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This page includes articles from newspapers, websites, and movies from other publications that feature the Runaway Cook. Enjoy!
12/05/2010
The Runaway Cook: The Disappearance
This cramped apartment kitchen is filled with the smoky residue of rosemary and olive oil. My mouth waters just looking at my plate filled with roasted potatoes, a darkly seared ribeye that is forming a pool of rare blood, fresh arugula, soft cheeses, and sweet fruit mustard. My friends surround me playing our German word games, which consist of words I like being repeated and thrown into the conversation as much as possible “Huh? Was? Webitte?” (meaning “Huh? What? Pardon?) is our favorite selection.
It’s my last night in Hamburg, a port city at the top of Germany, and we are celebrating my return to the States with a steak dinner, some red wine, and beer.
I came here from Munich in the south of Germany. After witnessing a stark change in scenery across the Alps on the train from Verona, I realized the hot sunny days of Italy were over. This chilly change warranted raincoats, umbrellas, heavy foods, and wheat beers.
My first evening in Munich was spent in the HofBräuhaus with fellow hostel stayer from Georgia and two men from South Africa.
The HofBräuhaus is the world’s most famous beer hall and one of the oldest with it’s establishment in 1589. Originally they brewed only ales here but the son of the founder insisted they brew wheat beer too.
Today this beer hall serves up some mean German fare, a plethora of delicious beers on tap all served by women in traditional dress, and some thumpin’ oom-pa music played by strapping men in lederhosen.
I devoured my rich pork goulash with the house hefeweizen and snitched a taste of the wienerschnitzel (thinly pounded veal cutlets, breaded and fried until the crust crunches around the tender meat) and dark dunkle beer my table-mate had in front of him.
Hefeweizen happens to be my favorite style of beer. It’s light and hazy, golden color hints to its dusty, grain-laden and fruity flavor. It’s not bitter with heavy hops and it’s not a chick beer. In fact, the German guys here love it. My dinner partners begged to differ and accused me of drinking beer that may as well be lemonade as they sipped their mugs of coffee-colored liquid. Ha! They were simply ignorant of this blissful beverage and liked to pick on the blonde.
Other than rich meat and beer, I have fallen for a what my close friend Katharina calls stachelbeere (sta-ken-bear-ehn). Beneath their granny-apple-green skin are lightning bolts of red veins. One bite into the ping-pong-sized fruit reveals a firm fleshed edge and center of black, kiwi-like seeds coated in pouches of loose juicy flesh. They are sour and sweet all at once, like a good plum.
I now know that these magical green orbs are just gooseberries. I had always heard my grandma talk about gooseberries used for jellies and pies, but obviously never eaten a fresh one. Ich liebe Deutschland ( I love Germany) and all the foods therein.
Katharina and her boyfriend smile and giggle with their hefty German accents as we all dig into our celebration plates. I stare into their eyes and it feels like my chair is being pulled backward, but my view doesn’t change. The only thing that changes is this feeling. It’s like I’m disappearing somehow. Like a memory past that you can hardy imagine was yourself, and the only proof that it was you is some picture or a ticket stub with your name on it.
It’s like that but instead of happening later, I feel it now.
My only consoling is that I’m still here and I can keep my memories with me when I go. My suitcase is filled with foods from every stop including special beers I cannot buy back home, so I’ll be able to travel back here soon if only with my taste buds. To travel through my memories and send your mouth to Germany visit my blog www.runawaycook.blogspot.com.
I’m running home and I’ll see you all soon, but while you wait, taste and see that the world is more than good. It’s delicious.
11/07/2010
The Runaway Cook: The Best Meal of My Life
A seven Euro cab ride will get you there from the train station. Hidden among orange buildings smeared with black and yellow graffiti and very narrow streets that are bumpy enough to jiggle you out of your seat, the All Osteria Bottega exists.
You’d never guess that what seemed like a wrong turn would bring you to this small restaurant with smooth wooden tables, surrounded by wooden chairs with straw seats, sparkling empty glasses waiting just for you and little hanging lights veiled with lace shades.
I found out about this place from someone, who told me to talk to someone else, who told me I had to and eat at this place. In fact, the only reason I took the train to Bologna, called the “stomach of Italy” for its cheese, rich sauces, filled pastas, and famed Prosciutto di Parma, was to eat here.
