Showing posts with label internship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label internship. Show all posts

Monday, February 27, 2012

3 Months.


3 months is the amount of time needed of regional work experience to be eligible to apply for a second year visa. 3 months is the amount of time Felix will be here for his internship. 3 months is the amount of time I lived in Ireland for last spring.

I was telling Elizabeth about Monkey Mia and not seeing any dolphins and not seeing any penguins on Penguin Island she was like well at the end of vintage we’ll take you to see the whales in Bremen Bay in May – if you decide to stay. And I was like do they expect me to stay that whole time? I was thinking maybe a couple of weeks, maybe a month or two and thought I’d continue WWOOFing somewhere else to gain another experience. But, on the one hand from this comment, I liked the trust they instilled in me, and reliability on a continued experience. On the other hand I counted in my head…February, March, April, May…ahhh! That seems so far away. I guess that counts for my 3 months regional work. It could be nice to have it all done at one place, all at once, with a better overall experience of the process rather than short and choppy. It’s a better understanding of the wine making process I’m looking for, after all.

 February. March. April. May.  I can do this. 

Thursday, February 23, 2012

The Last Days of Perth and a Road Trip to Monkey Mia

(the little outburt of land in the very top left hand corner is Monkey Mia, Frankland is somewhere in the unidentified land in the very south, above Denmark, below Kojonup, to the left of the Y in the white road.)

 Right now I’m on the bus to the Great Southern region of Australia. A four hour ride to my next step and all I can think about is the whirlwind of the last few days. I guess I have absolutely no idea what to expect on this next adventure so it’s easier for me to think about what has happened and what has led me here. Tuesday, Valentines Day, was a day to celebrate getting a WWOOFing opportunity and to play bingo at the Claremont Hotel. Wednesday was filled with errands and departure preparations and then some more-celebratory beers and oysters in Fremantle. Thursday was more organizing and packing. Then that night there was Frankland Estate’s annual Riesling release event at Must Wine Bar in Perth. The event was quite busy and I started talking with a German couple who had been living in Perth for years and had actually been down to Frankland Estate.  The chatty wife was very opinionated about her Riesling, refilling her glass frequently so I learned a bit about the wines from them. There were three different Rieslings from Frankland Estate, from different vineyards on their property, which resulted in all three of them tasting completely different. One was quite light and easy to drink, the next was a bit more complex with fruitier notes while the third was much sweeter and had a fuller texture like most people would associate with a Riesling. There was also a French Riesling from 2001 that was reminiscent of petroleum – depending on your taste is a good thing or a bad thing, but it’s kinda funny like the wine wheel describing wet  cardboard: who actually knows what this taste likes….(!) Apparently that is a sign of an aged wine and definitely an acquired taste. I introduced myself to Hunter, one of the winemakers who was the son of the family and then met Brian, the husband of the woman/brother-in-law I had been emailing with. I also met Felix, the German guy who was also working at the winery with me. He is studying wine and this work is part of a three month internship. He has worked on vineyards before and is actually fully studying wine, not just WWOOFing so I think, and hope, that I will learn a lot from him. They were all incredibly enthusiastic and extremely friendly. It really eased a bit of my hesitations and I actually left the bar really excited about the new opportunity I had ahead of me to work with these guys.

I had plans to meet up with my first “friend” – the Irish guy who worked down by the Swan Bells. Since meeting him that first day, I had gone back a couple times while in Perth just to chat and we finally exchanged numbers. We met at the Cure ("come here for your hangover cure") where he was out with his friends. It’s funny in Australia – the Irish bars are only filled with Irish people. And it doesn’t matter if it’s 2:30 in the afternoon on a Monday or a Saturday night. I don’t know if it’s because Irish peple just like to drink together. Pajo, let’s call him, calls Irish people sheep: they all flock together. He thinks that they give themselves a bad name to the Australians because they say there is no work in Ireland, making the place sound horrible and poor, but Pajo, his roommate and his girlfriend, and other people he knows actually left their jobs to come to Australia so it’s not like there’s nothing there for them. But anyways, there we were, him from Dublin and me “just moved here from Donegal,” hanging out in the Irish bar like all the other baa-ing sheep. We left though to go to the Brass Monkey – a pretty well known beer bar in Northbridge. They next day, with nothing better to do, we continued our joke-filled tour of Northbridge. As my first friend in Australia, I had a lot of fun and a lot of laughs on my last days. 


