The title grab your dirty little minds? Sorry Charlies this is a story about – well not what you think.
Traveling is always a tiresome adventure. Though I am never sure why sitting in a plane for 7 hours; then racing through terminals for a connecting flight; then sitting on the tarmac longer than the next 45 minute leg of the journey; then waiting because the baggage didn’t show up; then cramming in a small car with luggage piled on top of me should be tiring. But hey it is.
So what is the first thing I do to decompress? Here’s a hint, I learned this from my father. Those who know me, know that the first place to go to decompress and get rejuvenated is the local watering hole. Even better is to go to the local watering hole with a local.
Our ace translator, information maven and all around great pal, Annarita Mancini, accompanied us to Bar Mixed Fantasy. Giuseppe, “Peppe”, Natale and his wife Antonella Lombardi are the owners of this local hot spot. Open from morning till – well morning, Bar Mixed Fantasy is one of the bars that locals use as a home away from home. Pontelandolfo has three bars and it seems like folks rotate between them but also have their favorite. Annarita tells us that young adults meet at Bar Mixed Fantasy before going out to dinner and discos. They often say they are just meeting for one drink but end up staying for a couple of hours. Why? Peppe and Antonella have great personalities and the thirty-somethings feel like they are hanging out with a neighbor – oh, they are. Another youngun told me, ” Peppe acts like one our friends and treats us like family.”
We ordered our beverages of choice – no caffè for this crew – and sat in the bar’s back room. (When I was but a wee thing, I remember sitting in the back room of Farley’s Tavern in Flagtown. Now back rooms are as extinct as dinosaurs.)
Back Rooms are where deals are made and secrets are shared.
Bar Mixed Fantasy has a large covered outdoor space, a tiny two table bar area and good sized back room. Customers sidle up to the bar and order. You can stand and slug back your coffee or take it to a table. Peppe and his crew will also carry your stuff to a table for you. Remember, there is no tipping here. We’ve left 50 centesimi on the bar only to have someone race it back to our table. I gotta say that is a hard lesson to learn. We often start to tip and have a relative slap our hands and toss our money back at us.
H’mmm an Italian beverage in an Italian bar. Heaven! Peppe logged his wi-fi magic code into my iPad, we kicked back, checked e-mail and forgot about nasty TSA dudes, lost luggage and well just about everything. Papà was right – head to Farley’s Tavern – I mean the local watering hole.
The back room even helps us village newbies learn more about our heritage.
This local joint is not just the requisite caffè/bar. Karaoke nights bring in crowds to the comfortable back room – which also serves as a rosticceria/spaghetteria. Antonella takes reservations for lunches “fatto in casa.” Spaghetteria e cucina con piatti tipici locali. Think having lunch at your sister’s – if your sister was a great cook. Alina Natale, Antonella’s daughter, when she is not dancing helps out. Alina dances with the local folklorico company and studies classical dance. This trip a visit Antonella’s spaghetteria is on my hot to do list.
Become their friend on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/giuseppepaparazzo/
Suddenly shouts fill the air. Shit why are folks screaming? Oh yeah, a bunch of guys are sitting around outside playing cards. Playing cards is a very vocal sport.
After kicking around a ball – calcio is in their blood- little kids showed up for gelato. Francesco Natale, the mini Peppe, was one of them. This cute fellow has a huge smile and incredible larger than life personality. He can often be found playing calcio with the other village kids or sitting at a table playing scopa. Bar Mixed Fantasy appeals to patrons of all ages.
Last summer my extended family spent more than a few afternoons on the Bar Mixed Fantasy patio – only chatting of course.
What did I have? Campari Soda! Senza ghiaccio – neat. Ah, I feel my blood flowing already.