After countless meals in Tuscany, Campania and Rome, gnocchi and wild mushrooms in Verona, and even seafood dinners with Norwegian studs on the water in Venice, this dinner was beat them all. I’ve never been to pleased after eating a meal!
To begin, I ordered the wine my waiter suggested: Savoia Enrico Vino Frizzante Bianco, which means a lightly sparkling regional white. It was mild, refreshing with citrus and just the perfect touch of gravel.
First Course: Prosciutto di Parma
Rippled and convoluted, these shining silken scarves of flesh are rich and have not the slightest hint of pork. Instead, the flavor is more like butter with a delicate hint of meatiness, like in a good cheese. What’s more is the texture. The flesh and fat become one harmoniously creamy bite that literally melts on your tongue.
Second Course: Tortellini in Brodo di Cappone
It’s a specialty of Bologna. Tiny bellybuttons of pasta filled with just a taste of meat, bathing in barely hazed broth dotted with floating golden oil and melted patches of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese. The pasta is bright yellow and al dente and the filling is a mild pork sausage, the broth is simple, warm, flavorful and making me miss m mother.
Course Three: Costoletta di vitello in osso alla petroniana
This is the premier dish of the house. When ordering my waiter insisted I eat this, they’d make a special single portion for me he said, (it’s usually served in twos only) I agreed without even asking what meat was in it first. Serendipitously, it consisted of a veal chop, bone on pounded out ever so thinly breaded, fried, then covered with prosciutto and parmigiano and allowed to relax in a pool of sauce- a thick reduction of broth. It was rich tender and salty and accompanied by ultra crisp, thick-cut fries seasoned with rosemary
Dessert Torta de riso
My least favorite part of the meal was this risotto cake. Caramelized rice pudding dens rich, and covered in a dark caramel skin.
My reservation here was for 1:30pm and the time now is 3:15pm. I have just poured myself another glass of wine and the bottle is still far from empty. I now know why there’s strong coffee at the end of the meal, and why everyone takes a nap before going on with the day. Sigh, this was just lovely, and the smiling owner, who sat down with and chatted with every guest, beamed as he insisted I pay only three quarters of the bill.
For more about this meal, and others that I ate across the globe including photos and detailed recipes, visit my blog: http://www.runawaycook.blogspot.com or find me on facebook “The Runaway Cook.”
(Optional-recipe will be posted in greater detail on my blog as well)
Remember, this food is simple, delicious, and easy to make, be sure to try out my recipe for tortellini in broth at home!
Pasta
2.5 cups flour
3 large eggs
Make a wheel of flour on table, crack eggs in center and gradually scramble eggs into flour with first two fingers making circular motions until a dough is formed. Kneed moist dough until smooth - about 15 minutes. Let rest 45 minutes then divide into 3 and roll out until 1/16th of an inch thick
Filling
4oz Pork ground
2oz Turkey ground
2oz Prociutto- chopped
2oz Mortadella- chopped
1/2 cup Parmigiano (grated)
Hefty pinch Nutmeg
Hefty pinch Black pepper
1 tbsp. Olive oil
1/4 cup Onion- chopped
1/2 large beaten egg
Add all ingredients to a food processor and blend until smooth. Place 1/4 tsp of meat on 1.5 inch square of paste, lightly wet edges of pasta and seal to make a triangle,attach bottom corners of triangle to center of pouch and let sit on a floured surface. Freeze or boil in salter water until they float, serve with your favorite broth, beef is lovely.
10/20/10
The Runaway Cook: Red Shoes and Poppy Dreams
I think it was somewhere between the shimmering of poppy-freckled fields in the Tuscan sunlight and the flushed gleam of Brunello di Montalcino lolling in my glass when I realized I wasn’t dreaming. This delirium of emerald mountains edged in old stone towns with streams of yellow olive oil and cars small enough for munchkins is real.
I am in Tuscany. At the moment, I am on my own exploring Pisa and Florence, but there’s something in the air. . .And I can’t help sliping into daydreams of not too long ago, when I left home in a whirlwind adventure called the Banfi Scholastic Tour (BST). In all my continent skipping of late, I have not yet told you this magical part to the story.
