So here it is. A whole blog about food.
First things first, let it be known that I love food. I love cooking it and I love eating it. Thank god for my wonderful Italian genes. Sometimes when I can't sleep, I dream about recipes like what to make for dinner tomorrow using whatever randomness is hanging about in the refrigerator and pantry. I think the best utilization of the bare minimal to date was the dusty can of white cannellini beans thrown into some random pasta, with some leftover fresh spinach that was about to be on it's last legs. Toss with butter, fresh garlic,
a little olive oil and some fresh grated cheese....ideally it would be fresh grated but in this case, I opted for the parmesan in the green plastic shaker thingy and sprinkled it quite generously while all of the flavors were meshing over medium low heat. It's a shame I didn't have some delicious prosciutto on hand.
Other times, when I'm day dreaming at night, I fill that insatiable urge in my belly with a varietal of nourishment. No, it's not the typical late-night cravings of heading to the drive-thru and hitting up the dollar menu for an array of extremely high trans fat foods, that were bathed in day old oil, with pickles and onions on a sesame seed bun. I mull over steamed mussels, or a delicious hunk of salmon with a walnut crust, butternut squash, a bathtub full of gravy, or that squid's ink paella we tried in Barcelona. Who knew that squids ink was a delicacy? I also ruminate over the crepes and waffles that the Belgians are known for, dusted to perfection with powdered sugar and whatever fresh fruit to accompany it.
It's no suprise with my dual passion for food and travel, that I am the third book into my
travels alongside Frances Mayes, who penned Under the Tuscan Sun during the first years she had bought the old villa in Tuscany. In Bella Tuscany, she took us on an amazing tour of Italia, never leaving out the delicous meals consumed, recipes, stories from a Southern childhood, home renovation and gardening. It made me laugh. It made me cry. But most of all, it made me hungry. Today I've started A Year in the World, where Frances continues her journey of breathing life in a foreign country in France, Portugal, Spain, Greece and North Africa. I can't wait!
I've also been reading a fellow AOL Journal, Trickle of Semi-Consciousness by Belfast Cowboy, another member who left due to the "incident" and has found comfort in his blogging elsewhere. I must say, reading his past entries make time fly by here at the office, and it's a challenge to not laugh and give myself away.
"Marissa, are you blogging again? What is so funny?"
I'll tell you what's so funny. Cowboy's former career as a jug-bander. And I hear they did a doozy of a version of "My Eggs Don't Taste the Same Without you" in which he croons, "My heart's in a-shambles, I can't eat my scrambles."
Back to the immediate subject at hand, or at tummy, whilst on the topic of the wonder that is food, I must make mention of a place that never disappoints. La Petit Maison, the little house, is a FANTASTIC French restaurant here in Waterville. While I've never had the pleasure of dining in France per se, dining in The Little House is always an exceptional treat. With a bottle of wine, we order for an appetizer oysters
or gazpacho or a warm mushroom salad with endive which is INCREDIBLE. For the main course I always find myself torn between the bouillabaise riviera with saffron (ping!), salmon with caviar and a champagne sauce, filet mignon with a blueberry and bourbon reduction, or something off the specials menu which can range from rabbit to duck to bull testicles (dubbed 'sweet bread,' I don't think so). Travis is slightly more adventurous than me in this sense, because I will not touch a fork to a rabbit or a duck, although I hear both are magnifique. On the side of each dish comes a small couscous salad, scalloped potatoes, and mashed beets. (Remember that bathtub full of gravy? Scratch that. Make it a tub full of mashed beets.) Dessert too, is sheer perfection. An array of sorbets, custards, creme brulee`, gateau (cake) are presented with a carmelized sugar cage. Yes, a cage. A sugary sweet net of unrequited goodness. Needless to say, the price of all of this makes our visits rare, but equally more enjoyable each time we sign the guestbook on the way out, our bellies full and our hearts light.
So. When I'm in bed on the night before christmas, you can be sure that I actually am having visions of sugar plums dancing over my head. Actually its probably something more like beets doing dance moves to Gloria Estafan's "Turn the Beat Around."