Have you ever been surrounded by people and yet still felt so lonely that your heart chakra ached? That is how I felt this morning. I am in sunny Ecuador, met a super italo-ecuadoriana, am staying with great friends but feel a gaping hole in my heart. At first I thought I was home sick – I never get home sick. Than I thought it was because my zia in Flagtown had a stroke yesterday and I am a continent away. Shazaam – it hit me -I was feeling lonely because I didn’t have a sense of community here. No “tribe” to connect with. All that depressive thinking made me hunger for comfort – comfort food – bread like I can only find at Diglio Panificio in Pontelandolfo! Diglio’s not only kept us in thick crusty bread but also was one of my connections to the community – it was a place I didn’t feel like a stranger or alone.
Some mornings I would walk down the hill just to buy a round of bread and if the Panificio wasn’t busy, I would talk to the owner, Nicola Diglio. My Italian isn’t the best but we would talk about the village, economy, USA, whatever. Nicola never made fun of my attempts to pronounce the pastries or how long it took me to decide which pizza slices to bring home in the morning for our night time snacks. That bakery was one of the anchors of the community for me.
Some Wednesdays after strolling through the market, my cousin Carmella and I would take a shopping break by going to Diglio’s for a cappuccino, a little nosh and a lot of laughter. Carmella is a bright star in my universe and of course she introduced me to this pasticceria.
Cousins/Sisters having a laugh.
According to their brochure, Diglio opened its doors in 1983 with a commitment to use recipes handed down form generation to generation. When you visit Italy, you can find the shop at 2, Via Eglido Gentile, 82027 Pontelandolfo (BN). It truly is a pasticceria artigiana – when you watch the video you’ll agree with me.
While selecting pictures for the video I saw one of the Diglio’s little sandwiches on scrumptious rolls and got a little misty. Zap – flash back to my dad’s first cousin, Giuseppina, insisting we stop at Diglio’s so she could buy the sandwiches before l’avventura. Jack and I take Giussipina and her sister Paulina on road trip adventures. They pick the place to go – it’s always a shrine – there are tons in our area. Since we never saw a shrine and loved listening to the two of them chatter and laugh at us, we would go to shrines – with bags of Diglio yummy mini sandwiches.
Giuseppina, Paulina & Jack 2013 adventure
Then I flashed back to 1995. when I first knocked on Giussipina’s door, pointed at my family tree and said in pidgin Italian “tu sei il cugino di mio padre?”. That timid knock resulted in finding my extended family and celebrating with what – pastries from Diglio.
1995 Giuseppina & Paulina – note the pastries.
Whenever I bought pastries I would marvel at the way they are presented – perched on a golden cardboard tray and gingerly wrapped in pretty paper. The presentation always made any day that you bought a pastry feel like a special day. Some days I just need a special day and a sfogliatella prettily wrapped can be just the medicine it takes to turn the grey sky into blue.
One bite is better than a happy pill.
This past June was the first time I had Il Rusticacio – a small bread puff made with cheese, egg and salame. When I bit into one I swear I felt my grandmother hugging me. People have been eating – what we call artigianale – dough filled things for generations. The connection I feel in Pontelandolfo to my family is intense and eating food made with ancient recipes makes the connection even tighter. Is that my grandmother pinching my cheeks?
One day I went into the shop and Nicola’s son, Antonio, who is a super creative part of the artistic bakery team was behind the counter. The door opened and his daughter came in from school – she looked at me, I looked at her and recognition twinkled in both our eyes. She said “Good Morning – How are You?” The secret phrase I told the kids in the public school that I worked with to say to me whenever they saw me. Boom – an even bigger connection to the bakery.
Community – that is what I need in order to feel secure, happy and healthy. When I am in Pontelandolfo – we go back May 1st – walking into Diglio Panificio yields more than just a loaf of bread. Enjoy the video!
What’s a woman to do when the farmer down the road keeps dropping off pumpkins?