I was one of 14 students selected from the US and Ireland to represent our universities, (Johnson & Wales University) in an intense, seven-day journey through western Italy focusing on local gastronomy and wines.
Banfi, one of the largest and most successful wineries in Tuscany, is not only know for their top quality wine, but also their use of the most technologically advanced methods to produce unmistakably traditional-style Tuscan wines.
As part of BST, we visited the Banfi Castello (castle), vineyards, and winery learning about their techniques, which includes a wine filtration system nearly identical to that used in a blood transfusion.
Each day consisted of tasting, touching, and living what we only ever read about in textbooks. From watching the cheese makers use paddles to pull up freshly separated Parmigiano Regiano cheese from the bottom of the copper vat, to feeling the hot flames toast new oak barrels in the Gamba cooperage, each second was saturated with new and exciting revelations about food and wine.
Until I stared at the hundreds of vines that each had a particular way they were cared for, beheld the A-frames filled with bottles each hand-turned to make them fizz and sparkle with gas, and met the people who did this I never truly understood Italy’s romance and reverence for the grape. Wine, glistening in glass bottles, is effectually the extract of devout husbandry.
I have learned, to taste the intimate relationship between wine and food, you must drink it with every course to every meal, except for breakfast that is. This Italian way is the only way to grasp that wine really is another ingredient to the meal. Foods do change, develop, and grow with wine. I used to hate lamb, but now I love it if I have a glass of L'Ardì Dolcetto d'Acqui with it. I have courage to try about anything as long as I have the right wine.
Speaking of food, meals here are cooked just like a hearty Midwestern dish. Many families in Tuscany are farmers, which means the meals they eat are made from what they have. Ribolita, a classic Tuscan soup is just one example of this. Made from white beans, vegetables, and bread, it is thick and rich, yet affordable and simple.
Ingredients here are loved for their own flavors. Pici with tomato and basil is simple with only olive oil, tomato, basil, garlic, and salt, but the flavor is round and full. Life here is akin to that of our own small towns. If it wasn’t for these large rolling hills and castles everywhere I’d wonder if I even left my back yard at all. The more I get to know this place, the more it seems like home. I feel as though I nearly remember things I am experiencing for the first time.
This is all so fairytale. I mean to think that, in a castle atop a grape and olive-covered mountain, I went to a ball in a red dress and satin heels, watched Montelpulciano flag dancers perform just for us. I find myself telling people that living this was the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me. I still can’t believe that I tasted the place of my dreams while I was awake.
To see behind the curtain of Tuscany and find the magic of this place in your own kitchens,visit http:www.runawaycook.blogspot.com. You’ll find recipes to traditional Tuscan foods, where to buy the many wines I fell in love with, and how you can take a cooking class with me. Remember, taste and see that the world is more than good. It’s delicious!
10/06/2010
The Runaway Cook: From a Nightmare to a Dream
Crouched in this corner sitting on-top-of and against my belongings at 2:30a.m. in the train station in Salerno, Italy, I have never wanted to sun to come up so badly. I can’t help but wonder if this was all a mistake. I mean who am I kidding.
It’s not just that the walls are covered in a chiffon of ding or that the sound of old paint falling from the ceiling is what wakes me up when I nod off. It’s that there’s a thin man sleeping on the ground next to his wheelchair just down the hall on the left, up the stairwell were two prostitutes who where sleeping until they got called upon by a visitor, and this really creepy guy keeps walking up and down from the platform singing a song about “the girl in the corner.” I wonder who that is, NOT.
That was my first night alone in Italy. . . I nearly gave up. Just then, in that horrible situation, two travelers from Seattle happened into my corner close to 5.a.m. We struck up a conversation and kept each other safe until morning. After 36 hours with no sleep and a runaround trying to find an internet source and the right tickets for the bus to Amalfi, I made it to my Hostel.
Ironically, I am flourishing here. I am not only eating my fill of fresh pasta, peaches, gelato, wine, and mozzarella, but I have completed three interviews. I feel like I’m living what I was born to do.
My first outing was to a Limoncello factory in Revelo, a small town up the mountain from the stony beach-town of Amalfi. To get there I have to hop on a bus, that takes off from this town circle where all the bus drivers congregate. In their baby blue button-ups they sit/ stand smoking and gabbing vey loudly as they wait until the clock ticks their time to drive the herd of us up the skinny curvy roads to the tops of the mountains.
