This was described to me as a Super Tuscan.
You would (probably) call it a Merlot.
Cupinero is a relatively new vineyard in the region, and they're not very large, but Paolo recommended them highly.
And of course 2004 is a good year...
It was nice.
(not shining praise, I know)
Danny liked it alot. I think it probably needed to breathe for longer then we let it.
It was very dry, but also extremely light for a red wine. Not much bouquet, although that may have more to do with the fact that we didn't let it sit properly beforehand. The color, though - like garnets. Gorgeous. A dark, rich garnet red. And the bottle looks well, I won't lie.
I think I just preferred the Chianti Classico.
(yes, I swear I'll get that name eventually)
And I would just like to say - because I know that Dory thinks differently, that I did not go drunk to cabaret. I had one glass of wine over a period of like 45 minutes.
Leave me alone.
And, yes, Tramonto, if I had to check in with one word,
tonight it would be Resentful.
Because I think it's bullshit when you say that Secret Friends is about "The Craft".
I finally washed my laundry.
I need to hang it up to dry and go to bed, since I'm not going to sleep until I get back from Londra.
Breathe it in, Breathe it out!
((fuck that))
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Need To Fix Something? Well, I've Got A Screwdriver...
Oh - MG.
They make profiterole gelato.
...
No I know. (Deep breathes now)
I was already composing arias to profiterole.
Yo, Fuck 'Il Gelato', I'm officially hoofing it to the Piazza Guido Monaco and "Il Galaxy' for the good stuff from now on.
- But that's really beside the point.
(I didn't even want gelato at 3pm after the gnocchi and PB & J cakes I fashioned out of Ricardo's jam tarts and and some of the Peanut Butter that my (saintly, sweet, no one better) Mother sent in my (enormous, fantastic, envy inducing) carepackage, but when we walked into town, nothing was open, because apparently all of the Italians are sleeping off lunch. Hey, who am I to begrudge them a nationwide nap time? I'm only jealous. And besides, that gave me the opportunity to walk over to the Winery, where I picked out a mid range 2004 red that I'll try later on... How did you use the extra time we got when Lorenza called in sick for our afternoon Italian class? You ... Ah. Yes. You bought alcohol. Yes, yes, I see. - Oh, No! It's not a surprise, no....)
Did I have a point? After that ridiculous parenthetical, it feels more and more like I really didn't have anything better to talk about then that heavenonearthinfrozenform - Profiterole Gelato....
I think I'll name my first child Profiterole....
- Oh, don't worry, I'll spell it Praughphitteroll, or something... It won't be weird.
...
Ah, yes.
Screwdrivers.
(They're in the title, aren't they? You didn't think that was just for shits and giggles, did you? I mean I know YOU did Jason, but there's a logic, I swear... You really don't give me enough credit.)
?
To deconstruct: I suppose the thing that was broken was me - after my second 2 hour movement class of the day, we were hurtin' for certain, and what better way to unwind before dinner then a nice hot shower and a mixed drink? Or three?
Here's my recipe for Screwdrivers:
2 - 4 slugs of Vodka
3 - 5 sloshes of OJ
serve luke warm in a coffee mug
So I put on a nice strapless dress and some pink glittery sneakers (I just love 'dressing' for dinner, don't you? It makes me feel so civilized, even in the most barbaric circumstances.), and stood at my window to talk to the adorable violinist who was passing below me in the last purples of the setting sun on his way to dinner.
After dinner we shaved Nellie's head.
Aaaaannnnd, then I watched The Fountain before bed.
This morning I didn't run.
GO ahead, judge me. I couldn't get out of bed.
(fuck you Grotowski. No, really, FUCK YOU. ...acrobatics of the soul my ass it's just fucking somersaults i hate somersaults and I don't want to rangle tiny chickens any longer...)
And then of course we were hopping around and tapping each other on the collar bone with our toes - BEST thing I've ever done in a movement class, easily, but a lot more down time than we would normally have.
- Have I mentioned that I think that we're wrong about the heart being the seat of love in the body? And why wouldn't I get into that now? ... Yeah. I think it's the collar bone. That's where I feel it. It gets you right on the collar bone. Broken heart? Pfff. Broken Collar Bone. -
... I need to do laundry.
Not that I'm going to get up and do it,
I'm just saying.
...
I better go now.
Quit while I'm ahead.
(2 days)
They make profiterole gelato.
...
No I know. (Deep breathes now)
I was already composing arias to profiterole.
Yo, Fuck 'Il Gelato', I'm officially hoofing it to the Piazza Guido Monaco and "Il Galaxy' for the good stuff from now on.
- But that's really beside the point.
(I didn't even want gelato at 3pm after the gnocchi and PB & J cakes I fashioned out of Ricardo's jam tarts and and some of the Peanut Butter that my (saintly, sweet, no one better) Mother sent in my (enormous, fantastic, envy inducing) carepackage, but when we walked into town, nothing was open, because apparently all of the Italians are sleeping off lunch. Hey, who am I to begrudge them a nationwide nap time? I'm only jealous. And besides, that gave me the opportunity to walk over to the Winery, where I picked out a mid range 2004 red that I'll try later on... How did you use the extra time we got when Lorenza called in sick for our afternoon Italian class? You ... Ah. Yes. You bought alcohol. Yes, yes, I see. - Oh, No! It's not a surprise, no....)
Did I have a point? After that ridiculous parenthetical, it feels more and more like I really didn't have anything better to talk about then that heavenonearthinfrozenform - Profiterole Gelato....
I think I'll name my first child Profiterole....
- Oh, don't worry, I'll spell it Praughphitteroll, or something... It won't be weird.
...
Ah, yes.
Screwdrivers.
(They're in the title, aren't they? You didn't think that was just for shits and giggles, did you? I mean I know YOU did Jason, but there's a logic, I swear... You really don't give me enough credit.)
?
To deconstruct: I suppose the thing that was broken was me - after my second 2 hour movement class of the day, we were hurtin' for certain, and what better way to unwind before dinner then a nice hot shower and a mixed drink? Or three?
Here's my recipe for Screwdrivers:
2 - 4 slugs of Vodka
3 - 5 sloshes of OJ
serve luke warm in a coffee mug
So I put on a nice strapless dress and some pink glittery sneakers (I just love 'dressing' for dinner, don't you? It makes me feel so civilized, even in the most barbaric circumstances.), and stood at my window to talk to the adorable violinist who was passing below me in the last purples of the setting sun on his way to dinner.
After dinner we shaved Nellie's head.
Aaaaannnnd, then I watched The Fountain before bed.
This morning I didn't run.
GO ahead, judge me. I couldn't get out of bed.
(fuck you Grotowski. No, really, FUCK YOU. ...acrobatics of the soul my ass it's just fucking somersaults i hate somersaults and I don't want to rangle tiny chickens any longer...)
And then of course we were hopping around and tapping each other on the collar bone with our toes - BEST thing I've ever done in a movement class, easily, but a lot more down time than we would normally have.
- Have I mentioned that I think that we're wrong about the heart being the seat of love in the body? And why wouldn't I get into that now? ... Yeah. I think it's the collar bone. That's where I feel it. It gets you right on the collar bone. Broken heart? Pfff. Broken Collar Bone. -
... I need to do laundry.
Not that I'm going to get up and do it,
I'm just saying.
...
I better go now.
Quit while I'm ahead.
(2 days)
The Guinness Bar!
Best bar in Arezzo!
And we went, with 2 Irishmen.
(after watching Boondock Saints with them)
Of course, one of them was drinking Coke Lights, but the other had a Guinness or 2 (really more for our sake, I think - he felt a certain obligation to the experience. - He even watched a bit of the old Football they had playing on a big screen.)
I had a Margarita.
It was not magical.
Their White Russians are much better.
Which is why I ordered one of those next.
It was sweet, actually, a friend of mine bought it for me, because he was buying a round for the birthday boy. First drink a guy has ever bought me, even if it was largely because they were trying to get the aforementioned celebrant to drink something and didn't want him to drink alone. But sweet all the same.
On a more exciting note, the bar tender remembered me, and even though I didn't get to talk to him (or, more accurately, bat my eyelashes, order a drink, and say "grazi" alot) he passed me while I was waiting to order at the bar and did a double-take right out of the cartoons. (I like the baaarrrtender...)