Two sausages are frying in a pan. One sausage says to the other, gee it's awfully hot in here. The other sausage responds, AAHHH A TALKING SAUSAGE!
(this joke also works with muffins in an oven)

Saturday morning, JD and I left really early for our road trip up north.  We were driving over 800 kilometers north to Monkey Mia in an attempt to swim with the dolphins as it was one of the things on the “list” to do in Australia. JD kept thanking me for the trip, but I swear it was his idea to go there. I had read somewhere that it was only about 6 hours, not 8 or 10…Even with speeding (the speed limit is 110  on the highways) it took us about 8 and a half hours. JD drove for the first couple of hours out of the city and then I drove for about 5 until I uncomfortably couldn’t drive anymore. Driving north out of Perth, the towns got smaller and more hick-ish with great distances of cattle farms and grain fields in between. At times it appeared very “outback-ish” but we were nowhere close to what the Outback actually is like. After we passed Geraldton, the empty expanse of land really exposed itself. The red clay soil lined the sides of the road and on either side of the road, dry prickly low bushes covered the land. My eyes of course were peeled for kangaroo’s, always, but only a few lying on the side of the road could be seen, drying out and half eaten.  You're welcome for the description. 
We drove through an area called Wildflower County that apparently is just blooming with colorful wildflowers between July and November. I can only imagine how impressive it must be. We drove on and on, as the names on the road signs slowly were crossed off as we passed them, overtaking massively intimidating road trains and speeding as fast as the little rental Toyota Corola could handle and bear it’s "high performance vehicle ability" until only Denham and Monkey Mia were left.  We entered Shark Bay, Western Australia’s first World Heritage area granted in 1991 for matching four natural criteria: it’s stromatolites, seagrass beds, extraordinary scenery, and fauna: 26 mammal species, 13 reptiles threatened to extinction, 3 types of rare birds, 12% of the world’s dugangas, and a large loggerhead turtle rockeries.* 

*According to Scoop Mag (the same one I think that told me it was only 6 hours away).

As we came over some of the hills, the dry land cleared away to absolutely breathtaking aquamarine water and crisp white sand lining the coast. It was so pristine, so empty, you could really understand the appreciation for the World Heritage protection of the area. 
Signs for people crossing were everywhere, but where were these people coming from, and where were they going?

Denham was a quiet sleepy town on the water with a couple hotels and boats docked in the water. We drove on though, for another 24 kilometers to Monkey Mia. It had a cooler sounding name and we only do the cool things. Monkey Mia, is basically a little resort community. There is the Monkey Mia Resort which has villas, camping site, hostel accomodations, and caravans. There is a small pool and hot tub, tennis courts, games to rent, a bar and a restaurant, beach access and of course, the opportunity to feed dolphins. Monkey Mia is the only place in Australia where wild dolphins will come up to the shore to bed fed daily, rather than seasonally. Except for Sunday, Februrary 19th. That was not one of the “daily” days. Apparently they will come to shore between 7:30 and noon, but on this particularly day, when we were there, there was a warm current filled with fish so the dolphins were out to sea and didn’t need to come to shore to be fed. They seem to be smart animals, habitual animals, so they know to come back if they want to but since Monkey Mia is part of the World Heritage area, they do not encourage the tourism of the site into making the dolphins circus animals. I liked that and commented on how easily you could see the place bening like a Club Med with daily activities like water yoga and kids camp but it was more of a relaxation spot for travelers – a little out of the way, but definitely a worthwhile reward.