I know what your thinking – It’s December and Thanksgiving is long over. Why the devil are you getting pumpkins? I made the mistake of mentioning that I put left over Thanksgiving pumpkins to use by baking them, cleaning and gutting them and freezing the pumpkin to make soup, pie, pumpkin gnocchi etc. In the friendly world of farm country that means – hey, the chick down the street will take all your left over pumpkins! As my friend Jonathan said to me, “when life gives you a shitload of lemons – make lemonade.” Well, the pumpkins were multiplying and I decided to make pumpkin gnocchi!
Christmas is right around the corner so why not be a little daring – make pumpkin gnocchi for your primo piatto. No one will expect it.
Gnocchi, ready to be cooked. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I must tell you – after the grandkiddies go gaga from staring at electronic toys you can save the day by playing makin’ gnocchi – otherwise known as rolling and slicing snakes! Jack, a member of my extended family, came over one day and it was too cold to play outside. What saved the day? Makin’ gnocchi! His mom was our videographer – enjoy!
I don’t really have a tested recipe. Cooking in my house is like great improvised theater. So here is about what we did:
Cooked up a pumpkin. Got rid of the seeds. Sliced it and mashed up about a 1/2 cup.
Peeled and cooked potatoes and mashed up about 1 cup.
Mixed the potatoes and pumpkins together really well and tossed in 1/4 cup grated Parmesan Cheese, a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Then we added about 1 1/2 cups of flour – enough flour to make it look like a dough.
We took handfuls of dough and made snakes. Cut the snakes into 1 inch pieces and put them on a linen towel to dry. You can score them with the tine of a fork if you want to be cutesy.
A big pot of salted water was put on the stove. When it was boiling I dumped in the gnocchi. They sunk. When they floated to the top they were done. How simple is this!
The sauce was just melted butter, sage and chopped pumpkin – with the necessary salt, pepper and more grated parm!
Take a moment and imagine small town America before ugly strip malls and giant box stores polluted the landscape. See happy healthy people greeting their neighbors as they walk to those wonderful, small family owned shops.
Turn of the 20th century shopping in Pontelandolfo!
Clutching your mom’s hand you visit the butcher, who knows your name and gives you a big smile. You mom says she wants to have a pork roast for dinner – the butcher asks for how many people? “Just six” she says. The big walk-in fridge is opened and you see giant hanging slabs of meat – half a cow, a whole pig – is that goat?
Meat hooks at a butcher. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
He pulls down the pig carcass and brings it to the giant wooden shopping block. Like a sculptor wielding sharpened knives and a dancer moving to the crack of the cleaver, the butcher magically creates the perfect pork roast just for you. Wrapped in white butcher paper and tied with twine, the gift of good eating is ready to carry home. Hmmmm – no porcine growth hormones, no chemical enhancements just farm grown – the way nature intended it – meat.
Growing up in Flagtown, NJ – when the area was still rural/agrarian – I actually played in fields that held cows, pigs, chickens, goats, sheep and lots of piles of @#$%. My grandmother taught us how to butcher and clean poultry and game. Our little village even had a butcher shop. Aniello De Scala moved from Brooklyn to Flagtown long before I was born to open a small shop and get away from the Brooklyn mob (so his daughter told me). When I was a kid Aniello’s son George was the butcher. (One of the De Scala butcher blocks is currently feeling lonely in my garage.) Then the developments started eating up the farm land and “progress” brought us supermarkets. Small stores faded away…..
Living in Pontelandolfo is a return to a kinder and gentler way of living and eating. We are in carnivore heaven in Pontelandolfo – there are not one, not two but three butcher shops in our little village – great food means a lot to Pontelandolfesi. The shop I visited the most was Marcelleria, Cinque M.A.M. S.R.L., located at Via Falcone E Borsellino. (I have no clue what the initials mean – they’re all on the sign.) My cousin Carmella explained that this shop was a cooperative for the local farmers – a big plus for me.
Santina Guerrera, ace butcher and charming woman.