And on the way home, as we wound our way the long way around the city wall since the escalators close at 1am, I got to skip down the big hill with the birthday boy, Ben.
Don't laugh!
...it was fun.
You just wish it was you!
Well, it made me think that maybe that's how I want to ring in MY 21st.
Hurtling down a hill at top speed
holding someone's hand
not scared in the least...
And we went, with 2 Irishmen.
(after watching Boondock Saints with them)
Of course, one of them was drinking Coke Lights, but the other had a Guinness or 2 (really more for our sake, I think - he felt a certain obligation to the experience. - He even watched a bit of the old Football they had playing on a big screen.)
I had a Margarita.
It was not magical.
Their White Russians are much better.
Which is why I ordered one of those next.
It was sweet, actually, a friend of mine bought it for me, because he was buying a round for the birthday boy. First drink a guy has ever bought me, even if it was largely because they were trying to get the aforementioned celebrant to drink something and didn't want him to drink alone. But sweet all the same.
On a more exciting note, the bar tender remembered me, and even though I didn't get to talk to him (or, more accurately, bat my eyelashes, order a drink, and say "grazi" alot) he passed me while I was waiting to order at the bar and did a double-take right out of the cartoons. (I like the baaarrrtender...)
And on the way home, as we wound our way the long way around the city wall since the escalators close at 1am, I got to skip down the big hill with the birthday boy, Ben.
Don't laugh!
...it was fun.
You just wish it was you!
Well, it made me think that maybe that's how I want to ring in MY 21st.
Hurtling down a hill at top speed
holding someone's hand
not scared in the least...
Monday, September 24, 2007
And Ye Shall Find What Ye Seek In A Box of Turning Leaf
My Mother is the BEST mother in the WHOLE WORLD.
(peanutbutterchocolatepeanutbutterchocolate)
((shoooooooeeeesss.....)
(peanutbutterchocolatepeanutbutterchocolate)
((shoooooooeeeesss.....)
Friday, September 21, 2007
The Charleston Enoteca
Oh,
'Tis a beautiful thing!
The Charleston Enoteca is THE place to get wine in Tuscany.
No, really. Wine Spectator says so.
((www.enotecacharleston.com))
We had 3 hours off yesterday afternoon, so a friend and I decided to walk down the the Charleston to check it out. This particular Enoteca, which is the Italian word for a wine shop, was recommended by our philosophy professor, and with good reason. A friendly looking (read well lit and well stocked) shop just outside of the walls of Arezzo, it's manned personally by Paolo and Stefano - the owner's son's, who were eager to help us once they divined that we were there to buy and had no idea what we were doing. (we decided to play the look around in confusion until someone comes over to help you game, which worked quite effectively) Paolo saw knew from the start that we didn't speak Italian, although, I countered when he asked, we do, "ma solo un piu".
What proceeded was a very interesting, is occaisionally over-enthusiastically jovial, lecture on Tuscan wines in a mixture of broken English and Italian (which I am really starting to understand). Here's the skinny as we had it from our new best friend Paolo:
The only real Tuscan wine is red wine.
They COULD make white wine.
They don't.
The good years are 2001 (the best of the bunch, a truly fantastic year here), 2004 (which will start to come into its own in a year or two since red wine should be aged for 5 - 10 years before you drink them), and 2006 (which you shouldn't be drinking yet, but which should be great). A 2003 isn't bad, he sad he didn't know about a 2005, but you should NEVER drink a 2002. Terrible year. Too hot, the wines aren't well balanced.
Now, of course, some grapes are more temperamental than others.
You want to drink a 2002 Super Tuscan? Yeah, alright, because the cabernet sauvignon and merlot grapes they use in these wines don't do as poorly when it's a bad year.
Now, anything which uses strictly the Sangiovese grape - like the Chianti Classico northern Italy is famous for - NIENTE. Never, he says. I trust Paolo.
(Paolo, by the way, does not like Barolos. He told us this about 8 times, because, he said, when we talked to our philosophy prefessor, if we couldn't remember whch brother we'd talked to, we could say, He doesn't like Barolos and Scott would say PAOLO! Of course, what I remember was Paolo's name, and not whether it was actually the Baolo he dislikes, or in fact the Brunella or Barbaresco.... It was one of the big "B" Tuscan wines, made from the Sangiovese grape... I'm sure he'll tell us again when we go back - this seemed to constitute an extremely funny joke.)
So, after he showed us several bottles (none of which were under 18 euros) I decided on a Super Tuscan called Cupinero - a small and relatively new vineyard, he says, with a 14.5 alcohol content and a purely Merlot grape base for 22 euro. Danny already knew that he wanted a Chianti Classico 2001, and Paolo recommended one (I'll put the name up here when I get it) with a smooth, well balanced flavor, and a mellow honey bouquet for 26 euro.
((God, it was good.))
I wanted to look at something frilly - a dessert wine or some champaign - and Danny wanted to get a bottle of Champaign for our wonderful junior administrator Dory's birthday, so Paolo gave us a quick run down on that.
Basically, Champaign here is only the stuff you get from the Champaign region of France (Andre was no where to be found), and is super expensive - like at least 80 euro. Sparkling wine, on the other hand, is the same thing, but produced in Italy, and you can find a good bottle for 22 (apparently), so we picked out a bottle of Castello Di Brolio, which is a big name here but, even though Paolo doesn't like the big farms, is still good and not too expensive.
Then we asked him if they had any cheese, because, surprisingly to me at least, formaggio is not easy to get here. He only had what they use in the store (which is also a cafe, it appears), and he said he couldn't sell it too us in less than a full wheel.
Well, I mean, Tuscany is known for their pecorino (sheep's cheese), and we were already into all of this...
So we bought a kilo of cheese for another 22 euro.
And that's how we spent 90 euros at the Charleston Enoteca for 2 bottles of wine and some cheese.
Although, Danny asked as we were checking out which cork screw was cheapest, and Stefano (the other brother) gave us each a Castello di Brolio corkscrew for free.
So that pretty much balances things out, right?
I mean, we'll totally be back.
And in the mean time, I'm full of pasta, desert wine, and I'm ready for a nice siesta before we go out for Chinese tonight.
D'Accordo?
'Tis a beautiful thing!
The Charleston Enoteca is THE place to get wine in Tuscany.
No, really. Wine Spectator says so.
((www.enotecacharleston.com))
We had 3 hours off yesterday afternoon, so a friend and I decided to walk down the the Charleston to check it out. This particular Enoteca, which is the Italian word for a wine shop, was recommended by our philosophy professor, and with good reason. A friendly looking (read well lit and well stocked) shop just outside of the walls of Arezzo, it's manned personally by Paolo and Stefano - the owner's son's, who were eager to help us once they divined that we were there to buy and had no idea what we were doing. (we decided to play the look around in confusion until someone comes over to help you game, which worked quite effectively) Paolo saw knew from the start that we didn't speak Italian, although, I countered when he asked, we do, "ma solo un piu".
What proceeded was a very interesting, is occaisionally over-enthusiastically jovial, lecture on Tuscan wines in a mixture of broken English and Italian (which I am really starting to understand). Here's the skinny as we had it from our new best friend Paolo:
The only real Tuscan wine is red wine.
They COULD make white wine.
They don't.
The good years are 2001 (the best of the bunch, a truly fantastic year here), 2004 (which will start to come into its own in a year or two since red wine should be aged for 5 - 10 years before you drink them), and 2006 (which you shouldn't be drinking yet, but which should be great). A 2003 isn't bad, he sad he didn't know about a 2005, but you should NEVER drink a 2002. Terrible year. Too hot, the wines aren't well balanced.
Now, of course, some grapes are more temperamental than others.
You want to drink a 2002 Super Tuscan? Yeah, alright, because the cabernet sauvignon and merlot grapes they use in these wines don't do as poorly when it's a bad year.
Now, anything which uses strictly the Sangiovese grape - like the Chianti Classico northern Italy is famous for - NIENTE. Never, he says. I trust Paolo.
(Paolo, by the way, does not like Barolos. He told us this about 8 times, because, he said, when we talked to our philosophy prefessor, if we couldn't remember whch brother we'd talked to, we could say, He doesn't like Barolos and Scott would say PAOLO! Of course, what I remember was Paolo's name, and not whether it was actually the Baolo he dislikes, or in fact the Brunella or Barbaresco.... It was one of the big "B" Tuscan wines, made from the Sangiovese grape... I'm sure he'll tell us again when we go back - this seemed to constitute an extremely funny joke.)