 the view from our beach side hotel room.
the beach.
 The water was incredibly warm and shallow and clear. Monkey Mia is in a little hamlet so there were no waves, although the current was quite strong. The sea floor was covered with different types of shells and you could see little fish swimming around you. JD thought he felt a jellyfish in the water, saw a turtle, and a long water snake while snorkeling. Oh and apparently there were sharks in the water, but they were well fed so they didn’t bother with the humans – good to know!
Is that water deep or are you just really short? OMG YOU'RE SO TALL!
 But I don't wanna get out. 
 We had veggie burgers and salt and pepper squid for dinner then played pool with the greatest comeback the Black Widower ever saw and defensive fooseball. I lost both, even with knowing JD was trying to play down his coughmadcough skills. Some beer, white wine, and two tequila shots later, we went to the beach and laid down to stare at the stars.
The sky was absolutely stunning. I have never seen anything like it. And I can't even describe it to you to give it justice. From lying on the sand, looking out onto the sea’s horizon, there were stars just inches above the horizon - I had never seen them expand so far. They stretched all the way over us and behind us as far as we could see, not a cloud in sight - that thing that looks like a cloud, oh, that's just a galaxy, clearly visible to us right now. The Milky Way wrapped around the middle of the sky, directly above us, laying a belt of twinkly clusters of stars amongst the brighter ones. JD was soon snoring*, but I could’ve just stared out upon that sky for the entire night. The clarity of it’s expanse was really was unbelievable. The area around us, in the middle of nowhere of the World Heritage site, was so pure, so clear of pollution, the sky just shone.

*details like these are not only funny, but definitely part of the story and experience. 
 The next morning, a dip in the sea and then we waited by the jetty for the dolphins to arrive. The jetty was full of people standing, then sitting, then dispersed onto other day activities with the dolphin's no show ("they are definitely going to get fired"). Everyone had their eyes peeled from the shore to the horizion, as people pointed at every bird that swooped and fish that jumped making a splash, with the sun sparkling upon the little wave breaks, but none of these were dolphins.


We were two for two: no peguins on Penguin Island, no dolphins at Monkey Mia.

There were howerever a flock of befuddled emu’s wandering around, sometimes chasing each other, sometimes going up and pecking at the grass in front of sun bathers. At first they were a touristy novelty of intrigue and after less than 24 hours they were almost annoying and in the way with their jutting beaks and huge feet. 


“Hey guys, how’s it going, whatcha doing, hey guys, wait up”
….picture Will Ferrell in A Night at the Roxbury….as an emu.

It really was beautiful. We had planned on leaving at 12 and ended up leaving at 2 – 1 because the restaurant for lunch didn’t open until noon, 2 because it was way too hard to leave the sun and views for another 8/5 hour ride and 3 because we couldn’t leave without having a pina colada.

Back in the car, back to speeding and testing the car’s limits in the middle of nowhwere, back to passing the caravans of packpackers, pack to passing the tremendous road trains, back to driving until you're numb and stuck to the seat, back to chugging sugar-free Red Bulls and eating chips until your stomach hurts, back to the shuffle dance party of the iPod, and back to the not-so-clear-aired sky of the city.
So now, after that whirlwind, I am sitting on the bus not really sure where I’m going or what to expect. I am not nervous, I don’t really feel anything to be honest. Just sort of going with it. It’s like, it’s going to happen, there’s nothing you can do about it, and just let what happens happen. There’s no point in fretting, everything works out the way it is supposed to and maybe I have a good feeling about it. I am not scratching or pulling at my hair – that is a good sign. I suppose it helps that I met three of the people I will be working with and Elizabeth seems nice on email. I think if anything, I am nervous about what I have to offer. Sure my letter was heartfelt and personal and passionate and I should have a lot of knowledge from UNISG and the amount of wine I've drunk but I don’t know if I actually have the tasting ability to really know what I’m talking about nor do I have the slightest clue about actual wine making. I am hoping to be trained and learn about the production process. I guess I’m really not worried because I have no  obligations here. I don’t have to stay if I don’t like it. It will be nice to work during the morning, to have a routine, and then if I want to work in the afternoon I will be paid for it. Felix the German guy said that during vintage there is always a lot of work going on but there is also a car so if I want to use that and explore the area I can do that too. Valley of the Giants, Walpole, Denmark, Albany, 40 wineries in the region, Mt Barker, Australia's (or the world's?) oldest mountain range, a couple national parks, Australia's whitest beaches in Esperance, also a salt lake, isolation, remoteness, learning the in's and out's of the life of a winery, tasting pure grape juice, unpolluted air to stare at the stars....seriously, what is there to not look forward to?! 