Through Ravello’s stone tunnel, up a stony hill, turn right and walk a little further, you’ll find “The Limoncello Factory” which is really a room about the size of my apartment just big enough to make is some of the best lemon liqueur on the Amalfi Coast. Owned and operated by a family of lemon growers, this cooperative uses their local farmers’ lemons to make their limoncello and crema di limone.
To the east of Ravello is Furore, my next stop. After a conversation of motioning, pointing and saying the name of the winery, “Marissa Cuomo,” many times the bus driver said “Ahhh capisco, sì” and dropped me off right in front of the winery.
Deemed Italy’s best winery along the Amalfi coast, this is small-town family business from harvesting the grapes that grow up the face of the mountain to turning that sweat and blood into silken wines.
My favorite stop of all had to be Tenuta Vannulo, a water buffalo farm in Capaccio. Here, they not only produces milk for mozzarella but run a small cheese factory, yogurita, leather shop, and a small farm and kitchen museum. I of course, got off on the wrong train stop, found out that the next train back wasn’t for three hours and started walking to the farm since a taxi man decided not to take me. Later, the taxi man saw me on the road and decided to give me a second chance.
Once I finally arrived, I was taken to see the stables, mozzarella making, all the shops, and interview the man who turned his fathers farm into a more than milk . . . oh and ate what I like to think of as milk-steak.
Real, fresh mozzarella di bufala has the texture of a medium steak, tart buttery taste of buttermilk, meatiness of a ribeye, sweetness of whole milk, and freshness of a cucumber. It’s firm flesh oozes pearly liquid and after one bite, your world is forever illuminated with this new cheese ideal. Ahhhhh me (hand placed on forehead). I am in love.
When I look at all these places I’ve been to thus far and how I made it there, it feels like I am in a book or that maybe this is dream. This was never a mistake, but the beginning of a fantastic vignette.
For more on all these places, recipes, movies and where to buy these products here, steal a moment away and visit http://www.runawaycook.blogspot.com or check out my new youtube channel, http://www.youtube.com/user/RunawayCook. Until next time my friends, taste and see that our world really is oh so delicious.
9/21/2010
The Runaway Cook: The Same Yet Altogether Different
There is a place where, when I cross the street, every hair on my arm stands on end. It’s as if I walk through this mystical barrier and all my senses are awakened by the difference. The moist air feels thicker and the architecture changes from big modern Asian city to putty-colored arches, small awnings, and skinny sidewalks. The women here are in full bloom wearing vibrantly colored, sequin-covered Sarees (traditional Indian dresses) that seem to dance to the perfect playlist of twanging exotic music escaping every window. Flowers and fruit line the streets, steeping in the heat to make a tea of aromas. As I walk by stall after stall I am overtaken by scents of jasmine, hot Ghee-laden flatbreads (ghee is clarified butter commonly used in Indian cuisine), sweet incense escaping the Hindu temple walls, and my favorite smell: the simple yet potent nuttiness of curry leaves.
It’s my last night here in Singapore, and I can’t help but loiter in Little India. This place is one of the few spots I’ve found that has absolutely no resemblance of home. I love that after walking just eight blocks, I feel like I need my passport to cross the street. Disappointingly, much of this city feels just like New York City: Nearly everyone speaks English, the signs are in English, there are city busses around every corner, along with big buildings, wide sidewalks, the same clunky cars and plastic bags that say, “Thank you for shopping.” Apart from the giant snails that come out when It rains, this place is not so different at first glance.
However, I have to admit that after just a week of classes, this seemingly parallel universe was beginning to seem a bit different. If climbing up a huge hill in humidity just short of being full-blown water, nearly passing out from that walk, accompanied by regular downpour that was heavier than any rain I’ve ever experienced wasn’t enough. Then stinging ants, killer mosquitoes, lizards pretty much everywhere, really stinky foods (also everywhere), and of course the occasional gecko hiding in the kitchen sinks and/or in the shower were.