So, after he showed us several bottles (none of which were under 18 euros) I decided on a Super Tuscan called Cupinero - a small and relatively new vineyard, he says, with a 14.5 alcohol content and a purely Merlot grape base for 22 euro. Danny already knew that he wanted a Chianti Classico 2001, and Paolo recommended one (I'll put the name up here when I get it) with a smooth, well balanced flavor, and a mellow honey bouquet for 26 euro.
((God, it was good.))
I wanted to look at something frilly - a dessert wine or some champaign - and Danny wanted to get a bottle of Champaign for our wonderful junior administrator Dory's birthday, so Paolo gave us a quick run down on that.
Basically, Champaign here is only the stuff you get from the Champaign region of France (Andre was no where to be found), and is super expensive - like at least 80 euro. Sparkling wine, on the other hand, is the same thing, but produced in Italy, and you can find a good bottle for 22 (apparently), so we picked out a bottle of Castello Di Brolio, which is a big name here but, even though Paolo doesn't like the big farms, is still good and not too expensive.
Then we asked him if they had any cheese, because, surprisingly to me at least, formaggio is not easy to get here. He only had what they use in the store (which is also a cafe, it appears), and he said he couldn't sell it too us in less than a full wheel.
Well, I mean, Tuscany is known for their pecorino (sheep's cheese), and we were already into all of this...
So we bought a kilo of cheese for another 22 euro.
And that's how we spent 90 euros at the Charleston Enoteca for 2 bottles of wine and some cheese.
Although, Danny asked as we were checking out which cork screw was cheapest, and Stefano (the other brother) gave us each a Castello di Brolio corkscrew for free.
So that pretty much balances things out, right?
I mean, we'll totally be back.
And in the mean time, I'm full of pasta, desert wine, and I'm ready for a nice siesta before we go out for Chinese tonight.
D'Accordo?
Sunday, September 16, 2007
A Note On Light: The Tuscan Country Side at Twilight
A light pink top light (something with some blue in it), which would echo on the sides in something a little bit more saturated) and diffuse and dusky blue front light - maybe something like L199 Regal Blue and L701 Provence. (I don't have my swatch books, but the Lee site has a great feature called the Swatch Ball - check it out http://www.leefilters.com/lighting/products/colours/).
A slightly more golden pink for the key side light and maybe a very slightly greener blue as the fill side.
No back light, but less saturated versions of the side light for the upstage areas.
As the twilight deepens, the pink comes down and we add a highly saturated blue violet top.
A slightly more golden pink for the key side light and maybe a very slightly greener blue as the fill side.
No back light, but less saturated versions of the side light for the upstage areas.
As the twilight deepens, the pink comes down and we add a highly saturated blue violet top.
Un Aqua, Per Piacere?
Firenze was fun.
And by fun,
I mean we only spent about 4 hours there
and despite my best intentions
I was rather monstrously and nauseatingly hung over.
It's only an hour train ride, I'll go back some other time.
- Or, it's only an hour if you don't get over excited and get off at Frirenze Campo Marta instead of Firenze SMN (Santo Maria Novella). Not that we did that. That would be dumb.
...
Fortunately, you can just just back on the next train. If you sit in one of the back cars, it doesn't even appear that they check your ticket ever.
We didn't have a plan. Or a map.
We got off the train, started walking, and found a restaurant to refresh ourselves at. It was a decent place called Rstorante Pizzeria Lorenzo di Medici with menus complete with english subtitles, although the bathroom was occupied for some time by a woman who appeared to have been taking a bath in the bidet.
I had ravioli with truffle sauce.
And a 3 euro coke light in an uber chic can (everyone in Europe really is thinner, even the fucking diet coke cans),
And a slightly desicated bowl of tiramisu which had clearly been sitting out for a while, but was still pretty good.
Jasmine tried the Cantuccini e Vin Santos (biscotti you dip in Vin Santos), which didn't even want to think about ordering but tried anyway because felt that I needed, for the good of the blog, to be able to make some sort of report on it. I liked it, I think. Not too sweet, it would be nice to enjoy it after a good meal - and who doesn't like dunking their cookies in their drink? No one who can rightly be called a Shunk, that's for sure.
Then we browsed the open air market, where I bought postcards, and stumbled into a plazza with a strange statue a church I don't know the name of, and a group of our friends who had come earlier in the day.
This is when I decided to go home when I heard that some people were leaving on the 7:20 train.
What ensued was a brisk walk through tour of Florence, where I saw the Duomo (stunning, green) and a collection of streets and plazzas I remembered vaguely from my last trip to the city (I then realized that I had been to the very place I was standing 10 years before, which freaked me out - it's still strange to think of having done something or been somewhere a decade ago which I remember with more that that childish haze, although I did feel like the city was alot smaller than I remembered.) We ended up at the Ponte Vecchio at about sunset, which was beautiful, because all of the little jewelry shops were starting to turn the lights in their display cases on as the peachy sun sank lower, leaving pockets of shadow and window of glittering light. (the bathroom at the train station was cool too - we had to pay 70 cents, but it was all golden top light reflecting off of pink marble, and each of the open stalls was lit from above by a neon blue glow... totally worth it.)
The train ride back took a good hour and a half, since we stopped at every town in between, but the country side was beautiful, and the company was pleasant, and I was finally starting to get over my hangover.
Even the walk back through the city and up the hill was not too bad (as long as we weren't walking too fast my head wasn't throbbing), and Nellie and I decided to leave our bags by the side of the road and go up on the aqueduct to look at the stars before bed.
Unfortunately, as Nellie was explaining to me that we had to be quiet because f the people in the house nearby woke up they would call the police, a car pulls up and stops and a man gets our and says something booming in Italian. After a good two minutes of hiding made it clear that he was not going to leave, we got down and walked over in a confusion of "Me despiace" and "no capito, io non so".
Ah, but t seems my Italian lessons are paying off, because it only took a minute or two for me to understand that he had seen our unattended bags and been afraid that they were bombs, and once I caught on and answered that we were in fact "tutto qui", the only ones here, we were both so relieved to have been understood that he shook my hand and wished us a buon cera.
Not so bad, on the whole.
Me Piace
And by fun,
I mean we only spent about 4 hours there
and despite my best intentions
I was rather monstrously and nauseatingly hung over.
It's only an hour train ride, I'll go back some other time.
- Or, it's only an hour if you don't get over excited and get off at Frirenze Campo Marta instead of Firenze SMN (Santo Maria Novella). Not that we did that. That would be dumb.
...
Fortunately, you can just just back on the next train. If you sit in one of the back cars, it doesn't even appear that they check your ticket ever.
We didn't have a plan. Or a map.
We got off the train, started walking, and found a restaurant to refresh ourselves at. It was a decent place called Rstorante Pizzeria Lorenzo di Medici with menus complete with english subtitles, although the bathroom was occupied for some time by a woman who appeared to have been taking a bath in the bidet.
I had ravioli with truffle sauce.
And a 3 euro coke light in an uber chic can (everyone in Europe really is thinner, even the fucking diet coke cans),
And a slightly desicated bowl of tiramisu which had clearly been sitting out for a while, but was still pretty good.
Jasmine tried the Cantuccini e Vin Santos (biscotti you dip in Vin Santos), which didn't even want to think about ordering but tried anyway because felt that I needed, for the good of the blog, to be able to make some sort of report on it. I liked it, I think. Not too sweet, it would be nice to enjoy it after a good meal - and who doesn't like dunking their cookies in their drink? No one who can rightly be called a Shunk, that's for sure.
Then we browsed the open air market, where I bought postcards, and stumbled into a plazza with a strange statue a church I don't know the name of, and a group of our friends who had come earlier in the day.
This is when I decided to go home when I heard that some people were leaving on the 7:20 train.
