Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Monday, Nov 25, Cooking lesson #1

PI woke up at 7 this morning to get a nice early start. Today is my first cooking class with Elisa. I had planned to attend language school, as usual, but Marta suggested I try something new, like a cooking class.  I wanted a hands on experience, along with a few hours of language immersion. 


The accredited cooking schools were too expensive. The reason I can come here so often, is I spend very little money, compared to the normal tourist. That almost changed today! I saw the most beautiful leopard patterned boots in a shop window. I will dream about those boots. 

I searched the Internet for cooking classes in Tuscany, but found them to be mostly short group classes, which I have already attended here. I'm not really interested in an expensive demonstration style class, where one has to sit in a chair and look up at the overhead mirror to watch. 

I looked at several of my FaceBook 'liked' Florence tour guide pages and emailed 'Tours around Florence (Conoscere Firenze)' for information. Alessio here from the hotel also called for me, just to be sure.  I decided to sign-up for 3 days of private cooking lessons.  It was more expensive than the language class, but I decided it would be a great experience. 



But first today, I needed to quickly get my Italian cellular SIM card charged. I tried to call Marta in Cremona yesterday and the phone didn't work. 

Such disappointment! I walked into the Tabaccheria just over Ponte Santa Trinità at 8.45. There were two men behind the counter. It's always a busy shop with people running in and out. They sell more than smoking products.  Each shop is a little different. Here you can find find phone cards, magazines, comic books, daily newspapers, playing cards, gum, candy, bus tickets and sometimes Tarot cards. 

I handed over my phone with the address book open, so they could see my phone number. One man took my money and the other punched in a renewal for 20€. I put my change away and with the phone in hand, I turned away, waiting to hear the little message beep verifying it was recharged. At the same moment I realized there was no confirmation message, the men called me back. 'Your phone number is invalid.' they said. 'When did you last charge it?'  In maggio! I responded. 

Oh no they said, after 6 months of non use, the number is inactivated. The rules have changed, I said. Yes, they agreed, the number used to be good for a year. Sorry senoria. Now it's good for only 6 months. You have to use it or lose it. 

So now I have to go find a phone store. I know where it used to be on Via Martini. But I have no free time until Wednesday. 

At nine o'clock, I waited outside the hotel for Elisa. I had already found her picture on the internet, along with her official Tour Guide credentials. I also know how hard it is to earn these credentials. 

Her hair was no longer short snd curly but pulled up into a long neat pony tail. We made eye contact first, then walked toward each other for introductions. Since  Alessio was our (trusted) go-between, we already knew a little about each other. 

She had parked nearby, over near the Arno River.  We drive up into the hills toward her home. She explained she learned to cook from her grandmother, her nonna, who ran a restaurant in the countryside. She served good hearty food and taught Elisa everything she knew. I shared a similar background with her. My grandmother taught me to cook. She grew up in a hotel, with a mother, grandmother and Chinese servants in the Sierra Nevada gold country. They made carry-out hot lunches for the miners to carry underground. As a young girl, I collected recipes and transcribed recipes my grandmother carried in her memory. 


As Lisa drove,  I vaguely recognized the road. It has a history she told me. Michelangelo was born in a little town up this road. It was also the road to Bologna during Medieval times.  The Medici family liked to travel the back roads here, because they felt safer. This is the road Leonardo took to Bologna. It took four or five days to make the journey. 



It was windy and slightly raining when she pulled over to a viewing turnout. Of course my cheap folding umbrella turned inside out as we walked a bit up the road. She pulled up her hood and gave me her big sturdy umbrella. She's a prepared and experienced Tour Guide, who also speaks eight languages! 

From a bend in the road, we looked back over a stunning view of Firenze. I could see Santa Croce, the glowing blue dome of the synagogue and the Cupola.



The mind is an amazing piece of equipment. Elisa spoke only Italian to me, just as I requested. I'm feeling a desperate need to be immersed in the language. I have so many rules of grammar, fairly clear in my mind. But I need the occasion to hear and speak. I need to respond and ask questions. My reading skills exceed my speaking  ability. I feel like I'm getting out of balance. Alessandro and I used to speak almost daily. After two years of missing that practice...I feel it slipping away. Maybe not far far away, but it's not expanding or improving. 

But as Elisa spoke, my mother tongue English kept intruding and distracting me.  I had to really work to quiet it down.  It was not that I wanted to speak English but sort of a chatter saying 'you don't know every word she's saying. How can you understand this.' It was very distracting to hear two languages at the same moment. It was not a translation taking place. It was a worry argument. 

I gave myself a mental image of letting go and stepping onto an escalator, trusting that I would not fall off.  That helped. Plus breathing. 

