When I get together with my friends here in Florence we often end up talking about things that we miss from North America. With the advent of super centre grocery and home stores whatever we wanted was usually just an aisle or two away.
When I first arrived here in Florence I had trouble adjusting to actually having to source out what I thought were essential items. It turns out that what we North Americans think are essential items, and what Italians think are essential items, are two very different things. I remember a good friend telling me, when I first moved here, that I had to get my head around the spoiled North American way of focusing on convenience. He then went on to ask me to make him pumpkin soup; something he very much missed from home. I laughed about the irony of his request given his advice. Canned pure pumpkin was not something that I would be able to just go pick up at the corner grocery store. I thought that there was no way that we would find canned pure pumpkin here in Florence. After a few days of both he and I going to every shop that we possibly thought would have it, and I had given up, he called to say that he found a store that had it. A little Asian market that I have come to appreciate for having unusual ethnic items that the typical markets do not carry. While I have never thought of pumpkin as an ethnic item, I suppose North American (Canadians and Americans) is an ethnicity of sorts. Certainly Thanksgiving, and all the yummy foods associated with Thanksgiving, is a cultural celebration that is unique to North America. I guess I think of food associated with an ethnicity as a little more exotic than pumpkin, hence why I never thought to go to a store that specializes in ethnic items, but there was the pumpkin just down the aisle from the Mexican and Asian items. Pumpkin found, my good friend was able to enjoy a little bit of North America; homemade pumpkin soup.
When I first arrived here in Florence I had trouble adjusting to actually having to source out what I thought were essential items. It turns out that what we North Americans think are essential items, and what Italians think are essential items, are two very different things. I remember a good friend telling me, when I first moved here, that I had to get my head around the spoiled North American way of focusing on convenience. He then went on to ask me to make him pumpkin soup; something he very much missed from home. I laughed about the irony of his request given his advice. Canned pure pumpkin was not something that I would be able to just go pick up at the corner grocery store. I thought that there was no way that we would find canned pure pumpkin here in Florence. After a few days of both he and I going to every shop that we possibly thought would have it, and I had given up, he called to say that he found a store that had it. A little Asian market that I have come to appreciate for having unusual ethnic items that the typical markets do not carry. While I have never thought of pumpkin as an ethnic item, I suppose North American (Canadians and Americans) is an ethnicity of sorts. Certainly Thanksgiving, and all the yummy foods associated with Thanksgiving, is a cultural celebration that is unique to North America. I guess I think of food associated with an ethnicity as a little more exotic than pumpkin, hence why I never thought to go to a store that specializes in ethnic items, but there was the pumpkin just down the aisle from the Mexican and Asian items. Pumpkin found, my good friend was able to enjoy a little bit of North America; homemade pumpkin soup.
There is one item that I have time and time again heard North Americans literally yearning to find - sour cream. Get a group of North Americans together here in Florence and inevitably someone will ask, "Where can you buy sour cream?". The response has always been moans of wishing they knew. Scores of people have gone out in search of sour cream, as if it were sacred treasure, with no success. Sour cream is just not something that Italians cook with. I have always kept a bended ear to these conversations as I have often cooked with sour cream. While I hadn't needed it yet, I could see the day coming when I would want some.
That day came. With the warm weather has come friends gathering on my terrace. I can't think of a time when I have hosted friends and I have not made "slop". Slop being a yummy Mexican dip. I am not sure how it got the unappetizing name "slop", but for years I have been asked to make it. I have taken it to just about every party that I have attended. If I had a dollar for how many times I have made slop for teenagers gathering at my house I would be a very rich woman. Women often pass down very special recipes from generation to generation. While slop may not be by fine dining standards be seen as a special recipe, it is nevertheless the one recipe that I know my daughter will be making long after I am gone. While she does not share my love of cooking, she does share a love for slop and as such has mastered this one recipe.
Those that know me know that when I set my mind to do something I make it happen. I was determined to find sour cream and make slop for my friends. I figured that if there was any hope for finding sour cream it would be in one of the two very large grocery stores that are out of the centre of Florence. Each is about a 3 km walk. I headed out to the one store. When I asked for sour cream I was looked at like I had three heads. The grocery manager had no idea what I was talking about. A chef who happened to be in the store overheard my request. He said that as a chef he occasionally needs sour cream, but because he can never find it he has to make it by hand mixing together lemon and whipping cream. Well, that was not going to happen. Disappointed I walked back to the centre and headed in another direction approximately 3 kms. Now I have walked about 9 kms for a container of sour cream. Walking I could not help but think to myself that I am either crazy or determined. Perhaps a little of both. Calves sore, I entered the grocery store. I quickly became optimistic as I looked around at the wide selection of food. I almost jumped for joy when the sour cream was pointed out to me. I bought 8 small containers so that I would not have to make the trek again in the near future.
12 kms later I returned home sour cream in hand. I was able to make my slop, and it was enjoyed by all. Of course I had to make the salsa topping from scratch as quality jarred salsa is evidently not on the essential item list either here in Florence. Through what may be said is crazy determination I was able to carry on my tradition of serving slop at a gathering. I was a happy woman. I did what many thought I would not be able to do. Okay I will concede it was not quite as significant as putting man on the moon, but nevertheless I succeeded in what many people before me here in Florence have not been successful in; finding and cooking with sour cream.
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