Friday, March 4, 2011

Al Vedel

I ate at Al Vedel twice. Once for lunch with Arina and Asher and then for dinner (the next day) with mum and Arina. I didn't take pictures of everything we ate, but everything was delicious - maybe it was gone too quickly before I had a chance to snap a photo. 
La speciale selezione di tre stagionature di Culatelli di Zibello dop 16-26-38 mesi con focaccia  a lievitazione naturale 

we also had: Involtini di melanzana con crema di ricotta e ombrina, ragù di scampi al frutto della passione 
and
Bourguignonne di lumache con crema di aglio dolce " Cerasaro" e cestino di patate croccante
Ravioli di verza, crema allo zafferano e chips di cotechino 
Pappardelle di pasta rustica al ragù di cervo
Anolini parmigiani in brodo di carne

we also had: Risotto con salame fresco e funghi porcini

Sella di cinghiale  al  Barolo, tartar di filetto al tartufo nero e giardiniera di verdure
Terrina di coscia di lepre, arrostino di sella
Maialino da latte croccante con cipollotti fondenti e riso
house wine.
Crostatina calda alla crema di limone e meringa, frutta fresca 

we also had: Semifreddo " Bacio di Parma" con salsa profumata al nocino

Thursday, March 3, 2011

what i miss #6

you know you're going to miss a place when "buona notte" comes out primarily more naturally than "goodnight."and to a non-italian friend....


...it's good to have everyone coming back to Colorno from their stages :) one week is not enough. 

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Oh, it is wonderful to wake up in the morning with things to look forward to! - Dodie Smith

my thesis was sent last night. celebrations ensued which included too quickly drunk gin & tonics and some coffee shot at the pub. three suitcases are already packed. and i mean stuffed. probably already over the airplane weight limit yet my room still looks full. mum arrives on friday and we're meeting in milan to see the last supper. then verona, bologna and modena. plans tbd but reservation is booked for osteria francescana! back in colorno, the thesis defense presentation is on tuesday afternoon. wednesday night we have a group dinner at pallavicina. graduation is on thursday morning. party at the pub afterwards. early morning (!) flight to ireland the following day. then a week's vacation with mum & dad in donegal! then....post-UNISG life starts. 

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Podere Cadassa

Here are some pics from when I worked with the butchers:
Culatello di Zibello being tied and hung
Luciano putting the ground up pork meat into the intestinal lining
salami!
Tying the salami. 
Cutting the fat off. 
Shaving the skin off the leg.
Spalla cotta - wrapping and tying.
Riccardo salting the spalla cotta
Spalla cotta is the shoulder
Wrapping it to keep it's shape.
the salting process. 
culatello hanging in the cellar. 
DOP
open windows for the culatello to absorb the "culatello weather"

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Things I've learned So Far in my Internship part 5:

