The Runaway Cook

A diary of culinary adventures

Limoncello in Ravello

Posted by Elizabeth Tuesday, October 12, 2010 comments (0)

This morning I have purchased the cheapest watch in Atrani along with tickets to the mountain town of Ravello, taken the bust to the top of this winding road, and gotten off at the end of a large arched stone.

The Storefront 

Just beyond the tunnel is a piazza with a chapel on the right, the most magnificent view straight ahead, a map down the roadway to the right, and to the left- the way to the Limoncello Factory. It's still early here, most of the shops haven't opened yet so I am waiting too. These streets seem so old with their crooked stones, tiny steps, and thin walkways. This town nestled up in this mountain seems like it's somehow separate from the rest of the world, even from time. So this morning when I saw the young mothers of this town pushing their babies up and down the rocky slopes in tricked out modern strollers just seemed ironic.

The factory
As the sun rose higher and the morning moved on, it was time to step in the doors of this tiny shop.  The large front window lets one passing by see all the sparkling vessels placed in neat rows. Each level of shelving home for a different color and flavor of valuable liquid.

Here at the Limoncello Factory, a recipe that surpasses time is still being made. According to Alessandra Mansi, a director here, this drink was and still is traditionally concocted at home. She says it's hard to tell where and when the first recipe came about. She however, has been making limoncello here for the past 18 years (starting two years after the business began). The Limoncello Factory boasts to being one of the first factories in the famous Verona Exhibition.

The Lemons
At the Limoncello Factory, their liqueur is made from a the lemon peel of local IGP certified (organic and hand picked) lemons. Much larger than those we find at home, these yellow fruits look more nerf footballs than lemons and are apply named Sfusato Amalfitano, which means "long" and "of the Amalfi Coast."  After the peels are removed 96.5% alcohol de melasso is added (alcohol made from sugar beets). The alcohol and peels are kept together for 10 days. The skin is then removed and both sugar and water are added until the mixture is at the desired alcohol content.

Mansi says there are two easy qualities to look for in a good limoncello. First, there should be a hint of green oil on the surface. Second, the alcohol content should never be less than 30%, instead it should be between 32-35% alcohol by volume.

Limoncello
The simplicity of this recipe may sound like it would make a simple product but the opposite is true. The lemon flavor is allowed to show all its dimensions. With aromas of mild flowers and rich lemon this liqueur seems alluring and nearly etherial. However the taste is a complex series of vanilla, white blossoms, and lemon zest with a good kick at the end. Thick and rich, nearly creamy, this limoncello is by far the best I have tried in the USA and Italy. The difference from this complex and fruity drink is like night and day to the acetone-like shams I've experienced. ( for purchasing information click the links at the bottom of the page)

Crema di Limone
Along with limoncello, this specialty shop makes Crema de Limone. This is made just like limoncello except milk and cream are added instead of the water. The alcohol content is lowered a bit more but the favor is even more amazing, something like a lemon Baileys. It's creamier and more mild on the tongue with flavors of creamy vanilla custard, citrus flowers, and ripe lemon that linger long after it has left one's lips. The aroma is nearly powdery with vanilla and candy lemon. This was by far my favorite drink of the day!

Other Liqueurs
Popular twists on this classic include using juices and extracts to make fragole (strawberry), melone (melon), finocchio (fennel), and pianta (anise) these are made in both the styles of clear liqueurs and the crema versions.  I found these beverages to be very strong with the strawberry tasting like jello and the melon like bubblegum. However the fennel had a strong and interesting herbaceous and nutty quality that could be a unique addition to a mixed drink. 


The Limoncello Factory- http://www.profumidellacostiera.it/default.asp
California Distributer of the Limoncello Factory-http://www.vinitywinecompany.com/


photos provided by http://picasaweb.google.com/jared.byer/Ravello# 

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Italian Men 101

Posted by Elizabeth Monday, October 11, 2010 comments (0)