When you think about it, we have stinky cheese, big bugs, rodents like mice everywhere, and a frigid cold that could make these people think that were we live was just as strange. I think, in the end our worlds are extremely different and just the same all at once. It’s like that first bite of biryani, a rice pilaf of sorts that looks like any other rice dish, just topped with raisins and cashews. Yet, after one bite of this rice, every cell in your body stiffens from the sudden explosion of sweet, hot, and savory spices storming your senses (recipe available on blog). Nothing here is what it seems, especially the food. Curry leaves, my new obsession, are another good example of this chameleon country. They look a like bays leaves on a diet. A bit thinner than their doppleganger, they are sold fresh, can be eaten whole, and are used in practically every Indian dish. They, my friends, are that secret difference between attempts at creating curry dishes and success at making curry dishes.
Speaking of curry, I just want to encourage you all to try Indian or Thai curry. True curry is simple in method, but complex in pleasure to the palate, with a flavor that has no resemblance to so called curry powder found in our grocers. The art is in blooming the spices in hot oil and adding the coconut milk at the end. So, whether you go to a restaurant and enjoy, or you take one of my recipes and make your own, please just experience it. If you can make a beef stew you can surely make mango curry chicken or Thai green curry with beef. If you are worried about finding and working with ingredients don’t be. I have fail-proof recipes on my blog www.runawaycook.blogspot.com along with information on where to find these ingredients in our area. Good luck and happy eating!
July 2010
The Runaway Cook: The One That Didn't Get Away
There I was, crouching in the mirk, nearly buoyant hanging above the mire. I was focused, not even the burn of the stinging sunlight would crack my concentration. The mud cooked and creased on my shoulders as I waited. To the left, a tell tale swirl birthed from a swishing fin in the still gray pool. My muscles tensed with anticipation as I crept closer to the edge. Bubbles began to surface and soon up from the depths rose the glossy backside of the prey (ha! So dramatic- at it’s largest “trench” this puddle is a mere 5 feet deep). He lay near the bank as my hands slowly surrounded him on all sides. With a single smooth motion, I ambushed him, grasping him tightly and pressing him down to the gooey bottom. My hands then shot to the surface hanging onto what I hoped was still a fish and not a fist full of mud. Ahhh, yes I has caught the rascal! There writhing in my hands was a 6” catfish coated in a gray clay paint.
Believe it or not this is a true story. Just yesterday, I was catching catfish in a quarry of mud using only my bare hands. Why was I in a catfish infested mud puddle? That answer is as follows.
It all started with a change in the study abroad program. Originally, the itinerary called for stays in Singapore and Thailand. However, the political unrest in Thailand caused us to change the last week from an excursion across the South China Sea to a trek north to Kuala Lumpur (KL) and Malaka in Malaysia. Can I just say, I haven’t wasted even a minute wishing we were in Thailand.
I love it here! I feel like I have dove deep into the tropics. Malaysian highways are surrounded with rows upon rows of palm trees, and not the tall spindly looking ones, these trees are hefty, wide, and practically Jurassic. The weather here is hot and often cloudless with a blaze that can burn even my tanned skin in about an hour.
Ok, so weather like that may not seem like paradise to you all, but take a load of the food here. Local cuisine is a mix of Indigenous Malay, Indian, and Chinese. That combo makes for amazing rice dishes and rice flour based pastries along with coconut everything and powerful laksa- a national dish of noodles, chilies, and fish that is uniquely different in each region of the country. Along with prepared dishes, this country produces an insane amount of fruit. From hairy technicolor rambutan that taste like lychee and melon to the hot pink delicousness of dragonfruit. The phrase “fruit farm” havs a more exotic meaning that ever before.
Yet, not all the fruit here is a bite of heaven. No, there’s a fruit that I will be content to leave behind. Called the king of fruits or durian, it is perhaps the most famous fruit in the world. This spiky green ball’s scent can be smelled from a block away with an aroma of rotten onions and petroleum . . .yum? Not exactly. Sadly, I have eaten this fruit three times this week. Why? Well, it is not as bad as its smell, everyone here loves it, and I happened to be around people feasting on the yellow flesh who insisted it would be “better” this time. The taste is like a caramelized onion with varying sweetness levels from candy to carrot and usually little to no taste of petroleum if it’s “good.” I admit it’s bearable, with the worst part being the pungency that fills one’s head and lungs and the burps that come afterward.
