Category Archives: food memories

Food Memories: Blood Oranges

Posted on by

Back in the spring of 2007, I was living in a convent in Rome. The sisters who ran it leased out the rooms and provided meals for the short- and long-term guests that stayed there. Despite Italy’s culinary reputation, the food that was served could merely be said to sate hunger pangs—it was not food that could be particularly enjoyed. Sometimes, it could not even be eaten.

However, there was an orchard next to the property that the sisters tended. The fruit often made its way to our table, the highlight of otherwise dreary meals. Shortly after my arrival, blood orange season began. Having never before tasted its sweet, subtly complex, dark flesh, I quickly became addicted, often consuming entire meals of nothing else (obviously in addition to the large quantities of cornetti, cappuccini, and other delicious foods I ate when not at the convent).

Photo courtesy of Mike’s Table

 
After several weeks, I began to notice a discoloration of my skin around my joints—a slightly orange tinge to my knuckles, elbows, and the web of skin between my fingers. Horrified when I showed her, my Italian mamma Maria Teresa insisted that I visit the doctor, convinced I had contracted some sort of fungal disease. We went for a visit to have my hands examined. The kindly doctor looked at me with a smile and quietly asked, have you been eating too much beta carotene? He then extended his hand, 30 Euro for the consultation.

Once I had calmed down after feeling swindled, I began to reduce my blood orange intake, and the color began to fade to a memory. Since coming back to the US, I have rarely seen a blood orange at the store, let alone eaten as many as I did in those few months. This winter, however, they showed up again in my life, with all of my favorite grocers stock-piling them high on their shelves, and with prices continually decreasing throughout the season, I scooped them up, eating as many as I could each day.

I’ve so far made it through without turning orange as they slowly begin to disappear from the produce aisles, now experiencing a sadness to see them go. I have, however, found one more opportunity to indulge my obsession—blood orange juice. Sold at Marlow & Daughters down the street from me, it unfortunately  commands too high of a price to be a sustainable part of my diet until the season truly ends for the year. So, I plan to enjoy this last taste as I ready myself for next year’s deluge.

Jansal Valley Blood Orange Juice

Food Memories: First Chesnuts of the Season!

Posted on by

Chestnuts, more than many other things, make me happily nostalgic for the time I spent living in Italy. Although I knew the refrain well from Christmas carols, I’d never actually eaten a chestnut until my Italian mamma Maria Teresa made them for me. At the time, I was studying in Florence and coming down to Rome on the weekends for a visit. At one point, she stated that it was chestnut season, noting that Tuscan chestnuts were sweeter and thus preferable to those grown in Lazio. I proceeded to bring her several kilos every weekend for the rest of chestnut season.

The first time I brought them to her, she excitedly put them in a frying pan on the stove, after slicing the dark brown part against the grain. She covered the pan and let them heat up, and when we started to hear a popping sound, she removed them from the heat and put them on a plate. After admonishing us to wait until they cooled to dig in, she finally proffered one to me — and I promptly put the entire thing in my mouth. Every Italian around started either to laugh or lunge in horror as I began the spit it back out…ma lo devi sbuciare prima! You must take the shell off first! What did I know? I’d never had one before. Choking and laughing aside, I finally dug into the surprisingly sweet meat of the nut. Then, I finished off the plate.

Chesnuts roasting on an open fire…as in my gas stove…
Such good memories. I love fall!

Food Memories: American Flatbread

Posted on by

I have not been together with two of my good college friends since, well, college. Not for lack of trying, but it just hadn’t worked out. So, a few months ago, we determined that this Memorial Day weekend would be the time to meet up. Emily lives in DC and has an apartment big enough to host, so Laura flew in from Chi-town and I got on the bus from NYC. 


Unbeknownst to me, an American Flatbread had opened in Clarendon, VA, near Emily’s place. On the first night of our Midd kid reunion, then, we headed over to the pizza place that had begun in Vermont and been the place of many dinners out in the early years of college. Because “local” and “sustainable” are core tenets of the Flatbread philosophy, the menu was a bit different, focusing on ingredients from farms and food providers in the Virginia area. 

the lovely ladies

We quickly settled on the sun-dried tomato and mushroom pizza as well as the New Virginia Sausage, featuring naturally-raised Bluemont pork in a homemade, nitrate free maple-fennel sausage (I’m quoting from the menu). The wine list wasn’t extensive or impressive, but I did find a good bottle: a Muscadet Sevre et Maine from Domaine Claude Branger in the Loire called Terroir Les Gras Moutons. Great minerality from the rocky, granite-filled soil and left on lees for 12-14 months, giving it a ripe, round, and  powerful nose that hinted at the fruity and floral aromatics of a riesling.

ours was an ‘06



I tend to greatly discount the effect that going to college in Vermont had on the developments of my own palette and more importantly food philosophies. I spent years eating locally-sourced food in the college dining halls: apples from orchards right down the road, cheese from Vermont dairy farms, and more. 

Middlebury College

To quote from the college’s site, “Dining Services sources food products from 47 Vermont food producers and also purchases small amounts of fresh produce from the student run organic garden. Twenty-five percent of food at Middlebury is local, and we divert 75% of food waste from ending up in the landfill through our composting program.” Sustainability is at the core of how Middlebury literally functions, from food systems to energy to research. 

Sometimes a reunion makes you remember things you never even realized you’d forgotten.

Food Memories: Vanilla Bourbon Ice Cream, or “Milk Punch”

Posted on by

I have spent the past few days planning for a dinner party that will be taking place chez moi this evening. Well, mainly planning the dessert part. I wanted to make ice cream, which means deciding on flavor combinations and executing it a few days in advance. Since rhubarb is at its peak right now, I thought a strawberry-rhubarb crumble would be good, paired with a deliciously simple vanilla ice cream. 

Then my simple idea, as usual, became more complex. I thought bourbon would be an excellent addition, and that led me to nutmeg. Suddenly I realized I was making a family favorite: every Christmas, when my mom’s side of the family gathers together, we start the celebrations with what my grandfather dubbed “milk punch.” Which basically means we begin drinking bourbon milkshakes at 11am. Nothing better.

“Milk Punch” Ice Cream

1 3/4 cups heavy cream
1 cups skim milk
1/2 cup light cream
1 tsp vanilla extract
3 eggs
3/4 cup sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup bourbon (I used Evan Williams)
1. Combine creams and milk in a medium saucepan.
2. Add the vanilla to the cream mixture and bring to just under a boil over medium heat. Remove the cream from the heat and steep, covered, for 20 minutes.
3. Combine the egg yolks with the sugar and salt in a mixing bowl. Whisk until the color lightens. Slowly whisk 1/4 cup of the hot cream into the egg mixture to temper it, then whisk the egg mixture back into the cream mixture. Cook over medium heat until the mixture thickens and coats the back of a spoon without running.
4. Remove from heat and strain the mixture through a fine-mesh sieve. Add the vanilla extract and the bourbon.
5. Chill completely (at least 4 hours, or overnight) in the refrigerator, then freeze in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturers instructions. 
– makes about 1 quart –
Adapted from Serious Eats