http://picasaweb.google.com/RoyFernley/AtraniItaly# -the bench and the beach
Have you heard the rumors? You know what I'm talking about, the ones about those tall dark handsome Italian men. . . I was warned that for every block there's about five men that will swoon over the sight of a woman and woo them with romantic words and an accent that is to die for. Are they true? Or are the rumors about sleaze-ball Italian men with cheesy lines and an excessive adoration for their mothers more true?
Reading the below may burst your bubble or encourage your fantasy. . . you have been warned.
This story all starts with food, of course. All my "men" stories start with food. I think it's some sort of uncanny gift I've been given- when I'm around food they flock to me, the good and the bad. 
It was sunny with a haze hanging in the air. It's the kind of weather that makes everyone more hungry and everything we eat taste better. I found looked for a semi deserted spot near the beach at Amalfi. I take a seat and prop my foot up under me and let the other dangle. Out the delicious gems come from their hiding in my purse. The mozzarella was moist, fresh and delicious. I struggled a little to get it out of the bag and up from the bath it was packed in. But after the first bit of smooth salty skin with a sponge-like inside saturated in the sweet and sour whey I was certain my effort was worth it. Yum. . . oh, but better still was the fruit. I can't even tell you how lovely that nectarine was. Crisp and sweet, the I swear that If I had not bitten that fruit, the juice would have burst right through the skin. The hot sugary elixir coated my lips and dripped down my hands and arms. The stickiness was no distraction to the loveliness I was experiencing. 
Instead I found my distraction in front of me. I was sitting there in my classy black bathing suit covered with a pale blue tank top and my durable olive shorts. It's a wonderful day and yet, I am hesitant to swim. What will I do just swim alone? I'm not so good at swimming, and fish give me the willies. I wonder if there are fish in there? I'm wearing a one piece. No one here wears these- even the 70-year-olds go bikini. Sigh . . . Will I look ridiculous or just feel ridiculous being alone. I notice people playing, taking showers. They are children, parents, grandparents, teenagers, families, lovers, they are together.
I sigh as my eye catches a glimpse of a tan and wonderfully thin couple kisses in shore line. He has his hand behind her back and the other dug into the dark gravely sand. Her arm coils around his neck with her fingertips ending in a mass of brown curls. They are so young. Ha! What am I saying? I am so young too. . .Eh, but this is puppy love. It's likely to end soon, yet the thought of no worry about the future, no thinking about where each of you will go to college or work, just ocean and each other makes me wish. I mean I can't help the little bit of jealousy that I'm feeling. 
Ahhh! I can't see them anymore. Some very tanned guy in a bright, turmeric-yellow cap is leaning against the black railing of the sidewalk just enough to block my view. Oh well, my stare was an invasion of privacy anyway right. Fine you crazy Italian man I'll look in another direction.
"Hello" I turn to see that this obstruction is no trying to talk to me. "Where are you from? England?"
I shake my head no.
"Germany?"
I shake no again and he pauses to think.
"Australia?" he says thinking he's figured it out.
I smile and nod again
"Italy?" he says with a strange squeak and tone of I-doubt-this-but. "Do you speak English?"
"yes." I say and laugh
"Then where-uh are-reh you-ah from?"
 Wow this accent is getting stronger as I utter my usual response, "The USA." 
Our conversation continues and he asks why I am sitting here alone on this bench and how long I am staying in this area. We exchange names, (for our purposes we will call my Italian acquaintance Emiliano- It's an italian name that means eager- quite fitting) argue about a few things regarding where I'm staying and my purse of all things. He does most of the talking. At this point, I am not sure if it was what he was saying or that he was saying it in a strong Italian accent that put an "uh" at the end of nearly every word, and a breathy lisp in the complicated phrases, but I found myself giggling at him. 
"Oh Elizibet-uh. I-uh cannot-uh look at-uh you. Your eyes, they are-uh too beautiful. When-eh I-uh look at-uh them I cannot-uh think-eh." (remember he has a bad lips when it comes to the "th" and sometimes "s" sounds, so these "sonnets" come out as slobber and tangled attempts to seduce me.
"What-ah would eh-you think if we just-uh jumped into the ocean right now?" 
"Right now? Uhhhhh, I don't know. . . I was just thinking of doing that." 
"Do you have-uh your-eh bikini on?"
"No, but I have a one piece."
"Hahaha well I don't want-uh to-uh know-uh which piece that-eh is."
"What?"
The funniest thing "have a" and "have-uh" sound just alike. So, I thoroughly explain I have a swimming suit on that is called a "one piece" not one piece of a bikini. This gets even funnier as we walk to the beach and he decides to just take off his shirt and jump in. I take off my shirt and begin to take off my shorts when he screams "NO!" This guy still thinks I'm only wearing one piece. Hahahahaha it was lost in translation I guess.
We swim out and I am a little nervous- there are no ropes and this water is really deep. Thank God I'm not out here alone. Oy! Oaf!! I am plunged beneath the water from a thump on the head. 
"Oh sorry. I better kiss it to make it better."
Oh yeah right buddy. This "oops!" game continues but with lighter thumps. I dodge him and eventually we make our way to the shore.  As we sat on the edge of the shore I couldn't help but think about how I sort-of got what I had wanted. How strange it was to be just where I had thought of. 
The worst part was that although Emiliano's rippled chest was coated in droplets of sea water and his dark wavy hair curled around his espresso-colored eyes, and well it even started to just barely rain- the only rain I saw in all my stay here in Amalfi- this all seemed like a comedy rather than a romance. 
I felt as though I had met a cartoon character. I had swam with a shirtless Italian man in his late twenties and instead of swooning over him, I kinda just liked laughing at him and the hilarity of the whole situation. What will this guy do next I wonder? 
This story will continue in later posts. To keep up with the Italian Men 101 look for new posts in the coming week.