Santina Guerrera (h’mm is she related to me?) would greet me every time I went into her Macelleria with a big smile and once with a great question – “Hai intenzione di parlare un buon italiano oggi o cattivo italiano?” (Are you going to speak good Italian today or bad Italian?) I paused, shrugged my shoulders, smiled and repied “Sempre cattivo!” (Always bad.) Clean up your minds – this wasn’t about talking dirty but speaking Italian properly – something I still haven’t mastered. Santina would smile as I fuddled through my orders. The first time I wanted chicken for my extended family of eleven, I learned what an Italian meat portion was. I originally asked for 7 chicken breasts and four full thigh/legs. Santina looked at me and asked “how many are you cooking for?” When I said eleven she cut the order in half and got the cleaver out to separate thighs from legs and cut each breast in half. I thought, this won’t feed eleven. In the USA everybody gets 1/2 pound each! She was right, my Italian cousins eat small healthy portions.
Santina prepares beef and pork for grinding.
One day, I decided to make an “American” meal for my extended family. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and some green thing or another. I told Santina what I wanted to make – un grande polpettone – and couldn’t understand why she took huge hunks of meat out of the walk in fridge. Midge, you silly girl, she is going to grind it fresh!
She tossed a hunk of beef and a hunk of pork in the giant grinder and out came ground integrated meat. I started to drool on the counter. Of course everything I bought was beautifully wrapped up for me.
The other butcher I visited was Macelleria Perugini Franco on Via Falcone Borsellino, 4. Franco made incredible sausage. At first I had to figure out what days he was grinding meat and adding his magical spices – because until I got the schedule down there wouldn’t be any left! He made the sausage fresh. I just found an old receipt and it only cost me € 3,87 (about $5 for 4 servings of freshly made exceptional sausage.)
No matter where we are in the world, I try never to buy supermarket meat – schifoso – wrapped in plastic, pumped full of chemicals, grown in small crowded cages – gag me – chicken and beef that – well I better stop so I don’t ruin your appetite. When Jack and I are in Flagtown we buy most of our meat directly from local farmers – Farview Farm (http://www.farviewfarm.com) in Readington and Lima Farms (http://limafamilyfarms.com) in Hillsborough.
Carnivores of the world unite behind your local butcher and family farm! We are blessed to have ours in both of our home towns.
Before I ventured into Alimentari De Angelis, our local salumeria for the first time alone, I stood outside and took a breath. My heart was pounding. Would I remember all the Italian I needed to buy mortadella or prosciutto or – well anything? Etto? Cento grammi – was that close to 1/4 pound? Theatre training kicks in – I review my lines – visualize my actions – think about what I was doing before I went through the door and said, “Vorrei un etto di – – Un etto of what – eeeeeeech -here is where I point at the case and resist saying “that salami looking stuff”. I know these words. I eat these words – wait – I didn’t say that right.
Now you are thinking – it is just a store in a small Italian village – stop with the dramatics. You’re right. But in this village everyone knows everyone else. I can’t embarrass generations of Guerreras and Sollas. I notice the woman on the bench near the store staring at me. I go in. The small shop – about 8X10 – was crammed full of just about anything you needed to create a quick scrumptious meal. Packets of pasta, a few round loaves of bread, rice, canned good, juice, paper plates, – you get the picture.
The three people in front of the meat counter turned as I pushed aside the beaded curtain, entered and said “boun giorno.” (Everyone says boun giorno every time they enter a shop – most times the folks in the shop echo an answer.) While I was waiting for my turn, the other customers and I stood close together in the jammed packed shop. This was a good thing. I could see and hear how they interacted with the shop’s owner, Pierina De Angelis. After all, we were all here for what was found in the refrigerator case – mortadella, prosciutto, salami di Milano, salami di Napoli …..
Soon it was my turn – I noticed a price list taped to the refrigerated display case and had memorized it. How could everything be un euro or un euro e 20 centesimi per un etto? Cheap great meats – how did I know the cold cuts were great? My cousin and world’s greatest cook, Carmela Mancini, shopped here.