Along with a heavy hand of tradition and agriculture in their diets the Malay lifestyle traditions are still strong. To experience some of this living history my Study abroad group traveled to a Malay home about two hours from KL. There we saw rice paddies and learned how to process rice by hand by pounding and tossing it. We made traditional rice flour meringue cakes over a fire of coconut husks and painted fabric with wax and dyes, an art form called batik. For lunch we ate a traditional Malay meal of rice noodles with vegetables, rice, stewed chicken, fresh mango, and sambal- a spicy mixture of chili and shrimp paste. We dined in the traditional style, seated on the ground using one’s right hand as the only utensil.
After lunch, all 25 of us took a dip in a mud pit, not so traditional, and did our best to catch some catfish which became supper for our hosts. Here’s where my fish story comes in: Out of the six fish in our bucket, yours truly was responsible for the catching of two! I’m guessing those Iowa farm roots had something to do with that.
After a wild four days of cooking Malay food in the kitchens of a Taylor’s College and visiting Malaysian farms and homes I can’t wait to see what tomorrow holds. We plan to visit a palm oil factory and a night market among our packed schedule. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to sleep tonight just thinking about it all. For more details, photos and video on Malaysia and all my travels, and recipes for Malay Asam Laksa, and the meringue cakes visit my blog, www.runawaycook.blogspot.com.
June 2010
The Runaway Cook: From Roots to Wings
Hey there! It’s a sunny day here and the forceful wafts of bay-scented air are whipping my long hair in every direction. My chef jacket is flapping against my skin so hard it’s leaving red marks. I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up getting hit with a windblown squirrel on the walk home. Where is home? Well I am a home grown, sweetcorn-loving, 4-H-doing, fair-going, Iowa girl. Today, however, I am coming to you from Providence, Rhode Island. How did little Elizabeth Hill end up nearly 1400 miles from the farm? In a word: food.
I think it all started about 19 years ago when my grandmother, Louise Piper of Garner, Iowa, first inducted me into the world of food as we baked bread together. Granted, my loaf was, well, the best a little squirt could do. Short and flat . . ish, misshapen, with a couple holes and odd looking protrusions sicking out the side, it was about as dense as piece of lumber from the good 20-30 minute session of poking, pressing, folding, and squeezing. I guess at two-and-a-half the term “overworked dough” has little meaning. From that time on, food and especially the making of it captured me in a way even I don’t understand.
I remember as a fourth grader, being part of an organized sharing of “What I want to be when I grow up.” Sure, we had the regular astronauts, police officers, even fashion designers, and NFL players. Yours truly proudly stood up from her tiny desk in the third row and touted, “I want to be a chef and a missionary.” You see, I had it planned out then. I knew that a combination of good values, amazing food, and exotic places was my destiny.
Right now, I stand here about to make another terrifying step forward in hopes of making that 4th-grader’s dreams come true. Three years ago, I took my first step, left everything I knew, flew halfway across the country, and began studying Culinary Arts at Johnson & Wales University. Culture shock was an understatement, I was just glad the locals spoke English, although their version is a bit different our fine and friendly Iowa tongue. By November, I will have completed my Bachelors degree. This journey has been rough, sweaty, filled with accidents, many burns, and enough blood loss to make even my brothers queazy. However, my next adventure will be even more daring.
On May 29th I am setting sail for the other side of the world. I am about to embark on a summer cooking, baking, smelling and tasting my way through eight different mouthwatering countries in Europe and Asia. It all starts in Tuscany, Italy to begin the Banfi Scholastic Tour, an honor only one student in the 16,000 can earn. There, I will receive intense instruction on Italian wine and gastronomy. Next, my trek winds across the continents to Singapore and Malaysia, where I will be studying cuisine and culture with select other Johnson & Wales students. Finally, the weight will fall on my shoulders to travel from the bottom to the top of Europe coming face to face with homestyle and Michelin rated food, crazy chefs, unique agriculture, wine, cheese, chocolate, and more.
All the while, I will be sending what I discover to my sweet Iowans back home. Keep an eye out as I will be writing to you about the best of my experiences, including my favorite recipes and pictures. You can read about my day-to-day adventures and collect exotic recipes from my food and travel blog: The Runaway Cook at www.runawaycook.blogspot.com. Run away with me and make your mouth water, as we taste and see that the world is more than good . . . It's delicious!