Once my brain realized no English words would be arriving anytime soon, it was much earlier to understand Elisa. She's used to speaking to tourists. She speaks clearly. I'm not sure of her pace but I was able to keep up. 

One must let the words flow in and ignore unknown words, which can make you trip and miss the words which follow. After a full day of cooking with Elisa, I found I could repeat phrases I didn't understand. Then she would explain. She also had me read the recipe out loud and corrected. It's funny because she told me Italian should be spoken in one flat range, only raising the voice to give real emphasis. I need to listen to more conversations to get a better feeling for this. 

Across from Elisa's home is a field where cinghiale (wild boar) roam. In that field they are protected from hunters. She told me about a family who had saved and adopted a baby pig. That grown pig now follows them like a pet dog. I would love to see a living one up close. 



In her enclosed yard she grows 6 different types of pepperoncini (hot peppers), sage (with leaves the size of large bar of soap), parsley, rosemary and thyme.  Plus a lot of other plants I saw ...but I was there to cook not garden. 

I meet her razaggo, a very sweet soft spoken man. I had a little trouble understanding him, unfortunately.

Her two dogs greeted me.  One older white male and a young female wolf, named after a goddess.  Great dogs. They let me pet them and I think they knew I liked them a lot. 

Elisa already had the recipes printed out for me. She was surprised I had brought my own apron. With my iPhone nearby to document the class, we began to cook. 


We made ravioli with a filling of ricotta and spinach. The ricotta was freshly made by a contadino, from cow's milk. She let me taste the difference between it and a high quality store bought ricotta. Very different flavors and texture.  She said both were very acceptable. Of course the freshly made was best. 


She put some spinach on the stove to steam. 



The eggs we used had orange yolks and brown mottled shells. She was surprised when I told her about American eggs. Her grandmother said yellow yolks were an indication that the hen was not well. Those eggs were to be discarded. I cracked my first Italian egg! I felt a difference in the shell. It was a bit thicker, I think than theAmerican  standard brown egg. 












The day was so educational! I finally now understand the proper technique for making homemade pasta. 

Ten full minutes of finger kneading the eggs and flour in the bowl. 

Ten more minutes of kneading on a wooden board, with proper hand position. 

Palms should be open. Heat from the hands changes the texture. 

Make dough with windows closed. There should be no draft. 

Overlap the dough from side to side. 

More time for pasta to rest.

Work pasta on wood not marble.

Use a cotton table cloth for a work space.

Find the handle for my pasta machine and don't use the electric attachment which spins the cylinders. It's unforgiving and takes away one's control of the dough. 

We began the pasta water. Elisa does not salt the water heavily. The sauce can control the saltiness. If the ingredients used are fresh and hearty, their natural flavors do not need much salt. For ravioli, she adds a bit of olive oil to the water. 



These ravioli were about to be cooked for our lunch. Serving size is 3-4 per person. Using 1/2 cube of butter, she slowly simmered a handful if fresh whole sage leaves. 



But before dropping the ravioli into the boiling water, Elisa prepared a plate of antipasto. 



The prosciutto was made by her father.  It takes a full year to cure. I tasted blood sausage for the first time (maiale/pig). We also a sort of head cheese and finocchiona salame (fennel).

Every bit was fantastic. Delicious. This is real food.    


She drizzled olive oil and a few grains of salt on Tuscan bread. The olive oil was just pressed last week by her father. I love love the taste of freshly pressed olive oil. It's one of the reasons I come in the fall. 




Then a plateful of ravioli, drizzled with melted butter and topped with a whole sage leaf. Fantastic food!! All foods Alessandro taught me to enjoy. Every bite of food brought back memories of the love and adventures we shared.  



Elisa gifted me three sizes of pasta rolling pins and a bottle of Tuscan wine to take to my family in Cremona. 


She drive back the way we came this morning and made the same stop along the road.  I was able to capture a few great pictures. The lighting was better, without wind or rain. 




On the drive back to Firenze, I realized why the road looked familiar.  I've driven through this area with Alessandro. He loved these hills. 

It's also the road past the cemetery at Trespiano. 

Elisa dropped me off at a spot of my choice near the train station and I walked back toward the hotel, by way of Borgo San Lorenzo. I noted Benetton is no longer located here. I love the way restaurants display the quality and freshness of their food. 




In the Piazza della Republica I found a book sellers tent and inside found a wonderful Divine Comedy by Dante. It's a dual language publication. On the left side is the original text in old Italian and on the right, modern Italian. Finally I'll be able to read Dante in Italian. 



Elisa's ragazzo told me those books in the tent are from my favorite Edison bookstore.  A ghostly presence outside their now empty store. An old friend, back for a visit. 



It's been a wonderful day. My bed, as it's always made up by Asumi. 



Sent from my iPhone

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