Inside An Italian Kitchen

    

     I think that the only thing that rivals Italian mens' love of women is their love of food.  I am convinced that the saying "The way to a man's heart is through their stomach" originated in Italy as no where else in the world have I been witness to the love affair between man and food as exists in Italy.  Yes North Americans love food, but in an overindulgent kind of way.  For North Americans it is more about the quantity of food, than the quality.  In North America one often hears someone proclaim that the meal was so good that they wanted to throw up because they ate so much.  A meal usually eaten in 20 minutes or less.  For Italians it is all about the taste.  It is about respecting every ingredient that goes into a dish, making sure that each one explodes on your palate.  It is about nurturing the flavours out of the ingredients.  It is about creating a dish with such love that one has a visceral reaction when the food hits your mouth.  It is about taking the time to enjoy each and every bite, and just as important, taking the time to enjoy the company of the people that you are sharing your meal with.  A good Italian meal does not last twenty minutes.  On the contrary, it last hours.  I have come to learn that a truly good Italian meal has three vital components, each as equally important as the other - good food, good wine and good conversation between the people who happen to be fortunate enough to come together to share the good food and good wine.

     Knowing this I could not turn down an invitation to attend the home of an Italian friend who was willing to share with us "the art of creating an Italian meal".  Italian cooking truly is, in my opinion, an art form.  A painter starts with a blank canvass and paints before him.  He puts layer upon layer of paint to create a masterpiece.  In many ways Italian cooking is a similar creative process.  An Italian meal starts off with ingredients from the garden, or the market, and good wine.  In layering the flavours of the ingredients on top of one another to create a dish, and then adding the addition of good wine, the people gathered together to share in the meal enjoy a gastronomic masterpiece much like one would enjoy a finished painting.  While I may be thrown into the Arno for saying this in a city that is world renowned for its great art, I will be so bold as to say that many times I have thought that a meal before me here in Florence has impressed me as being more of a work of art than some of the paintings in the famed Uffizi gallery.

     Excited to have a glimpse of the inner workings of a home-cooked Italian meal, off five North American women went to the countryside.  While we are of varying ages, it did not matter as we all share a love of food; oh and love of good wine.  It was not without trepidation that I got onto the tram for this day of cooking.  Because I shop at the markets I know what can go into an Italian meal.  Knowing that it was just as likely that cow stomach or brains be on the menu as pasta, I did ask my friend Jennifer if she made sure that there would be no what I call weird animal parts on the menu.  With her reassurance it was with a deep sigh of relief that we went off for an afternoon cooking class in the country.

     After ensuring that our wine glasses were full, Carlotta began to share with us the secrets of Italian cooking that her grandmother taught her.  She did not follow a recipe and there were no measuring cups. It was all about the feel and smell of how the ingredients were coming together.  Something she learned watching her grandmother cook as a little girl.  I could not help but think about my grandmother and how we spent many summer days at her kitchen table with her teaching me how to cook and to bake.  While Carlotta was learning how to make pasta, I was learning how to make apple pie.  Nevertheless our experience with our grandmothers was much the same even though we came from two very different cultures.  

     The first dish that Carlotta showed us how to make can only be described as an Italian version of matzah ball soup.  No Campbell's in a carton chicken broth as the base.  Instead Carlotta had on the stove homemade broth that had been simmering for hours.  She removed the ingredients of the broth to show us what gave it flavour.  Out came the carrots, the onions and the potatoes.  Then she pulled out what she explained gave the real flavour to the broth; a cow's tongue.  I could not contain my gasp.  Without even thinking I exclaimed, as I looked at Jennifer, "You told me that there was not going to be any weird animal parts".  Jennifer realizing the bottle of wine was empty, and that I was going to need more wine to be able to face true Italian cooking, she  was like super woman opening up a bottle of wine faster than the speed of light.  Carlotta then began to talk about how tomorrow they would eat the tongue sliced up on sandwiches and how tasty it would be.  Wine, and only wine, was going to make this situation better.

     Having removed the cow's tongue from the broth, Carlotta began to show us how one makes pasta from scratch; the secret being to use quality flour.  As she kneaded the pasta she shared with us wonderful stories from her childhood.  Early on she learned the significance that food plays in the life on an Italian.  With a matter of factness in her tone she stated that at an early age she realized that as an Italian woman it was "less of a problem for a man to come home to find his wife in bed with another man, than for him to come home and his dinner not be ready".  With her grandmother's rolling in hand, she learned to be a "good" Italian wife. 

Carlotta getting out her grandmother's rolling pin to roll the dough out for pasta.

     As the wine flowed, and we learned to perfect the art of making homemade bow tie pasta, we heard about how Carlotta lovingly makes homemade pasta several times a week for her husband.  As Sue sketched Carlotta rolling out the dough, she commented about her her own husband.  With a reflective tone she stated, "I now feel great humanity for my husband".  Very quickly Janet interjected, "That is because he is dead".  More than one of us almost spit out our mouthful of wine as laughter overtook the kitchen. There we were 6 very different women each with our own stories about our relationships with men, but all at a place where we could laugh about where we came from, and happy to be sharing where we are at today with one another.

     I did eat the soup, even though it was made in part with a cow's tongue.  I must admit, it was delicious.  I am starting to understand why Italians often say that in Italy some things are best left unsaid.  I don't think I agree in entirety with this motto, but I am thinking that my love affair with Italian food would best be served if I applied it at least to Italian cooking.