Benvenuti al Carnevale di Venezia...

“People everywhere. Immediately off the vaporetto we were utterly, and completely enveloped by masked people, costumed people, painted people, people on stilts, winged people, intoxicated people, wigged people, and any incarnation thereof. And we, of course, got lost with all of our luggage in the middle of confusion’s masterpiece.” ~excerpt from journal

Surreal:

having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream

We thought something was suspect as the airport seemed barren of life, the vaporetti (water taxis) were empty, and one of the only other passengers on our vaporetto was dressed in flamboyant Renaissance garb. However, we were too tired to postulate; a red-eye flight, layovers, Frankfurt customs, and other joys of flying had taken their toll. Besides, I took the “T” to school, work, and my baseball games every day for four year, so passengers' oddities do not surprise me anymore. We both fell asleep as soon as we handed over our tickets and had a brief conversation with a precocious Italian toddler. All was good and right in the world: we were just minutes away from docking in Venice.

Drum beats and music seeped into our dreams. We struggled to keep our eyes open, but concluded it didn’t matter: there was a thick layer of fog masking the city; we wouldn't be able to see anything anyway. Intrigue surreptitiously goaded our consciences as we tried shaking off the weariness of travel. The syncopated drum beats were now accompanied by random outbursts from what seemed like a very large crowd. The haze of sleep slowly slipped away. We looked at each other to make sure the other was awake and we weren’t in the middle of a Shakespearean dream. Venice was finally visible - and it consisted of lots of people. The sheer number would not be known for a few more minutes, but it clearly was more than we figured was normal for a dreary February day. The piers were covered in loud decorations. The ant colony of people grew in size with each iterative blink. They all scurried about trying to find any reasonably stable and unoccupied piece of Piazza San Marco to stand on, showing off their over-the-top sartorial selections of the day - mainly distinguished, 18^th-century Venetian Republic dresses, tights, wigs, and masks. 

Carrie took out her maps and I grabbed hold of the luggage. As soon as we stepped off the vaporetto and into the mass of people, Carrie grabbed hold of my arm. Pirates greeted us and slapped me on the back. Liquor spilled on my shoes. Someone grabbed my suitcase. Dogs barked. Mascots danced. The crowd counted down. An Angel flew o’er head. Confetti rained down. Masks hugged us and kissed us. For all we knew, we were the ten-millionth visitor of the day and had won a car, or better yet, a gondola. Not so. Like a running back, I lowered my head and kept forward, or to the right, or maybe we were going backwards. Each step was met with a blockade. Each glance revealed more painted individuals yelling at/to/for/with us. The vertigo settled in. We were on the set of a David Lynch movie; or perhaps this was the setting for one of Shakespeare’s murder mind-trips. I had just finished teaching Macbeth to my students before break; I figured this was ironic.

After slicing our way through Piazza San Marco, and finally being able to breathe, the next challenge awaited us: finding our hotel. Now you may not think this to be too difficult, but keep in mind that there were still thousands of people littering the very narrow streets that infamously lack order and lead to stranded tourists (just try it someday!). Streets are unnamed, numbers do not always follow a clear system, and we were unfamiliar with most of the key Venetian (Veneten) dialect terms. Remember, the unified “Italian language” (Tuscan-centric as a result of Florence's wealth and power and the writing prowess of Boccaccio and Dante) is still quite young. Most cities are unwilling to let go of their local and distinguishing dialect, as we found out the hard way in Venice. Regardless, we were tired, worn down, and about ready to give up. Our system of finding a pocket of “space” to stand and look at a map to relocate ourselves was not working. We were literally in the middle of a small alley that smelled strongly of urine (Italy is not known for its public restrooms), and was covered with confetti, booze, and a couple of passed-out “Maidens,” when Carrie looked like she was about to break down and give up.

Some things just can’t be made up, and although I enjoy writing fiction, I promise you none of this is. Very fittingly, a heavily inebriated woman asked in slurred Italian if we needed help. She swayed, barely able to stand up, with a cup in each hand. “Si, per favore signora! Grazie mille. Cerchiamo l’albergo Ca’San Marco,” I said. She handed me one of her cups, and then pointed over my shoulder and simply said, “Eccolo.” She grabbed her cup, smiled, and stumbled away. We were practically at the doorstep of this place and had passed it probably ten times. Thanks for the street names and numbers Venice. Real helpful.

That, my friends, is my all-too-true tale of arriving in Venice at the very moment that Carnevale’s opening ceremonies were commencing. The “Flight of the Angel” marks the kickoff of all Carnevale festivities each year, and as you will see in any photos you view on-line, it is a disorienting, confusing, and exciting event that draws visitors from all over Europe. Once the events quieted down a bit, we took off our newly acquired hand-made mascherette and saw the most beautiful city every constructed. I truly believe everyone should visit Venice once in their lifetime, to see a city like no other. There are no cars or buses anywhere. Walking and water taxis are the modes of transportation, or, if you’re willing to shell out 80 euro, a gondola ride. I will not attempt to describe the beauty of the city, but rather implore you to research it for yourselves on the internet or in books. Besides, food is my shtick.