The friendly Pierina De Angelis and her husband Antonio Santo Pietro. (My nonna’s first husband was a Santo Pietro – wonder if we are kind of related?)
“Vorrei un etto di mortadella, per favore.” The blonde Pierina standing by the old fashioned counter smiled and asked me where I was from – in Italian of course. Damn, was my italian so bad that she pegged me right away as an outsider? That happens to me a lot. I told her I was from New Jersey and before I knew it we were having a simple conversation and she discovered where I was from, who I was related to and how long I was staying! She made me feel comfortable and not embarrassed by my accent. I wanted to be her friend for life! OK, now it is time to order – guess what – I forgot the entire product list that I had memorized. Ugggg. We started with the mortadella.
If you haven’t had great mortadella – but only the crap we get in the USA super markets – you haven’t tasted the cold cut that makes you keep coming back and buying more! As a matter of fact, even though my cholesterol rises when ever I think of mortadella, I bought the yummy meats about every other day.
Mortadella – so very very very good.
Starting in about 1899 Americans were calling anything made of pork parts and stuffed in a casing bologne/baloney. Maybe manufacturers thought they could trick folks with limited taste buds into buying the stuff thinking it was like Mortadella – a famous culinary tradition of Bologna, Italy.
Mortadella di Bologna starts with finely ground pork, usually the lesser cuts of meat that are not used for other types of sausage. In fact Mortadella is a testament to the resourcefulness of the Italian pig farmers as nothing edible on the pig is wasted. This ground meat is mixed with a high quality fat (usually from the throat) and a blend of salt, white pepper, peppercorns, coriander, anise, pieces of pistachio and wine. The mixture is then stuffed into a beef or pork casing depending upon the size of the sausage and cooked according to weight. After cooking mortadella is left to cool in order to stabilize the sausage and give it firmness.
It must be cocktail hour somewhere! I wrapped mortadella around grissini added olives and Campari soda. Now that is art.
After the first week of repeated stops at her shop, Pierina could almost guess my order. Un etto di mortadella for me and due cento grammi di salami for Jack. Jack experimented with the various types of salami and couldn’t decide which he liked best. Bottom line? It was all wonderful.
No it is NOT Boars Head. This one – whose name I have of course forgotten – was spicy.
Alimentari De Angelis has been in Pierina De Angelis’ family for generations. She and her husband Antonio Santo Pietro have run it for a long time. I was saddened to hear that they will be closing the shop this fall. They are moving on toward retirement. Boy, do I hope that someone as nice and who sells productsjust as good steps in to fill the gastronomic void.
Watch out! Sheeeeeeeet, the motorini is aiming for us. I clutch the armrest. My heart races. Jack scowls and bellows, “stop screeching.”
Photo From Guardian UK
Ahhhhh, thank you for listening. I have discharged my angst. I inhale deeply, and count to ten. H,mmmmmmm. I visualize white light surrounding the car. WATCH OUT!!!!!! I immediately stop all this relaxation, funky granola, bull poop and bellow, “DON’T EVER TAKE A FREAKIN’ CAR INTO THE CENTER OF NAPLES!”
Here’s the story. It was a beautiful day and we thought we could explore Naples. Our fabulous landlord had taken us a few weeks earlier. He drove us directly into the glorious historic center. He was incredibly familiar with the city and assured us the historic center was clean, safe and wonderful. It was! The architecture and history are worth a visit. With Nichola we strolled down to the waterfront, had a caffè in a small bar and people watched.
Post card pretty.