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The Streets

Posted by Elizabeth comments (0)

The water is blinding me as I stare out at the lightning edged ripples. The air is warm with a salty col breeze. Even though I've only been out here for a short time my hair is already coated in the aroma of magenta flowers, sea air, and citrus.                                                       -                                                                                                           This morning I am hunting for food. As I've walked through town and up the main street, I have found that there is no shortage of limoncello. Every shop, no matter what their specialty, sells this lemon liqueur and I am pretty sure the tourists here can't get enough of it. All the buzz about this beverage makes me all the more excited to visit the Limoncello Factory in Ravello tomorrow.

Aye! But I have yet to find some food, I just want a bakery or a grocers or something. So far many of these I've gotten bad directions and I had found none of the above. But after a little more wandering I found my first fruit and vegetable stand. In a nook smaller than my apartment stairwell, was a counter surrounded by dragon beans, tomatoes, citrus fruits, and more- including about eight different stone fruits who all must know english because they are wooing me to them.                               -                                                                                                     Note to all about markets in Italy. DO NOT TOUCH. Even though there are boxes just out in the open and fruit begging to be grasped and adored, you are not the one to do this. No matter how many people are there with the one worker, you must wait and ask for them to pick out the fruit. Just mention if it is for now or later and you'll get the ripeness you want.  I ended up with a couple nectarines that cost me about 80 cents US for the both of them. Mmmmmm. . . . 

Next I found a little grocers just up a bit and to the right.  There I was able to get some bread and fresh mozzarella di bufala. Granted this is probably not the highest quality of either, I am still in a state of bliss and can't wait to eat my bounty. 



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Ciao Bella ;)

Posted by Elizabeth Tuesday, October 5, 2010 comments (0)


http://www.panoramio.com/photo/12473875
Nose and cheek press to the warm glass window of this blue SITA bus as is leans nearly on two wheels with each tightly coiled corner. Hand hangs onto blue and red colored seat ahead to steady the awestruck eyes. Eyes gape and mouth gawks at the green mountains that disappear into the turquoise sea. Even from the high points of this ride, I can see straight to the bottom of the beach. Each tan and toasty colored stone looks like unrefined, rock sugar gleaming beneath colored water. 


http://www.indy.com/photos/21575/people/jaydjayd
AND the fact that when that heavenly bus ride ended, I got off a town too late for my hostel. OR that after taking the bus back to Atrani (which is basically up the hill and through a tunnel from Amalfi) I had to lug my suitcase down a two foot wide staircase that I nearly slipped on, then up another two foot wide staircase to get to the door of my hostel was not going to ruin this state of sleepless-heightened awe. Even the extremely odd innkeeper that had the strangest high pitched italian accent, did phase me. I now had a bed, a shower, a source of food not too far from me and it was all located less than a football field away from the 
                                                                                    edge of the water. 

http://www.cromwell-intl.com
After a couple hours of sleep I wandered down the white janga-style stacked steps the the Atrani piazza. Here one can find a grocers, general store, wine store, gelato parlor, and three places to eat. To those of you who have never been to Atrani, this town is teeny. That said this square is even teenier, smaller than a baseball diamond. Having all this in here is a little astonishing.     At this point I am ravished with huger enough to eat five pounds of just about anything. I pick the first table I come to. I sit in the bamboo-like outdoor chair under the shade of a square canopy, stare up at the mountain peeking above these stoney buildings hung with ornaments of laundry and shutters and wait . 
                                                                                         Italian Men
http://www.amalficoastweb.com/atrani/english/location.html
To me it's not any shocker that the man who is serving me looks like one of those guys on the covers of a sleazy romance novel. In fact I can't help but stare at the cliche that has placed the menu in front of me. His jaw had to be on steroids to look that chiseled. And the cheekbones on this guy, man they looked almost fake with their taut high curves and dark dreamy eyes above. His espresso-colored locks of shiny straight hair swayed in the ocean breeze as his rippled torso pulled back to an upright stance. Now he was just standing there in his shaggy jeans and a black t-shirt staring back at me. 
Somehow we stop looking at each other, and I'm certain that I've turned redder than those salamis hanging in the grocers. The worst part to all this, that this guy thinks he is the guy on all those romance novels. To me though he seems like Santa Claus, someone I never expected to see in real life. For our purposes aka future reference, we are going to call dark-haird book-man, Marcelo. 
I order gnocchi is tomato sauce. Unfortunately, this place is not the best for getting great food. I'm pretty sure that crispy gnocchi is a bad sign. Yes, sadly some of what should be delicate little potato pillows ended up being dried and a bit aged. Well, what should i expect for Italian fast food with  a guy running it that can't keep his eyes off the women. 