Work nightmares still continue. But as I've moved on from Secundo to Dolce to Macelleria - they now involve culatello sponge cakes with chantilly cream frosting.
How to tie a culatello in an entwined spiderweb network.
That twine is the traditional and best way to tie culatello.
The twine will give you blisters. Even when you're not strong enough to pull hard enough.
Viscichetta means blister.
Legs are bought based on weight.
They pigs come from different farms in the area, but they must eat feed with Parmigiano Reggiano whey in it.
That pancetta is cured between wooden blocks and needs a good brush dusting.
Watched how the salami (strolghino) is spewed into intestines.
How to tie salami into sections. Well. Not quite mastered that yet. I feel knotslexic.
Salami Gentile is wrapped in rectum instead of intestine.
How to scratch the rectum covering and poke it with a fork to let the water drain.
How to tie the Gentile so it stays straight while curing.
Busy cured meat/culatello time is Oct-Feb
It used to be just Dec and Jan when the weather was coldest and just right, but now the Consorzio requires the meat to be hung in refrigerated rooms, cella, so now they can produce more meat over a longer amount of time.
It was thought that the meat hanging in damp cellars was not sanitary.
How to clean a piece of shoulder by removing it's fat.
That glands on the shoulder when cooked are bad.
That a pig's leg is shaved, then cut into a culatello (rear) piece and a fiocchetta (front) piece and then broken down into meat and thick fatty skin bits to be cooked to pork scratchings aka ciccioli
While working, huge chunks of meat can fly pass your face.
Metal gloves, no matter how large and taped around your wrist, are finger-savers.
That I dont understand why anyone trusts me and a knife anywhere near their food...
How to tie fiochetta with twine without chafing new blisters on top of the post-culatello-tying blisters.
Blisters hurt. Damn.
Like prosciutto di parma, culatello is quality-checked using a horse bone pin to smell and a knocking hammer to check for air. A hollow sound is a bad sign and means that the culatello was not cut or closed properly as water remained and spoiled the meat.
I'm fascinated by the quality-control skills of the nose.
These cured meats are truly artisinal - all hand made, lots of labour of love.
The older the culatello, the better flavour.
The smell of meat stays with you, absorbs into your clothes, seeps into your hair, a constant reminder on your fingers. 

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Culatello from the Po Valley: "You can't just eat good food. You've got to talk about it too. And you've got to talk about it to somebody who understands that kind of food." — Kurt Vonnegut (Jailbird)

"....è la mia terra: la Bassa Parmense, la pianura emiliana in riva al Po. Qui la passione politica arriva spesso ad una intensità preoccupante: eppure questa gente è simpatica ed ospitale e generosa e ha uno spiccato senso d'umorismo.
Deve essere il sole, un sole maledetto che martella i cervelli durante tutta l'estate.
Oppure deve essere la nebbia, una nebbia cupa che opprime i cervelli durante tutto l'inverno.
....Per me il Po comincia a Piacenza, e fa benissimo perché è l'unico fiume rispettabile che esista in Italia: e i fiumi che si respettano si sviluppano in pianura, perché l'acqua è roba fatta per rimanere orizzontale, e soltanto quando è perfettamente orizzontale l'acqua conserva tutta la sua naturale dignità.
Le cascate del Niagara sono fenomeni da baraccone, come gli uomini che camminano sulle mani."

        - Giovannino Guareschi.

......


"Proprio nelle parole di Guareschi si possono cogliere tutti gli elementi che contribuiscono a creare l'unicità della Bassa e del Culatello: la gente ☺, il Po ~~, la nebbia ☁ e il caldo afoso☀. I pochi, piccoli, semplici, ma magici e preziosi segreti del Culatello di Zebello e del suo speciale legame con la Bassa Parmense, risiedono quindi nel particolare e felice connubio tra la sapienza delle genti, lo spirito del luogo e il clima di questa terra."

         - Elisabetta Bertuzzi, Il Culatello di Zibello da prodotto a marca


I TIED THIS CULATELLO!

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Things I've learned So Far in my Internship part 4:

.....my week in dolce....