What ensued was a brisk walk through tour of Florence, where I saw the Duomo (stunning, green) and a collection of streets and plazzas I remembered vaguely from my last trip to the city (I then realized that I had been to the very place I was standing 10 years before, which freaked me out - it's still strange to think of having done something or been somewhere a decade ago which I remember with more that that childish haze, although I did feel like the city was alot smaller than I remembered.) We ended up at the Ponte Vecchio at about sunset, which was beautiful, because all of the little jewelry shops were starting to turn the lights in their display cases on as the peachy sun sank lower, leaving pockets of shadow and window of glittering light. (the bathroom at the train station was cool too - we had to pay 70 cents, but it was all golden top light reflecting off of pink marble, and each of the open stalls was lit from above by a neon blue glow... totally worth it.)
The train ride back took a good hour and a half, since we stopped at every town in between, but the country side was beautiful, and the company was pleasant, and I was finally starting to get over my hangover.
Even the walk back through the city and up the hill was not too bad (as long as we weren't walking too fast my head wasn't throbbing), and Nellie and I decided to leave our bags by the side of the road and go up on the aqueduct to look at the stars before bed.
Unfortunately, as Nellie was explaining to me that we had to be quiet because f the people in the house nearby woke up they would call the police, a car pulls up and stops and a man gets our and says something booming in Italian. After a good two minutes of hiding made it clear that he was not going to leave, we got down and walked over in a confusion of "Me despiace" and "no capito, io non so".
Ah, but t seems my Italian lessons are paying off, because it only took a minute or two for me to understand that he had seen our unattended bags and been afraid that they were bombs, and once I caught on and answered that we were in fact "tutto qui", the only ones here, we were both so relieved to have been understood that he shook my hand and wished us a buon cera.
Not so bad, on the whole.
Me Piace
I Like The Baa-aaaarrrr-Tender!
He made us drinks - (to drink) - We drunk 'um - (got drunk) -
And now I think
He thinks
I'm cooooooooo-oool...
Well, Friday night started out well enough....
Maybe I should go back a bit first.
We finished our first week of classes!
Yeay!
It was long.
I think I cried every day.
For any number of reasons.
At least some of them were artistic.
Thursday we had out first cabaret, and I performed with some friends, a piece about 'this life we've chosen' (theater majors in the house, Holla! - You know what I mean. And you can see how I might come out of it bruised if we were doing it right...), which left me considerably sore but generated some really interesting conversation (internal and external). And then dinner with the local white wine I bought at Eurospar. [a Pinot Bianco I can't remember the name of at the moment. It had an interesting flavor - savory almost. I suggested that it tasted a bit like chicken broth, but everyone thought that I was crazy. Very woody, I think, and not at all sweet, but I wouldn't call it dry either really... I have more in the bottle, I'll let you know]. And then two hours of "Tramonto", which translates literally as sunset, although a closer approximation in the English would be something like, "Community meeting that we ritualize in order to increase the chance of tears and the probability of spending all night deciding things like whether or not we should have to make increasingly more extravagant presents to our Secret Friends or walk around feeling like a bad person".
...
I didn't like Tramonto.
So by the time we finished classes on Friday afternoon, we all needed a little release.
it started well enough,
we went into the city around 6pm in jeans and heels to pick up some necessities from the Eurospar. (I bought a dessert wine that was on sale, a mid range Vin Santos to try, and a bottle of Sambuca I thought would be good with the Campari.) We met our movement teacher Brian there (because it's really not that big a city at all) and invited him out for Pizza. We went back to the place we'd eaten at before (No, I still can't remember the name) and I ordered a dark beer called St. Barnardus (for the name and the picture of a happy monk giving you a thumbs up on the blue label. It was 10% alcohol, and, as far as I'm concerned, fairly nondescript, but not bad at all. Similarly, I split a pizza with a friend that we thought sounded like the one we'd gotten last time, which ended up being one of the more traditional variety - meaning no sauce or cheese, just some very thin prosciutto, some fresh slices of tomato, and a bunch of arugala which gave the one the distinct impression that the crust had somehow escaped from the oven and was hiding in a pile of lawn clippings. It was called a Pizza Rustica incase that piqued your intestinal interest.
For all that, it was still great. And after the banana, stacchiatella, and nuttella e pan (best gelato flavor ever) gelato we got from "the good place", I felt fantastic.
Now if only I hadn't had such a strong desire to show off my lovely white halter top...
I did try. I mean, I didn't drink anything at the first bar we went to, but then we hit up the old martini bar, where it's just so pleasant to slip the bar tender a five and pick out something new to try from their posh square menus.
I had a Capirinha again, and Side Car:
Cognac, Cointreau, and lemon juice
Which was not bad, but not as good as the Paladar Havana Side car, which (correct me if I'm wrong) has Tommy Bahamas golden rum, tequila and Cointreau in it (delicious, by the way, I highly recommend it and will post the recipe if I can find it). It's better than a Lemon Drop (not having any vodka in it, and being less sugary since it uses subtly sweet alcohols and real fruit juice instead of sugar water and yellow food coloring. I don't like Vodka drinks, can you tell?)
and, of course, I couldn't let that half a Long Island Iced Tea go to waste - what kind of alcoholist would I be?
So then we decided to try out the local gay bar, Liquid (not Fluid, which for some reason is what I kept calling it) in our search for dance and a good time, but we got side tracked by a bunch of people we know sitting in the Guinness Pub.
That had to be my favorite stop of the evening.
For starters, cute bartender.
Now, I wouldn't have had anything here, but after sitting down at the table we'd noisily claimed by the front window, it became obvious that we were going to stay, and, after all, as I mentioned earlier,
Cute Bartender
So I walked up and ordered a White Russian:
(the official drink of The Dude in The Big Lebowski, this drink has popular appeal and a creamy sweetness to back it up. It's just Vodka (I know, I know, but I was already in my cups, as they say, and this was something I knew would be decent without being difficult to order) and Kaluha poured on the rocks, with a float of cream on top.
But as he was making it, he got out an extra shot glass and poured in something clear which I assumed was some variation on the recipe, but then he handed me the drink, sans shot, and when I gave him the cash for it, he brought over the extra drink and gave it to me. I asked if it was for me to drink and made the universal sign for downing a shot, which he returned with a smile, so I gladly accepted (what kind of guest would I be to turn down such hospitality in a foreign land) and found that a shot of Sambuca goes well a White Russian. Especially, when it's free.
I am so going back there.
We finally made it to Liquid, which turned out to be about the size and shape of a vassar single and a total bust, and I decided that, after some 7 hours of walking around the city in high heels and carrying a good 5 - 10 lbs. of liquor in my purse, it was time time to go home, which I did, to cap off the night in the Limo with some intense emotional conversation (Dory rocks).
If only I hadn't decided that it was only polite for me to drink the glass of wine that someone poured me before I had the chance to say that I was good...
And now I think
He thinks
I'm cooooooooo-oool...
Well, Friday night started out well enough....
Maybe I should go back a bit first.
We finished our first week of classes!
Yeay!
It was long.
I think I cried every day.
For any number of reasons.
At least some of them were artistic.
Thursday we had out first cabaret, and I performed with some friends, a piece about 'this life we've chosen' (theater majors in the house, Holla! - You know what I mean. And you can see how I might come out of it bruised if we were doing it right...), which left me considerably sore but generated some really interesting conversation (internal and external). And then dinner with the local white wine I bought at Eurospar. [a Pinot Bianco I can't remember the name of at the moment. It had an interesting flavor - savory almost. I suggested that it tasted a bit like chicken broth, but everyone thought that I was crazy. Very woody, I think, and not at all sweet, but I wouldn't call it dry either really... I have more in the bottle, I'll let you know]. And then two hours of "Tramonto", which translates literally as sunset, although a closer approximation in the English would be something like, "Community meeting that we ritualize in order to increase the chance of tears and the probability of spending all night deciding things like whether or not we should have to make increasingly more extravagant presents to our Secret Friends or walk around feeling like a bad person".
...
I didn't like Tramonto.