Fish, bigoli, risotto, and polenta are found everywhere. And because it was Carnevale, the most amazing fried treats were insidious: frittelle. They are traditionally made with rum-soaked raisins and/or with a silky zabaglione; placed in a bag and covered with sugar. If I had a dollar for every frittella I ate... I will say that holistically, as far as the food is concerned, Venice is closer to the bottom than the top of the Italian food chain. Do not misunderstand me: Venice has wonderful food, but the variety is vastly limited due to their “island” location. However, the fish dishes, which include the jet-black squid-ink risotto with perfectly cooked calamari or cappesante (scallops) that stain your teeth, are flawless.  

A day could be made walking through the Rialto Market and looking at all the wonderful fish and spices - Venice was the largest trading port in Europe and its proximity to Middle Eastern countries explains Venice’s sometimes exotic ingredients, such as curry or cumin. But with so many sites to see in Venice, it’s hard to be pinned down to one spot for so long. Walking through Piazza San Marco (beware of the pigeons!), or in the austere Basilica, it’s easy to recognize that this city was one of extreme power and wealth. The Venetian word for gold, “oro” is found in names everywhere - from restaurants to boutiques to houses to palaces - to remind everyone of Venice’s prominent place in history.
 
And although it has nothing to do with food, I would be remiss if I did not mention how amazing the islands of Murano and Burano are - notable for their blown glass and hand-made lace. Simply amazing. Being obsessed with traditional, hand-made methods myself, these islands were a testament to artisanal practices.

This trek to the northeastern part of Italy just elucidates how different each region truly is, and Venice could be the most unique of them all in more ways than one. I hope you all get to “try” Venice, if just for a day. Just be sure to check the calendar...

Flavored Pasta Rant

So I had a conversation the other day with one of my friends about *surprise* fresh pasta. Basically, it turned in to a mini history lesson, coupled with a brainstorming session for the next market; and if not for our accompanying beer, would put many to sleep. And then, it happened. The obligatory eureka moment that always seems to find itself on a bar stool. My friend assumed that he was on to something great, something monumental. You could see the idea surfacing in a combination of excitement and deep thought. I immediately stopped talking and waited for his genius to slide off his tongue.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait. I got it. I got it. Seriously," he interrupted. "Nobody is doing this. I mean, no body. It's your in."
"Alright, what?" I asked intriguingly.
"Flavored pasta," he said matter-of-factly. He leaned back and grabbed his beer seeing it safe to sip as it was clearly my turn to comment and take that ball of fire and run with it.
"Flavored pasta?" My brows furrowed.
"Shit yeah. You said you were going to use some buckwheat flour, why stop there? Seriously. Throw some cayenne pepper in there, tumeric, curry, herbs. Whatever. Right!?" Still excited. I'm not.
"Yeah, but, cayenne pepper and --"
"And then combine all of those flavors. Hell, you could do a mexican-themed market for cinco de mayo! Then another country for their festival!"

The ideas continued to billow out - similar to when you boil milk for a beciamella and forget that it's still on the stove and it boils over making that scary hissing making you jump out of your chair thinking something's on fire. That's how excited I was.

Now, for fear of sounding "holier-than-thou" I need to say that the idea of flavoring pasta (as mentioned earlier) is a great one first and foremost. I stated in a previous post how I applaud people pushing the envelope, but I'm too tied to the traditional methods and lore surrounding "pasta." There are even a couple fresh pasta places in New England that I know of making obscurely flavored pasta.

(Here's where I play Debbie-Downer)
I hate that. I think it's bunk. It's bush-league. These flavors simply do not exist in traditional pasta. It does not even excite me for a fleeting moment. Whenever I see the myriad of flavors at these pasta stores, I basically want to throw them off of the shelves and explain to an innocent employee why these should not be here. Now here's the one caveat - if someone is not interested in the Italian pasta-making methods and really shows that they are not an Italian market place, then sure, make all the flavored pasta you want. Enjoy it with some salsa, mole, soy sauce, fish sauce, mayonnaise, or whatever. Have fun.