We thought we could do it on our own. (Notice the “we thought”.) We were accompanied by Giusy who attends Università DI Napoli “Federico II”. The plan was to take the train from Benevento. The down side of idyllic, very small village life is that there is really no public transportation. At 7:00 or 7:40 AM students and those lucky enough to have jobs can take the bus to Benevento. At 8:30 AM there is a bus to Campobasso. We didn’t know until a few days later you can take it all the way to Naples but it is a really long – stop everywhere – ride. Where was I? Oh yeah, the plan was to take the train from Benevento. Great plan – 20 minute ride to the station – 30 minutes trying to figure out where to park – and then finding a parking lot only to discover that the prepay machine only took coins! Sounds like New Jersey transit – we’ve got the trains just nowhere to leave your car. Shouting and cursing ensued – that was me. Jack did the scowl sigh thing. Giusy said, “maybe we should just drive.” Well she lives there how bad could it be?
I need to point out that the last time Jack drove to Naples – about 5 years ago – we were going to the Capodimonte Museum and National Galleries and got stuck in a horn blowing, knives flashing, traffic jam at a 1/2 mile wide round-about (circle). We were forced to crawl around the circle for about 45 minutes. We had only gone about half-way around the huge thing when Jack was able to ease off into a wide avenue. In less than one block, the wide two way street had bottlenecked into a goat path. People had double parked or abandoned their cars on both sides of the street. It was an impassable, drivers screaming and horns blaring NIGHTMARE. Jack Mr. Calm in a crisis pulled the car onto the sidewalk and told us to get out. When in Rome or Naples do as …. We abandoned the car, took a cab to the museum and worried abut driving later. So, here we are driving in Naples again. Are we insane? Don’t answer that.
This time we had our handy iPhones and could use the GPS. We knew we wanted to explore a neighborhood and picked the bayside “Posillipo”. Getting in was a dream. We took the autostrada to the city and then followed the water all the way to Posillipo. Parking in a lot was easy – though again you could only use change. Since we figured we only needed three hours to stroll, eat lunch and stare at the sea, we scrounged enough coins. The view from Posillipo is amazing. We all agreed this was the neighborhood to live in.
Blue skies, beautiful buildings – perfect!
Gated private streets led to magnificent houses and apartment buildings. Sigh, anybody want to give me a scant million?
Want to buy me this house in Posillipo?We first saw these “lovers locks” in Paris a few decades ago. Young love….Now this is a roof top terrace!
Strolling through the neighborhood we discovered a restaurant with an incredible view. Reginella Restaurant was the type that brochures touting the charms of a seaside community are sure to mention. It was perched on the side of the cliff leading down to the Bay of Naples.
Magical view! Note the very thin wrought iron railings – easy to see the sea.
We sat on a terrace overlooking the sea. Initially, the charming host sat us right next to the railing – ah a glorious view! Giusy and I looked at each other – we were both turning green. All I saw was my life passing before my eyes as I fell off the side of the cliff and lay broken on the rocks below. With chattering teeth we asked for another table.
Ahh – happy new people sitting in our still warm railing side seats.I stopped hyperventilating enough to take a cute photo.
Once we were happily seated a bit further back, we concentrated on the incredible seafood. I’ll let you see the food and judge for your selves. (Pssst – My “risotto alla pescatore” was chock full of clams, mussels, scallops and pieces of calamari.)
Octopus tossed with lemon on a bed of arugula.Need protein? Buffalo mozzarella hidden under prosciutto.I took the mussels and clams out of their shells and then remembered to take a picture. Hey, It smelled like I should dig right in.
Delicious! Seafood by the sea . Those of you waiting for the other DON’T DRIVE shoe to drop. Hang on – here it comes.
After lunch we strolled a bit and took in the sites of the neighborhood. Most shops were closed. Even stores in the cities close for lunch and a break, opening again at about 4:30. Sated from lunch and the fabulous view we decided to head for the historic center and check out where Giusy attended university and lived.
Whaaaaaaa. Whaaaaaa. Nervous breakdown alert. If you do not have a strong stomach for street chaos stop reading.