To get pomegranate juice, cut it in half, cover with a cheese cloth and squeeeeeeeze.
That if you want something done correctly, you have to show me. Not just tell me. I'm a visual learner.
Microwaves are associated with fast, prepared, frozen food which is why I associated them with cheating. But they actually are time savers.
Shake-Weights are unnecessary when you've got zabaglione to make.
How to make zabaglione filled chocolate truffle balls. Molded Shells. Filling Stuffed. Sealed Fingerprint-less.
How to make almond biscotti.
How to make a pastry shell.
How to make pastry dough.
To make lemon curd filling you need 10 lemons, zest of half the lemons, 400g of lemon juice, a buttload of sugar and 10 eggs. Then whip it...for over forty (yes, 40) minutes by hand (yes, by hand) until it goes from 14C to 84C. Then, add 750 grams of butter. Whip some more. Healthy. Really. Delicious. Better if you don't know the ingredients.
That even if you think your arm could fall off, it won't.
To remember to prick pastry dough before putting it in the oven.
How to use the ice cream machine!
That a teaspoon can be used to make balls of apple.
balls = palle.
Mandarines have seeds. Clementines don't.
That no one leaves until everyone's prep work is done. Everyone works together.
That Europeans want to go to America. Americans want to stay in Europe. They don't understand why we don't want to go back.
Blank stares are universally understood.
Virgin Radio loves Katy Perry.
37 eggs make 680grams of egg yolk.
Milk boils very fast.
I know nothing about the metric system.
Or math...
How to make individual tiramisu. It's very delicate.
How to hold a pastry bag without getting the cream inside too warm.
That, yes indeed, I am still allergic to kiwi's.
Kiwi in English is Kiwi in Italiano.
Pecorino is sheep's cheese. Pecorina is not the feminine form. Pecorine does not mean many sheep.
It's either done when it's 84C or known from eye sight.
How to make a Torta Diplomatica. And that diplomatica means....shrug.
Even though I think my Italian is pretty good, I don't know the difference if someone is telling me to do something, or explaining it to me.
I like the explaining.
Sugar. Butter. Milk. Eggs. Water. Cream. and a Whisk. Can't go wrong...
Roberto è un artista.
I like the dessert station.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

things that are impossible to do in culatello weather.

 * Walk a dog and still be able to see it.
* Run on the sidewalks without swerving into oncoming street poles.
* Drive with one headlight.
* Trust anyone to drive.
* Expect your hair to stay straight. 
*  Not have your make-up drip off your wet face.
* Not have your hair stick to your head from the wet air's humidity.
* To be able to see without squinting to see a meter in front of you.
* Ride along the river's dyke path.
* Be warm with 37 layers on while riding your bike to work.
* Feel like you're not in a horror movie.
* To think about anything except culatello.
* To think that, after everything we've learned, it's pretty cool that this is what they talk about when they mean terroir - it's the fog that gives prosciutto and culatello it's parma status.
* Wonder why you're not in sunny Sicily...

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Focaccia. It's not Parma Bread.

ok, a post about focaccia. One of the fears you must overcome while living in Italy is the fear of all things white. White bread. White pasta. Butter. Whole milk. Lard. White fatty bits on cured meat. It's just impossible. It''s inevitable. Not only is it everywhere and typical of the cuisine, it's delicious.

I have not been a fan of what is known as parma bread. I honestly don't think anyone is. It is hard on the outside. Pretty dry on the inside. It's boring. I'm sure if thrown at someone's head, it could lethally be the perfect murder weapon. I couldn't understand why northern Italy couldn't have better bread. That is, until now during my internship, I tried focaccia from Al Vedel.

Every day for staff lunch there is meat and potatoes or cheesey/meaty/buttery pasta and always bread sprawled out across the table. Carbs. White carbs. But it doesn't matter. << over the fear >> the focaccia is freshly made in the morning and so light and fluffy it just melts in your mouth. It sits on the cotton table cloth and taunts me. << thinking about the fear >> it's not the hard, dry, boring shit. 

Today however, there was no bread on the table. for lunch, we had focaccia pizza. FOCACCIA PIZZA. foccaccia topped with red onions. focaccia topped with tomato sauce and mozzarella. focaccia topped with gorgonzola. focaccia topped with tomatoes. Even after three slices of this peppy pizza, I wanted more. Even after sneaking a slice during clean up, I wanted more. Even after bringing home three slices, I wanted more.

Bravo Mauro.

Thank you for showing me that the area can have good bread. No more micca di parma. No more merda di parma.

I told Mauro the other day I wanted him to teach me how to make bread. Now, I'm not so sure it's a good idea....I might make it every day. 