So by the time we finished classes on Friday afternoon, we all needed a little release.
it started well enough,
we went into the city around 6pm in jeans and heels to pick up some necessities from the Eurospar. (I bought a dessert wine that was on sale, a mid range Vin Santos to try, and a bottle of Sambuca I thought would be good with the Campari.) We met our movement teacher Brian there (because it's really not that big a city at all) and invited him out for Pizza. We went back to the place we'd eaten at before (No, I still can't remember the name) and I ordered a dark beer called St. Barnardus (for the name and the picture of a happy monk giving you a thumbs up on the blue label. It was 10% alcohol, and, as far as I'm concerned, fairly nondescript, but not bad at all. Similarly, I split a pizza with a friend that we thought sounded like the one we'd gotten last time, which ended up being one of the more traditional variety - meaning no sauce or cheese, just some very thin prosciutto, some fresh slices of tomato, and a bunch of arugala which gave the one the distinct impression that the crust had somehow escaped from the oven and was hiding in a pile of lawn clippings. It was called a Pizza Rustica incase that piqued your intestinal interest.
For all that, it was still great. And after the banana, stacchiatella, and nuttella e pan (best gelato flavor ever) gelato we got from "the good place", I felt fantastic.
Now if only I hadn't had such a strong desire to show off my lovely white halter top...
I did try. I mean, I didn't drink anything at the first bar we went to, but then we hit up the old martini bar, where it's just so pleasant to slip the bar tender a five and pick out something new to try from their posh square menus.
I had a Capirinha again, and Side Car:
Cognac, Cointreau, and lemon juice
Which was not bad, but not as good as the Paladar Havana Side car, which (correct me if I'm wrong) has Tommy Bahamas golden rum, tequila and Cointreau in it (delicious, by the way, I highly recommend it and will post the recipe if I can find it). It's better than a Lemon Drop (not having any vodka in it, and being less sugary since it uses subtly sweet alcohols and real fruit juice instead of sugar water and yellow food coloring. I don't like Vodka drinks, can you tell?)
and, of course, I couldn't let that half a Long Island Iced Tea go to waste - what kind of alcoholist would I be?
So then we decided to try out the local gay bar, Liquid (not Fluid, which for some reason is what I kept calling it) in our search for dance and a good time, but we got side tracked by a bunch of people we know sitting in the Guinness Pub.
That had to be my favorite stop of the evening.
For starters, cute bartender.
Now, I wouldn't have had anything here, but after sitting down at the table we'd noisily claimed by the front window, it became obvious that we were going to stay, and, after all, as I mentioned earlier,
Cute Bartender
So I walked up and ordered a White Russian:
(the official drink of The Dude in The Big Lebowski, this drink has popular appeal and a creamy sweetness to back it up. It's just Vodka (I know, I know, but I was already in my cups, as they say, and this was something I knew would be decent without being difficult to order) and Kaluha poured on the rocks, with a float of cream on top.
But as he was making it, he got out an extra shot glass and poured in something clear which I assumed was some variation on the recipe, but then he handed me the drink, sans shot, and when I gave him the cash for it, he brought over the extra drink and gave it to me. I asked if it was for me to drink and made the universal sign for downing a shot, which he returned with a smile, so I gladly accepted (what kind of guest would I be to turn down such hospitality in a foreign land) and found that a shot of Sambuca goes well a White Russian. Especially, when it's free.
I am so going back there.
We finally made it to Liquid, which turned out to be about the size and shape of a vassar single and a total bust, and I decided that, after some 7 hours of walking around the city in high heels and carrying a good 5 - 10 lbs. of liquor in my purse, it was time time to go home, which I did, to cap off the night in the Limo with some intense emotional conversation (Dory rocks).
If only I hadn't decided that it was only polite for me to drink the glass of wine that someone poured me before I had the chance to say that I was good...
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Things You Might Send Me, If Your Love Was True...
Ahh, yes.
It's time for a new column.
We'll call this one:
THINGS YOU MIGHT SEND ME IF YOUR LOVE WAS TRUE
Today's installment goes like this:
peanut butter
chocolate
a real pillow
some cute flat shoes
peanut butter
my Vassar hoodie
peanut butter
cookies ( - which might be good with some peanut butter...)
It's time for a new column.
We'll call this one:
THINGS YOU MIGHT SEND ME IF YOUR LOVE WAS TRUE
Today's installment goes like this:
peanut butter
chocolate
a real pillow
some cute flat shoes
peanut butter
my Vassar hoodie
peanut butter
cookies ( - which might be good with some peanut butter...)
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Feeding the Soul: Vin Santos and Bandoneón
To say that it was a religious experience would really be overstating my first encounter with Vin Santo, the Tuscan dessert wine that was recommended to me when I asked about local drinks. It wasn't bad, though, and I could see enjoying a) something I might not have to bend down to take off the shelf (so to speak) or b) in the Tuscan tradition - cantucci e vin santo - which means with some hazelnut biscotti that you dip in the wine to soften it.
The glass that I had came from our friendly neighborhood winery, and so was Vin Santo San Fabiano, bottled personally by our friendly neighborhood Count. (okay, that's probably not true, but it makes for better reading, and there really is a count, apparently, although I haven't personally been inside yet. I've heard he wears a cape. I'll let you know...)
The wine, which is pressed from dried grapes, has the distinct flavor of dried apricots, and its color is something akin to the blush of aforesaid fruit. Not too sweet this one, and a hint of burnt toast that probably compliments those biscotti.
Now the bandoneón, on the other hand, was Moving.
We had a private concert from Helena Rüegg, acclaimed tango bandoneónista. The bandoneón is similar in appearance to the accordion and sounds (as it should) like a portable organ. It is, the soul of the tango. It made me want to get up and dance, fo' sho.
But you know what they say...
I mean,
It Takes Two To Tango.
(yeah, I went there)
((care to dance?))
So aside from some newly embedded bruises (our cabaret piece is going to rock), classes are going pretty well. It's been a long week - 8 hours of classes yesterday culminated in a "Creative Process" class which basically meant Let's All Cry A Lot; while we think about how shitty this life is and how many times you get knocked over and get back up.
afterwards we all needed a drink.
...or they did homework and I needed a drink whatever anyway...
JK, yo, JK.
But in case you're not L-ing O L yet, not to worry:
Because we all ended up in the hallway for our Runway Walk It Off Party.
That's right, I showed up at our movement teacher's door in high heels and a strapless dress to invite him to join.
Just trying to be neighborly.
The glass that I had came from our friendly neighborhood winery, and so was Vin Santo San Fabiano, bottled personally by our friendly neighborhood Count. (okay, that's probably not true, but it makes for better reading, and there really is a count, apparently, although I haven't personally been inside yet. I've heard he wears a cape. I'll let you know...)
The wine, which is pressed from dried grapes, has the distinct flavor of dried apricots, and its color is something akin to the blush of aforesaid fruit. Not too sweet this one, and a hint of burnt toast that probably compliments those biscotti.
Now the bandoneón, on the other hand, was Moving.
We had a private concert from Helena Rüegg, acclaimed tango bandoneónista. The bandoneón is similar in appearance to the accordion and sounds (as it should) like a portable organ. It is, the soul of the tango. It made me want to get up and dance, fo' sho.
But you know what they say...
I mean,
It Takes Two To Tango.
(yeah, I went there)
((care to dance?))
So aside from some newly embedded bruises (our cabaret piece is going to rock), classes are going pretty well. It's been a long week - 8 hours of classes yesterday culminated in a "Creative Process" class which basically meant Let's All Cry A Lot; while we think about how shitty this life is and how many times you get knocked over and get back up.
afterwards we all needed a drink.
...or they did homework and I needed a drink whatever anyway...
JK, yo, JK.
But in case you're not L-ing O L yet, not to worry:
Because we all ended up in the hallway for our Runway Walk It Off Party.
That's right, I showed up at our movement teacher's door in high heels and a strapless dress to invite him to join.
Just trying to be neighborly.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Wine In A Juice Box
For the kid in all of us!
Tavernello makes red (10.5%) and white (11%) juice boxes in packs of 3 for about 1 Euro.
They're, you know, not bad for boxed wine.
Funny thing though, when you wake up and do a half hour run up and down the Tuscan hills, and then you take a 2 hour walk through said hills, and then you trudge through the vineyards to the local park for an hour and a half soccer game with a couple of the local guys... it don't take much to get you crunk.
In fact, it only takes about 1 of the little Tavernello guys.
And then with another, say, 2 glasses of whatever they put out in a carafe with dinner, I was having more fun than I have in a while.
Good thing I went to bed early, because after my run this morning, we had our first day of movement class with Brian Burroughs (read foxy Irish movement teacher) who kicked out butts physically for 2 hours, and then Voice class with Kevin Crawford where we got our vocal butts kicked and ended with a stirring rendition of The Spirit of the wind will carry me home.
