”
“It’s veal.”
“Yes, I see.”
“It’s good.”
“I remember.”
“You go back inside and rest.”
“Thanks, Zia.”
Ma Che Bomba
August 18, 2010 in Ex-Patriate Games, Italia, Oishii, spazarific
Since I’ve been in Italy, I’ve had to do a little bit of reconciling – that is, reconciling my childhood memories of the country with my adult impressions. Because I’m me, most of the old memories have to do with food. Me, five years old, sitting on a chair, swinging my legs back and forth and biting into a crunchy-on-the-outside, tender-on-the-inside mozzarella-and-rice filled supplì. Walking into a supermarket at age 10 and seeing piles of oily, rosemary-encrusted pizza bianca on display. Being handed a hot bomba, wrapped in a paper sheath and studded with crunchy sugar; the pastry so delicate, fragranced with the merest whiff of lemon peel.
Beach Eats
August 11, 2010 in Italia, Oishii, spazarific, WanderFood
One of the reasons I decided to break my move to Italy into two parts – rather than staying in Dublin until I’ve published my thesis – is that I wanted to take advantage of beach season. Goodness knows I could use a little sunshine after a year in Ireland.
I like to head to the beach early in the morning, before the heat’s too strong, so I can feel extra accomplished, even if the writing goes sour later on. I watch the families and the waves. I paddle around in the sea. I lie on the sand and hold my hand up in front of my eyes like the sun – marveling at the fact that in two short weeks I’ve gone from the color of mozzarella to the color of bread crust. Food metaphors; a sign that I need to eat something. But what does one eat on an Italian beach?
Dear Ireland,
July 21, 2010 in Ex-Patriate Games, Ireland, Oishii, spazarific, WanderFood
I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked – I’m coming back soon, I promise – but as I was sitting down to lunch at Dallas BBQ on 8th Street, I inhaled a steamy whiff of my chicken vegetable soup and was suddenly reminded that there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a very. Long. Time. Warning: this may come as a shock.
This is what soup is supposed to look like. It is not meant to look like mash. It is not meant to look like strained baby food. How many times have I ordered “spring vegetable” or “chicken” soup at one of your restaurants and been served a bowlful of mystery glop? Too many times, Ireland. Too many times.
Look; you can actually see the ingredients advertised by the soup’s name. Pure. Honest. Slurpable. You can’t imagine the deliciousness of soup in its true form. I want you to know. I need you to know. So, Ireland – mams at home, café cooks, Cully & Sully – put away the blenders. Let the ingredients be.
I know. I’ve just blown your mind.
Yours in hunger,
Liv
In a New York State of Mind
June 30, 2010 in Ex-Patriate Games, Oishii, spazarific, The Odd Siblings, WanderFood
Dinner with Diego at Caracas Arepa Bar in the East Village. Four arepas – the Playera (white fish with onions, peppers, and herbs), the Guasacaca (guacamole with paisa cheese), the De Pabellón (beef, black beans, white salty cheese and plantains), and the Los Muchachos (chorizo, spicy white cheese, jalapeños and peppers). Pacifico beer for him, Negra Modelo for me. We’re digging in. The arepas are crunchy. The chorizo is succulent. The guac is everywhere.
Diego: So what do you want to eat for dinner tomorrow?
Liv: Not sure.
Diego: Man, we’re talking about tomorrow’s dinner while we’re eating tonight’s dinner. What kind of a**holes are we?
Liv: The best kind.
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When Worlds Collide
May 20, 2010 in Oishii, WanderFood
Grow up in America and you might equate potato pancakes with Hanukkah. Here in Germany, however, potato pancakes – or Kartoffelpuffers – are eaten year round by all; usually at streetmarkets, enjoyed with a glass of cold wine or beer. In Cologne, where we’re spending the day, they call ‘em Schnibbelkuchens. Me? I call ‘em “Kommetomamas.” Whatever name they go by, they are sumptuous little critters; crispy and greasy with a comforting hit of mealiness that melts in your mouth. They’re often served plain or with applesauce, and in this region, topped with pink slabs of smoked lox.
This little baby is definitely ready for its close up, Mr. DeMille.
But wait. What’s all this?
It’s bacon! Bacon, hidden underneath the lox – a salty, chewy, surprise. Bacon and lox. Polar opposites of the health spectrum, yet such an exquisite combination. It’s a match!
This post has been brought to you by WanderFood Wednesday.
Potato Famine? My Arse.
May 5, 2010 in Oishii, Uncategorized, WanderFood
So it’s El Cinco de Mayo. Cinco de Mayo for you, that is; they don’t do Cinco de Mayo here in Ireland. But that’s okay; I don’t need no estinking margaritas or nachos or mariachis because I have POTATOES. Read ‘em and weep, putos.
Back in the Saddle
April 21, 2010 in dublin, Oishii, WanderFood
At this time last week, I never wanted to eat again as long as I lived. Seriously. Me; a gal who has seriously considered hooking myself up to a cupcake IV, to whom life is nothing, nothing, nothing if I don’t have food. Well, after one relapse and five days on the rice-and-potatoes diet, mama is back in the saddle.
Fearless.
No holds barred. One plate of evil mussels can’t bring this girl down.
So it’s dinner at Aya; i.e., Irish-style kaiten sushi. Triple the price of kaiten sushi in Japan; half the quality; double the cuteness. Service buttons screech Attention! Attention! instead of setting off silent alarms. No calls of いらっしゃいませ。Five plates of salmon down the hatch. And so far, mama’s doing fine.
Yep. Back in the saddle. Bring on the boxty and the spicy ramen.
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