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Things I've learned So Far in my Internship part 2:

"Firework" is a universally liked song (age, gender, language, country)
More salt is always the answer.
Artichokes are not a spring vegetable in Italy.
It takes 7 minutes to boil artichokes in Malvasia, vinegar and water.
I'm still scared of choking customers with the "beard" of the artichoke.
If something is burning, do something.
Somethings don't translate so literally from English to Italian. You can't literally walk out of un armadio.
That dry hands are inevitable. So are hives.
Egg yolks are a great natural hand moisturizer. Fried chicken batter is not.
How to make fried pumpkin and jerusalem artichoke chips.
How to make frutti di mare salad (cooked mussels, clams, seppia, quartered tomatoes, boiled courgettes, and perfectly diced parsley)
Don't put salad on the same plate as pasta. sacrilego.
fidanzata means girlfriend. fidanzato means boyfriend.
Biancaneve e i Sette Nani means Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
Standing for eight hours makes 22:30 seem impossible to stay awake for.
But going for a run after work, despite the lack of feeling in your legs, in the rain, in the cold, in the dark is invigorating. Foggy culatello weather is the best.
How to cut, season, and tie wild boar saddles.
How to tie goose thighs stuffed with it's foie gras.
Giraffes are not llamas. Nor camels nor a dromadery (new word).
Sasha, Suzie, Samaglia, Shana, Chowna, Sofia, Sonya, Fiona all pass for Shauna in Italian.
Constant nightmares about cutting up vegetables is a common occurrence.
That I'm not incompetent, but that I have to work on my confidence and not feeling like I'm in the way or overstepping chef boundaries.
How to "stamp" anolini parmigiani pasta!
Ignorance (in italiano) is still bliss. Sometimes.
Two months is not long enough for an internship. Oh wait, February is an even shorter month. Not fair....


‎"In four months, you learn the essentials of the place. If you want to learn them properly, you have to stay a year, to cook through the seasons." Thanks, Jess, for the quote. Maybe I'll stay...

Friday, January 21, 2011

"What I say is that, if a man really likes potatoes, he must be a pretty decent sort of fellow." — A.A. Milne

As I was peeling my second crate of potatoes for the day, which filled the 6th bucket in the last two days (that's a lot of potatoes), I was thinking not only how miserabley monotone peeling potatoes is (what was I thinking when I begged Cava to please hire me as I'd even peel the potatoes) but also thinking how much I liked working in a restaurant. The conviviality, the constant motion, the comfy unflattering outfits, the dopey paper hats, and the satisfaction from seeing food that I have prepared being used to plate dishes. I've been working on the "segundo" station (there's antipasta, pasta, segundo, dolce) so we are in charge of the meat/fish/veg main dishes. I'm shown what to do with an example and then am put to work - I'm just surprised that they trust me so much with my lack of professional culinary experience. My minced onion was larger than the brunoise-y carrots that took me probably 30 minutes to do what a real chef could do in 3. But in they went together for a salsa to be stuffed into an artichoke. I frequently laugh with embarrassment as I cannot imitate the arm motions needed for the cutting knife skills that look so flawless, so natural yet so clumsy and awkward on myself.

Back to the potatoes. In the morning, I cut up potatoes (previously peeled yesterday) to be boiled and then roasted with aromatic salt and rosemary. At lunch, we had roasted chicken and the potatoes I had "made." (made is peeled and cut - not technically in charge of the roasting time). Martin had taken them out of the oven and showing them to Matteo said, they are cooked perfectly. So as I sat down to lunch, I said to Marco, I made these! and later he made an "attenzione attenzione" announcement to the table that I had made the potatoes. I learned a new word. Arrossire means to blush.

Back to the potatoes. Everyone's making fun of me as they walk by for the constant potato action. Just as I'm thinking how horrible it was, Martin comes over and says basta. stop. He calls me over to his station and shows me how he plates some of the dishes as the tickets came in for the lunch service. Then he goes, in three minutes, it's your turn. AHHH. I plated a dish!  Branzino with seafood salad and a vegetable stuff phyllo-pastry. Complete with the sauce streak across the plate like I learned at Cava. It was thrilling and I was grateful and definitely worth all the potato peeling. I went happily back to my bucket, also known as un secchio, and dipped my hand into the icy cold water for another potato. 