At lunch, I took second helpings of even the peas.
I didn't even like peas.
Until today.
Ah food comas...
And now we see the beauty of the siesta.
Tavernello makes red (10.5%) and white (11%) juice boxes in packs of 3 for about 1 Euro.
They're, you know, not bad for boxed wine.
Funny thing though, when you wake up and do a half hour run up and down the Tuscan hills, and then you take a 2 hour walk through said hills, and then you trudge through the vineyards to the local park for an hour and a half soccer game with a couple of the local guys... it don't take much to get you crunk.
In fact, it only takes about 1 of the little Tavernello guys.
And then with another, say, 2 glasses of whatever they put out in a carafe with dinner, I was having more fun than I have in a while.
Good thing I went to bed early, because after my run this morning, we had our first day of movement class with Brian Burroughs (read foxy Irish movement teacher) who kicked out butts physically for 2 hours, and then Voice class with Kevin Crawford where we got our vocal butts kicked and ended with a stirring rendition of The Spirit of the wind will carry me home.
At lunch, I took second helpings of even the peas.
I didn't even like peas.
Until today.
Ah food comas...
And now we see the beauty of the siesta.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
A Note On Light: Midday September Sun On An Olive Grove In Tuscany
The light here is extremely bright and dry, but not hot. It's also a clean white that straddles the line between warm and cool - probably best represented by a very subtle lemony yellow tint - something with low saturation and a fairly high concentration of green (but then again, I'm partial to green...). Directionally, it's top heavy, with an even distribution that results from the light reflected off of the grey green olive leaves. I would ideally include an area to the side of the main acting areas where I could take out the front light and get some of the nice long, thick, navy/black shadows from the cypress trees no Tuscan set would be complete without.
Front light: lemon yellow and white
Top light: White
Side light: lemon and a very subtle gray-green
Front light: lemon yellow and white
Top light: White
Side light: lemon and a very subtle gray-green
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Campari
I mean, I like it.
No one else did.
Campari - a distinctively red, Italian aperitif with over 60 secret ingredients, usually consumed with soda and an orange twist, although also an essential part of the Negroni.
As a bitters, Campari lives up to it's reputation. At first taste, a slightly floral sweetness is gone entirely once you swallow, replaced by a strong, bitter after taste. Both it's aroma and the first mellow sweetness have something of cut grass about them, but the whole experience is difficult to describe.
Campari is not for everyone. No one else who tried it liked it. They complained it tasted of gasoline.
But, I could see getting very used to this...
We'll have to see.
I'll keep you updated on my burgeoning affair with this exotic Italian.
I know you're just dying to know more.
No one else did.
Campari - a distinctively red, Italian aperitif with over 60 secret ingredients, usually consumed with soda and an orange twist, although also an essential part of the Negroni.
As a bitters, Campari lives up to it's reputation. At first taste, a slightly floral sweetness is gone entirely once you swallow, replaced by a strong, bitter after taste. Both it's aroma and the first mellow sweetness have something of cut grass about them, but the whole experience is difficult to describe.
Campari is not for everyone. No one else who tried it liked it. They complained it tasted of gasoline.
But, I could see getting very used to this...
We'll have to see.
I'll keep you updated on my burgeoning affair with this exotic Italian.
I know you're just dying to know more.
Pizza and Beer - The Italian Way
I mean, they do that shit right, yo.
You think pizza and beer, and you think Napoli's and maybe a Bud (don't get me wrong, I love Bud. No really, I actually drink Bud...). Well not here.
The pizzas were fresh - soft bubbly crusts, a little fresh mozzarella, this fantastic spicy grlled zucchini...
And the beers were Belgian. For anyone who's ever tasted Gulden Draak, that means something.
Now, not being a beer drinker, I picked the one that had a pink elephant on the label.
It was called Delirium Nocturnum.
The label on the back said "Strong Beer".
I suppose this would be reffering to it's 8.5% alcohol content.
Not bad over all. t was dark, with a smooth, tangy head of foam, bitter, dark chocolate after taste, and a bouquet that was reminiscent of a cheap red wine.
And again, not being a beer drinker, I'ma go ahead and make pretentious analyses of the beers my friends got, based on the single sip I had of each, okay? Okay.
Leffe Blonde
This strawberry blonde hails from the Abbey of Leffe, where presumably it's brewed by blind, arthritic monks as they practice their throat singing. (Presumably)
It has a light, floral taste that leaves with a lingering sense of the roasted hops.
The alcohol content was 6.6%
Riebedebie
Definitely the best of the bunch ( almost liked this one), Joya picked this out for the Hobo on the front who's wearing red socks and carrying his shoes as he walks away from a night of heavy drinking. I can only assume that this is in some way an allusion to the high 9% alcohol content (also maybe why I liked it so much...).
Another light beer, it was, but with the slightly cloudy cast to it that makes perfect sense when you taste the subtle (damn those monks are good) spices they've added to the light, peachy base.
*Just a side note, the descriptions of these beers come from notes I made with the help of the whole table between sessions of posed "candid" pictures with themes like "Soap Opera", "Christmas Morning", and "Wanton Strumpet". Check facebook for a complete listing, although they are still currently somewhere in the works.
After dinner, it was time to try what everyone really came over here for...
the Gelato.
I, after debating for several minutes at the counter, decided that I couldn't go worse than to pick the three weirdest flavors, and then at least would know. So I got a picolo cono with Fico, Marscapone, and Nutella i Pan. (Fico, for those of you who don't know, is fig). I mean, the nutella was great. Really. And the Fico was alright as a compliment. The marscapone... perhaps was too subtle a flavor for such a bold combination.
In any case, I learned that the good kind of gelato comes in silver tins, and that a girl in a short skirt and black pumps eating the gelato gets a lot of attention.
That should have been the perfect end to the evening, However, it was Jasmine's birthday, and everyone was going out, so I clickity-clacked back to our martini bar where I tried a Gin Fizz and the bartender asked where I was from and murmured something pleasant about Ohio he couldn't possibly have meant when I told him. And then, of course, people wanted to head off to Mr. Bloom's and the Communist bar (no really, I kid you not. You're supposed to be a party member to be able to get in, which apparently gets left by the wayside when it's crowded, but talk about sending off homeland security bells on the way home... "And what were you doing in Italy exactly? Ah, just step right over here for your cavity search please"...)
Thankfully, I came to my senses and went home once we got to the new bar.
A short 30 minutes later, we were back at the cantina, putting on pajamas so that we could head over to the Limonia* (our "24 hour student space" for a late night dish session before bed. I don't think I've laughed that unhesitatingly in a year.
*The Limonia would originally have been the family's Limoncello cellar. It's where we keep our alcohol - in the perfectly temperate WINE CELLAR that's provided for the students' convenience. Yeah, that's right. My program has a student wine cellar. What does yours have?
You think pizza and beer, and you think Napoli's and maybe a Bud (don't get me wrong, I love Bud. No really, I actually drink Bud...). Well not here.
The pizzas were fresh - soft bubbly crusts, a little fresh mozzarella, this fantastic spicy grlled zucchini...
And the beers were Belgian. For anyone who's ever tasted Gulden Draak, that means something.
Now, not being a beer drinker, I picked the one that had a pink elephant on the label.
It was called Delirium Nocturnum.
The label on the back said "Strong Beer".
I suppose this would be reffering to it's 8.5% alcohol content.
Not bad over all. t was dark, with a smooth, tangy head of foam, bitter, dark chocolate after taste, and a bouquet that was reminiscent of a cheap red wine.
And again, not being a beer drinker, I'ma go ahead and make pretentious analyses of the beers my friends got, based on the single sip I had of each, okay? Okay.
Leffe Blonde
This strawberry blonde hails from the Abbey of Leffe, where presumably it's brewed by blind, arthritic monks as they practice their throat singing. (Presumably)
It has a light, floral taste that leaves with a lingering sense of the roasted hops.
The alcohol content was 6.6%
Riebedebie
Definitely the best of the bunch ( almost liked this one), Joya picked this out for the Hobo on the front who's wearing red socks and carrying his shoes as he walks away from a night of heavy drinking. I can only assume that this is in some way an allusion to the high 9% alcohol content (also maybe why I liked it so much...).