But we here at Ancora Pasta frown -- no, we grow angry -- no, no, no, we grow bellicose at the idea of this. We will continue flavoring pasta with only traditional accurate ingredients. Take the last market for instance. We sold trofie (has wheat bread mixed in the dough) and strascinati (saffron). Next market, we'll have some Maine-grown buckwheat flour in the dough as Italians love a hearty, nutty flour in their dough in the winter. Here are some other common ingredients mixed in traditional Italian pasta dough:
potato (gnocchi, trofie, and many many more)
parmigiano (garganelli - also uses nutmeg)
pig's blood (mostly northern areas - known as "pasta al sangue")
various flours
lard
spinach
milk
white wine
walnut oil (and other nuts)
nettles


As you can see, there are no Asian nor Mexican spices to be found. Call me boring. Give me a nice yolk-rich pasta with doppio 0 farina and some of nonna's sauce and I'm a happy man.

Una notte bolognese a Solo Bistro

Ancora Pasta and Solo Bistro once again will bring you on a gustatory fantasy ride this Thursday evening. This week's stop? Bologna!

Bologna, nicknamed La Città Rossa - The Red City - as much for its political leanings as for its distinctive red roofs, is an entirely different Italian experience from Florence, the last stop on our Ancora Pasta/Solo Bistro culinary tour of Italy. Florence is cosmopolitan, while Bologna is educated (the first university in the western world still attracts students from around the globe). Florence is Renaissance marble; Bologna is medieval brick. Florence's narrow - or sometimes nonexistent - sidewalks provide zero escape from the elements, leaving that task to the Duomo and Uffizi, undoubtedly a most culturally gratifying "escape"; Bologna, on the other hand, had the forethought to provide shelter with portico after portico after portico covering its wide sidewalks, allowing for business to continue through all the elements.

The most distinctive difference, however, is the food. Florentines are proud of their food, to be sure, but Bologna's cuisine defines its culture. We Americans grew up with baloney/bologna as a sandwich staple, no? And Chef Boyardee made a mean meat tortellini, right? And as our palates matured, we grew to appreciate spaghetti bolognese. As bastardized as these are, their roots certainly do lie in Bolognese cuisine. You simply cannot walk down a street without being subjected to the most gorgeous displays of handmade tortellini, cappelletti, and ravioli. Hundreds and hundreds of them piled in bins along the streets of the open market, in shop windows, in tantalizing restaurant displays. Cured meats, including mortadella - the Americanized version of which is, of course, baloney - hang from shop ceilings right alongside the legs of its neighbor's infamous "Prosciutto di Parma." And spaghetti bolognese? Well, you just don't serve spaghetti with a ragù alla bolognese; but you certainly would serve it with the distinctively yellow, egg-yolk-rich tagliatelle, as every Bolognese cook would.

Thus our culinary tour just had to stop in Bologna next. Watch out, though, Bolognese cuisine is deceivingly rich (Bologna is also referred to as "La Grossa" - the fat one...) - you are going to leave this meal fully satiated! Mangiate bene e buon appetito!

primo piatto

cappelletti in brodo

~ By definition, cappelletti are cheese-filled (meatless) tortellini. [The name cappelletti comes from the "hat" (cappello) shape.] Cappelletti in brodo (in broth) is a classic Bolognese first course. ~

secondo piatto
tagliatelle alla bolognese
~ The Bolognese claim tagliatelle as their own creation. Regardless of the arguments to the contrary, the Bolognese have perfected the thin, egg-yolk-rich version that we are serving this week. Presented with a traditional bolognese (hearty meat) sauce, this dish is undoubtedly the most famous of the Bolognese cuisine. ~

dolce
Zuppa Inglese

vino
tbd

~ Check back tomorrow for our update on the dessert course and wine pairing... ~

Ancora Pasta + Solo Bistro = Delicious!

Last Thursday's Ancora Pasta night at Solo Bistro went off without a hitch, at least from Ancora Pasta's (and its dining diva's) point of view. The pasta was perfect - Mrs. AP knew it would be (but you know how Mr. AP is...). But more importantly than that, it was cooked, paired, and presented perfectly, as well.

Chef Tyne did an amazing job with the brown butter, wilted arugula (I never would have thought of that and it was delicious!), and shaved pecorino romano for the chestnut ravioli. The second course was equally as yummy.

My dad was thoroughly fooled by the amount of pappardelle with pork ragù served. I agree: the bowl seemed bottomless (though we all polished the plate off, of course)! The ragù coated and stuck to the pappardelle so every bite contained smooth pasta and meaty deliciousness.

And, finally, the last course - the crostata di mele (apple tart) with homemade vanilla ice cream - was phenomenal. The crust of the crostata was super flaky, sweet, and crunchy; and the apples had been sweetened to perfection. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not really a fruit-pie person, so this dessert really took me by surprise. Kudos to Shyanne for that! The ice cream - which I'd had in its cinnamon and caramel incarnations a couple of days prior - was awesome, as well: creamy and very flavorful. All our plates were (virtually) licked clean!

I was really blown away by how everything came out. Now, I know, I'm a little biased, but don't you agree with me?