Things I've learned So Far in my Internship:

How to stand with a straight back to avoid shoulder cramps from leaning over a cutting board and from using kitchen tools all day.
How to poach just the delicate egg yolk.
To wear gloves when cutting artichokes or else your fingertips will turn brown and stink.
That I hate the responsibility of peeling artichokes because of the one time Poppi came over "choking."
The high standards Cava has set the bar for me.
Topinambur means jerusalem artichoke.
How to make and roll grissini.
Chefs must wash their own knives.
That whipping zabbione will make you want to saw off your arm.
When frying chicken, the batter calls for 3 eggs per 1 chicken.
I make delicious fried chicken.
How to not flinch when boiling water or oil is splashed onto me.
How to properly chop parsley. let the knife gliiiiiiiide.
Microwaves seem sorta like cheating.
Paper chef hats give you awfully flat hat-hair.
How to pretend to not to understand Italian (and how to really not understand Italian).
Not all restaurants have expediters.
Malvasia is a great meat marinade.
A menu should state when tartare is hand-cut. no really.
Manciata means handful (as in a measurement) (my hands are smaller than Martin's)
How to cook under pressure (not sous-vide, but when given a time limit to finish a task. my confidence, competence, and comprehension are not quite up to par)
Don't forget the ice bath.
Grilling is sweaty.
Work is better when it feels like family.


Monday, January 10, 2011

List of Possible Internships

Like my list of ideas for what to do over the 6 week summer holiday, I had compiled a list of possible internships. We were told at one of our very first classes that our ideas would change at least twelve times and to keep an open mind throughout the year. I think my ideas changed thirty-seven times and yes, I did indeed have a very open mind to what I could do.

Food Photography
Food Styling
Cookbook Production
Recipe Development
Jamie Oliver Limited
Eco-Friendly Hotels (preferably in SE Asia, but also looked into the UK and Southern Italy)
Writing for Food/Travel/Restaurant Guides
Growing Spicy Peppers in Argentina, Thailand or Tunisia
Traditional Wild Boar Hunting in Tuscany
Making Vodka in Poland or New Zealand
Instituto Espanol de Gastronomia
Mercato Barcellona-Boqueria
Mussel Farming (did that in Friulli, check)
Growing Coffee in a plantation in Central/South America
Working on a Vineyard in Argentina
Food Tourism in Italy
International Water Project in Africa
Studying the Menus at the NY Public Library
Producing Salt in Wales
Tutti Piccante Self Study in Calabria
The School of Artisan Food
Accademia Italiana del Peperoncino
Making Yak Cheese in Tibet
Saving the Robinson Crusoe Island Seafood off the coast of Chile after meeting fishermen at Salone del Gusto
Hanging out in Donegal for 2 months and coming up with some thesis paper.
Working at Pallavicina
Self Study of the foods of Emilia-Romagna**
Food and Wine Consulting
Self Study aka Island Vacation with my friends

Note to future students: although you may feel as though you have all the power in the world to save the world with your degree, you still have to pay 2-months rent for your apartment during the internship and there is no additional funding. Yes, students have and are doing fantastic, fascinating things with their internships and I'm excited about mine too. I will be working at a family-owned restaurant in town called Al Vedel. I'm not really sure what I'll be doing there and hope I can handle restaurant life and hours again. They have a seasonal menu with local products highlighting the regional cuisine, an impressive wine collection and even make their own culatello. I'm looking forward to cooking and learning more about the regional foods that we have learned so much in class and from living here for the last ten months (see above **). I think it will be tough, but I also think it will be good for me because I would go crazy during the winter in this small town. so, fingers crossed!

...and these are just the ones I remembered/bookmarked...

Saturday, October 30, 2010

“Non posso cambiare la direzione del vento, ma posso sempre modificare le vele per raggiungere la mia destinazione … I can’t change the direction of the wind, but I can always adjust the sails in order to reach my destination." - Elif Shafak.