Another light beer, it was, but with the slightly cloudy cast to it that makes perfect sense when you taste the subtle (damn those monks are good) spices they've added to the light, peachy base.
*Just a side note, the descriptions of these beers come from notes I made with the help of the whole table between sessions of posed "candid" pictures with themes like "Soap Opera", "Christmas Morning", and "Wanton Strumpet". Check facebook for a complete listing, although they are still currently somewhere in the works.
After dinner, it was time to try what everyone really came over here for...
the Gelato.
I, after debating for several minutes at the counter, decided that I couldn't go worse than to pick the three weirdest flavors, and then at least would know. So I got a picolo cono with Fico, Marscapone, and Nutella i Pan. (Fico, for those of you who don't know, is fig). I mean, the nutella was great. Really. And the Fico was alright as a compliment. The marscapone... perhaps was too subtle a flavor for such a bold combination.
In any case, I learned that the good kind of gelato comes in silver tins, and that a girl in a short skirt and black pumps eating the gelato gets a lot of attention.
That should have been the perfect end to the evening, However, it was Jasmine's birthday, and everyone was going out, so I clickity-clacked back to our martini bar where I tried a Gin Fizz and the bartender asked where I was from and murmured something pleasant about Ohio he couldn't possibly have meant when I told him. And then, of course, people wanted to head off to Mr. Bloom's and the Communist bar (no really, I kid you not. You're supposed to be a party member to be able to get in, which apparently gets left by the wayside when it's crowded, but talk about sending off homeland security bells on the way home... "And what were you doing in Italy exactly? Ah, just step right over here for your cavity search please"...)
Thankfully, I came to my senses and went home once we got to the new bar.
A short 30 minutes later, we were back at the cantina, putting on pajamas so that we could head over to the Limonia* (our "24 hour student space" for a late night dish session before bed. I don't think I've laughed that unhesitatingly in a year.
*The Limonia would originally have been the family's Limoncello cellar. It's where we keep our alcohol - in the perfectly temperate WINE CELLAR that's provided for the students' convenience. Yeah, that's right. My program has a student wine cellar. What does yours have?
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Caipirinhas and Cute Italians
Okay, so both of those titular subjects should be singular.
- I've only been here for a day and a half.
I'm living in a fresco.
That's actually a poorly informed metaphor, since frescos generally include human subjects and are often religiously themed.
I'm living Under The Tuscan Sun. Life Is Beautiful.
heh.
I'm exhausted. Probably because we decided to go celebrate last night instead of sleeping.
After the 25 minute walk into town, we found a great martini bar with a hot young bar tender (who didn't seem to notice me aside from mixing me a deliciously strong Caipirinha) and an older bar tender (who kept winking at me as I stood in line). The place was at the very end of the road we chose randomly to wander down and had a posh, futuristic interior. Their fairly extensive menu of cocktails with familiar names and top shelf booze made me nervous with it's complete lack of prices (don't order alcohol without knowing what it costs, kids. P.L.D.), but everything was 5 Euros, which, despite a piteous exchange rate is pretty reasonable.
Then we moved to another bar where half of the group had broken off in search of beers and took over the clean well lighted space to make slightly (less) awkward small talk about assigned reading that no one had read (was I the only one who was excited?). I took a tequila shot there with my roommate - because what kick starts enforced intimacy like inebriation - which they charged us 3.50 for. I suspect that the Italians don't normally do shots, since the bar tender seemed to pull the requested figure out of thin air. - You could see it in the 'are these American college kids going to pay this, because they look like they'll be ignorant enough of the exchange rate and intent enough on intoxication to do just that' look he hid behind his 3 and a half fingers. (...think about it... how do I mean it?)
Fortunately, the walk, which is uphill (BOTH WAYS, conflabbit) is going to be deliciously sobering and slimming, especially in this unseasonably chilly weather. (perhaps the 14 sun dresses I packed were a bad idea)
Of course, it sobered me up just enough to sip some Chivas Regal and try to work into conversation the inappropriate personal facts which seem, to your intoxicated mind, like brag worthy fun facts. It's the impulse that's provoked every game of Never-Have-I-Ever I've ever played. ("Okay, OKAY! What's your favorite body part on a person of the opposite sex? - I mean, on the sex you're attracted to? - Wait, what's, is everyone normal? - I mean, straight? Do we have any... Okay, what's your favorite part of people - and who here do you think has the best... Want to smell me?")
This morning I went for a run, to burn off the rest of the hangover and check out the grounds. We're surrounded by olive groves and cedar trees, and situated about three quarters up a winding one lane road dotted with other Renaissance villas and ending, so I'm told, in a vineyard run by a Count. I am also told, that he does not wear a cape. Disappointing.
After that, we played orientation games which involved running into the center of the circle and shouting your name and increasingly personal facts, immediately after which, anyone about whom the fact was also true descended on you in a clapping, cheering mob of accord. I found the most difficult part to be thinking of answers to questions like "Why are you here?" that were reflective but not maudlin. I'll get there. ("Hi. I'm Allegra, and I want to, correct my crisis of faith...")
The food is great. Did that come out of no where? Sorry, I'm hungry.
Everything gets homemade for us by the mystical Riccardo. Today we had gnochi for pranzo and minestrone for cena (look, I'm practically fluent), but we were told that the wine they'd served us with dinner last night was a celebratory, first night kind of thing. Sigh. You can't have everything I suppose.
So, now that I've wasted sufficient time, I can go to bed without (hopefully) waking up at 4 am.
ciao bella
(god, I'm so fucking continental)
- I've only been here for a day and a half.
I'm living in a fresco.
That's actually a poorly informed metaphor, since frescos generally include human subjects and are often religiously themed.
I'm living Under The Tuscan Sun. Life Is Beautiful.
heh.
I'm exhausted. Probably because we decided to go celebrate last night instead of sleeping.
After the 25 minute walk into town, we found a great martini bar with a hot young bar tender (who didn't seem to notice me aside from mixing me a deliciously strong Caipirinha) and an older bar tender (who kept winking at me as I stood in line). The place was at the very end of the road we chose randomly to wander down and had a posh, futuristic interior. Their fairly extensive menu of cocktails with familiar names and top shelf booze made me nervous with it's complete lack of prices (don't order alcohol without knowing what it costs, kids. P.L.D.), but everything was 5 Euros, which, despite a piteous exchange rate is pretty reasonable.
Then we moved to another bar where half of the group had broken off in search of beers and took over the clean well lighted space to make slightly (less) awkward small talk about assigned reading that no one had read (was I the only one who was excited?). I took a tequila shot there with my roommate - because what kick starts enforced intimacy like inebriation - which they charged us 3.50 for. I suspect that the Italians don't normally do shots, since the bar tender seemed to pull the requested figure out of thin air. - You could see it in the 'are these American college kids going to pay this, because they look like they'll be ignorant enough of the exchange rate and intent enough on intoxication to do just that' look he hid behind his 3 and a half fingers. (...think about it... how do I mean it?)
Fortunately, the walk, which is uphill (BOTH WAYS, conflabbit) is going to be deliciously sobering and slimming, especially in this unseasonably chilly weather. (perhaps the 14 sun dresses I packed were a bad idea)
Of course, it sobered me up just enough to sip some Chivas Regal and try to work into conversation the inappropriate personal facts which seem, to your intoxicated mind, like brag worthy fun facts. It's the impulse that's provoked every game of Never-Have-I-Ever I've ever played. ("Okay, OKAY! What's your favorite body part on a person of the opposite sex? - I mean, on the sex you're attracted to? - Wait, what's, is everyone normal? - I mean, straight? Do we have any... Okay, what's your favorite part of people - and who here do you think has the best... Want to smell me?")
This morning I went for a run, to burn off the rest of the hangover and check out the grounds. We're surrounded by olive groves and cedar trees, and situated about three quarters up a winding one lane road dotted with other Renaissance villas and ending, so I'm told, in a vineyard run by a Count. I am also told, that he does not wear a cape. Disappointing.
After that, we played orientation games which involved running into the center of the circle and shouting your name and increasingly personal facts, immediately after which, anyone about whom the fact was also true descended on you in a clapping, cheering mob of accord. I found the most difficult part to be thinking of answers to questions like "Why are you here?" that were reflective but not maudlin. I'll get there. ("Hi. I'm Allegra, and I want to, correct my crisis of faith...")