We set the GPS for the address of the apartment, followed the bay and suddenly were told to turn left into Dante’s third level of HELL. Thousands of Evil Kenivals zoomed in and out of stop and go traffic on motorcycles, motorini and broom sticks. Cars double and tripped parked making streets impassable. The GPS didn’t quite get street closings due to well who knows – it was Tuesday. Where the hell was my Xanax? Clutching the purse on my lap like a life jacket, I tried not to cry out every time a freakin’ car or motorini cut us or or came careening toward us. My nails bit into my palms. Jack squared his waspy jaw and forged ahead. Forging ahead isn’t the right phrase. Begging for life – that’s a good phrase. Or crying for my mother – that’s a good phrase. It is like driving a car in a full washing machine set to the spin cycle. Bump, rrrrrrrrrrrrt, squeak, ugggggggg — HELL.
Giusy reminded us she always took the bus and walked and didn’t really know the direct route to her apartment. Gee, thanks for the relevant information! We saw the sign for a parking lot and whipped the car in. Relief. On foot, we enjoyed exploring the university.
Who could study in this place. I’d be staring at the architecture.
Next, it was on to discover how college kids live. We checked out Giusy’s apartment – palace sized rooms stuffed with kids. Sound familiar? Well, in the U.S. we really don’t usually find apartments with 14 foot ceilings, beautiful ironwork elevators and five bedrooms, two baths for 350 euros per each of the five roommates. Granted, clothes were still tossed around and the furniture was all cast off – but still it felt like a palace.
Time to go – so we trudged to the parking lot – where being 8 minutes late – they charged us for an extra hour. Giusy argued like a trooper and oh yeah – she won! They didn’t charge us. We gritted our teeth for the drive home. I couldn’t watch as Jack tried to squeeze out of the garage to the street. We hadn’t a clue how to get out of town and the GPS in our iPhone was obviously under a lot of stress. We ended up by the docks – well that was fun. Not TOO many cars jockeying for position there. We sat inhaling exhaust for what felt like hours – Jack says it was only 30 minutes. The conversation in the car came to a dead halt. Since I was’t allowed to make caustic comments or scream, it was very quiet. Somehow Jack got us out of the city and on to the highway. We all exhaled and enjoyed the mountains, farms and lush green that is the Italian country side.
Naples is a glorious city. TAKE THE BUS!
PS: Jack says it wasn’t so bad. We got home didn’t we!!!
Drat that avid blog reader, Kathy Hall! She asked me the living abroad question of all questions. How do avowed foodies living in a country with such a great cooking tradition satisfy their palate’s need for diversity. Didn’t I miss Jamaican food, Thai food, French Food, Mexican Food, Ethiopian Food, SUSHI!!
Images of sushi flutter through my mind.
Damn, now all I think about is Sakura Sushi in Hillsborough NJ – home of the best Sushi in the tri-state area – I know it’s the best because I sample sushi everywhere. Time to be proactive and stop just dreaming about Rainbow Caviar Roll, yellowtail pieces, raw fresh scallops, spicy tuna… I googled Sushi in Campania. Whoa – there are a bunch of sushi joints in Naples. Rats – driving in and out of Naples is a harrowing experience. What to do – oh, down on the bottom of the list was a place called Sosushi in Avellino. I googled it – a franchise with 30 restaurants through out Italy. Mc Donald’s of sushi? H’mmm – stop procrastinating. Avellino – we have never been to Avellino and it’s only about 45 minutes away. Let’s go! And with that the Sushi Quest began.
Remember that scrumptious ravioli Carmela made for my birthday? (Check the May 15 blog – Pumpkin Ravioli.) She used an incredible Tupperware ravioli mold – former – thingy. I had to have one.
The Tupperware Lady told me that they don’t ship the stuff made in the USA here – cost too much. There are Tupperware factories in Belgium, France and Portugal. H’mm do they make special EU stuff that we can’t get – like great large ravioli former things????
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 