The food is great. Did that come out of no where? Sorry, I'm hungry.
Everything gets homemade for us by the mystical Riccardo. Today we had gnochi for pranzo and minestrone for cena (look, I'm practically fluent), but we were told that the wine they'd served us with dinner last night was a celebratory, first night kind of thing. Sigh. You can't have everything I suppose.
So, now that I've wasted sufficient time, I can go to bed without (hopefully) waking up at 4 am.
ciao bella
(god, I'm so fucking continental)
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
A Mai Tai, a Pain Killer, and a Bikini Martini walk into a bar...
...and they each order a mojito.
It's not actually a joke.
It's the best and worst idea for a bon voyage party ever.
Here' what all the cool kids are drinking on a school night near you:
Don The Beachcomber's Mai Tai
(mummy's secret "we-don't-have-all-the-ingredients recipe)
1.5 oz dark rum (I recommend Cruzan Black Strap... Boy, do I ever recommend Cruzan Black strap...)
1 oz medium boded rum (like Mount Gay)
3/4 oz lime juice
1/2 oz triple sec (like Cointreau)
2 dashes Angostura Bitters
*1/4 oz falernum
**1 dash Pernod
mint leaves and pineapple garnish
* we used 1/4 oz almound extract + 3/4 oz vanilla vodka
** who has Pernod sitting around? Try something sweet like 1/2 oz peach schnapps + 1/2 oz Malibu, otherwse it's a bit of a bitter drink.
On the whole, these were pretty good. (well mixed, certainly) They have a very complex taste. I would be interested to try it with the Pernod, though, since we really departed from the recipe there, and I think I would have preferred pineapple juice (or pineapple rum) to the peach schnapps.
Allie's Kill It Dead Pain Killers
2 oz Cruzan Black Strap Rum (really, just drink the stuff straight, or with a little Rose's lime and some Grand Marnier - it has a super smooth dark molasses flavor)
1 oz Malibu
1.5 oz Fridays Pre-mixed Pina Colada Mix
garnish with Nutmeg (and don't skimp, this is the most important ingredient even though it's just a dash - that's where that mystical healing aroma comes from)
serve over ice
Considering I invented it, it was my favorite drink of the evening. The plastic coconut cups really capped off the Happy Hour portion of the night.
And then, of course, there was dinner at the Cheesecake Factory, where I tried the Bikini Martini - a drink that sounds like it should be disgusting, but is made up of Malibu, Cruzan Pineapple Rum, and pineapple juice. The Grenadine they poured in to give the thing a disgusting sunburned hue, I could have done without. And I had a sip of the Mojito my mother ordered, since the Cheesecake Factory Mojitos are the reason I started drinking the things. I don't know what their mix is, but if you're looking for a fantastic Mojito, this is the (albeit unlikely) place to get it.
Oh the plane ride is going to be fun tonight!
It's not actually a joke.
It's the best and worst idea for a bon voyage party ever.
Here' what all the cool kids are drinking on a school night near you:
Don The Beachcomber's Mai Tai
(mummy's secret "we-don't-have-all-the-ingredients recipe)
1.5 oz dark rum (I recommend Cruzan Black Strap... Boy, do I ever recommend Cruzan Black strap...)
1 oz medium boded rum (like Mount Gay)
3/4 oz lime juice
1/2 oz triple sec (like Cointreau)
2 dashes Angostura Bitters
*1/4 oz falernum
**1 dash Pernod
mint leaves and pineapple garnish
* we used 1/4 oz almound extract + 3/4 oz vanilla vodka
** who has Pernod sitting around? Try something sweet like 1/2 oz peach schnapps + 1/2 oz Malibu, otherwse it's a bit of a bitter drink.
On the whole, these were pretty good. (well mixed, certainly) They have a very complex taste. I would be interested to try it with the Pernod, though, since we really departed from the recipe there, and I think I would have preferred pineapple juice (or pineapple rum) to the peach schnapps.
Allie's Kill It Dead Pain Killers
2 oz Cruzan Black Strap Rum (really, just drink the stuff straight, or with a little Rose's lime and some Grand Marnier - it has a super smooth dark molasses flavor)
1 oz Malibu
1.5 oz Fridays Pre-mixed Pina Colada Mix
garnish with Nutmeg (and don't skimp, this is the most important ingredient even though it's just a dash - that's where that mystical healing aroma comes from)
serve over ice
Considering I invented it, it was my favorite drink of the evening. The plastic coconut cups really capped off the Happy Hour portion of the night.
And then, of course, there was dinner at the Cheesecake Factory, where I tried the Bikini Martini - a drink that sounds like it should be disgusting, but is made up of Malibu, Cruzan Pineapple Rum, and pineapple juice. The Grenadine they poured in to give the thing a disgusting sunburned hue, I could have done without. And I had a sip of the Mojito my mother ordered, since the Cheesecake Factory Mojitos are the reason I started drinking the things. I don't know what their mix is, but if you're looking for a fantastic Mojito, this is the (albeit unlikely) place to get it.
Oh the plane ride is going to be fun tonight!
Monday, September 3, 2007
Pelee Island Ice Wine: Cabernet Franc
So here's the deal -
I keep a personal journal,
I'll keep a journal of the work I do for the program this semester,
By the time I get to the bog that my father keeps suggesting I write, that makes the third time I've relayed the relatively tedious events of my life in print. That's not even counting all of the mental or vocal rehashing I've done that day, and it doesn't leave any room for private correspondence...
The solution? A themed blog centered on the different things I drink.
Ah! A journal about alcohol! Now you're playing Farnesworth's game!
No, I'm not an alcoholic -
I'm an alcohoIST.
This fall I'll be turning 21, and living in luscious Tuscana - home to fine food and finer wines. What better way to document my time there then by detailing all of the wonderful new (liquid) experiences life presents me with?
Now, to business.
In honor of my impending departure, we celebrated last night with one of the ice wines that have been sitting in our refrigerator for the past several months. The label suggests the sweet rose colored wine will have strong hints of cassis and an after-taste of strawberry jam. What can I say - I like sweet wines. Renowned for their sweetness, which comes from pressing the grapes once they're frozen so that only the ripest grapes will release their juices, this was a particularly fine bottle. Not overly sweet - it actually did deliver on the sugary tartness of strawberries, with just a hint of crystalized sugar and, of course, the lovely flavor of ripe grapes. Excellent with dark chocolate.
Not impressed with my blog so far? Hey, you actually came to the site and read it! Not something I would have done. Don't worry, I suspect the posts will become more interesting once I actually ship off to the continent. And hey - that's tomorrow. Leave me comments, email me, There's nothing like a full inbox in the morning.
ciao
I keep a personal journal,
I'll keep a journal of the work I do for the program this semester,
By the time I get to the bog that my father keeps suggesting I write, that makes the third time I've relayed the relatively tedious events of my life in print. That's not even counting all of the mental or vocal rehashing I've done that day, and it doesn't leave any room for private correspondence...
The solution? A themed blog centered on the different things I drink.
Ah! A journal about alcohol! Now you're playing Farnesworth's game!
No, I'm not an alcoholic -
I'm an alcohoIST.
This fall I'll be turning 21, and living in luscious Tuscana - home to fine food and finer wines. What better way to document my time there then by detailing all of the wonderful new (liquid) experiences life presents me with?
Now, to business.
In honor of my impending departure, we celebrated last night with one of the ice wines that have been sitting in our refrigerator for the past several months. The label suggests the sweet rose colored wine will have strong hints of cassis and an after-taste of strawberry jam. What can I say - I like sweet wines. Renowned for their sweetness, which comes from pressing the grapes once they're frozen so that only the ripest grapes will release their juices, this was a particularly fine bottle. Not overly sweet - it actually did deliver on the sugary tartness of strawberries, with just a hint of crystalized sugar and, of course, the lovely flavor of ripe grapes. Excellent with dark chocolate.
Not impressed with my blog so far? Hey, you actually came to the site and read it! Not something I would have done. Don't worry, I suspect the posts will become more interesting once I actually ship off to the continent. And hey - that's tomorrow. Leave me comments, email me, There's nothing like a full inbox in the morning.
ciao
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