Despite the less than amazing meal, I am completely satisfied. I am safe, have food in my tummy, have actually slept and can see the ocean through the stone arches holding up the road. 

AND As the men here say Ciao Bella to you my beautiful Amalfi ;)

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Email, ahhhhhh si!!!!

Posted by Elizabeth Sunday, October 3, 2010 comments (1)

So I have stepped outside for the first time, and at 8am, Salerno is already steamy as the sun is just peeking over the buildings.

I better get a move on, since I have more traveling to do. I need to find an Internet source to let my family know I'm alive, tell the hostel that I had booked for yesterday and today that my planes we changed, making me arrive in Salerno too late to check in, oh and email the Mozzarella farm that I need to visit them later in the week, there's no way I can do that today.

So when one doesn't speak Italian and they are traveling in a less touristy Italian town, how the heck do you figure out where to go and who to ask? The Polizia! Dressed in navy blue uniforms with badges and official-looking white hats, they are sure to be trustworthy and hopefully can speak english.

The first police man I came to was chubby, grey-haired man walking leisurely along the wide sidewalk of the main street. I hollered, "Me scusa. Parla inglesi?" which means, "Excuse me. Do you speak English?"
"Un poco." He said, which means, "a little".
I ask him where I can find the internet. He doesn't know what I mean. So I say, computer, web, in-ter-net, email.
"Ahhhhhhh! Email-uh, si, si, si! You need internet-ta point-te?"
"SI!"

He continued to give me directions. Which, in the end I realized were perfect directions, but in my sleepless state and they only confused me further. He said walk three stoplights down and it is on the right across from "Camera" something. Now the word "camera" in english means a camera shop full of electronics right. In Italian, "camera" means "room" so what I thought would be an electronics shop was actually a large hotel, which is a great landmark when trying to find a little teeny "internet point."

I walk down the street and seem to not be getting there, I can't tell if he meant just the changing stoplights or the red blinking lights too. I ask another policeman if he speaks english and he says no and sorry. I keep walking, stop, turnaround and walk more, then stop and sit and nearly start to cry. I get up and decide to just start walking back to the train station and just get out of here.

Just then the second policeman stops me. He motions me to wait, and he asks another policeman to come over. He speaks German and Italian, uffda! I start saying "dove e internet" nobody can understand the way I say internet, oy! So I say, email. They both say si a million times and motion me to follow them. We walk a bit the he tells me to stop and the two men walk talk to yet another policeman. They tell him the whole story, from what I can tell, and this man listens to me speak in english then tells them internet point and email, they all bounce and nod as everyone loudly says "si si si si si si", and we are off.

We walk a ways and again stop. These men are ridiculous but sweet. Just to be absolutely certain, they go into a small drugstore and bring out a man who can speak english decently. They tell him to listen to me. I tell him what I need and he then tells the pack of policemen what I need. They all say, you guessed it SI! hahahahahaha.

After just two more blocks of walking we are there. They tell me it opens at 9am, 45 minutes from now. I say grazia a million times and wait.

Luckily the women that owns this shop speaks english and was able to tell me where to get a ticket for and where to hop on the bus to Amalfi. Lord I just want to go to sleep. . . 31 hours and counting.

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Trains, Italians, the Homeless and Me. . .yeah

Posted by Elizabeth comments (0)

Snap! Whoa, oh shoot, you nearly fell asleep again. Ok so what was that sound? Snap! ohhhhh-hoo-ho, it's paint. Look at the ceiling over there, it's covered in the curling dandruff of old off-white-colored paint that seems to be randomly falling to the ground. Wow that last piece was pretty big, and it happened to land right next to that also "pretty big" bug in pacing in the crease where the clammy wall meets the dirty floor.


Oh lord I hope there's not another one of those bugs over here. Don't panic Elizabeth. You're doing good. Look at yourself, you have everything under control, you are sitting on top of your suitcase, and have buckled your purse and backpack to your body and pressed it all snug against the two walls in this little corner. You have claimed your space and you are going to be ok. . . yeah. . . heh. . . yeah.

Oh screw it, you're going to die! I mean did you see that homeless gimp down the hall? Or on the steps to the platform, didn't you see those two hookers in their back leather and high heels? Are you listening at all to that tall stocky man that keeps staring at you as he walks back and forth singing about the "girl in the corner" ahhhh!!? This is it! You are gonna die my friend! YOU ARE GONNA DIE! 

You are crazy! I am crazy. I mean. It's a miracle that you even got off at the right place. It was a miracle that the people in the train coach you were in were nice to you and that one of them could speak some English, which meant they could translate to you where that old guy was telling you to get off. Ha! 

It's 4am and you ought to start thinking either how your going to fight if any of these people come up to you and how you are gonna get out of here. What a mistake. I should have never tried to do this on my own. I should have just spent a fortune and stayed in Rome tonight and not been that last person to get a ticket out of Termini station. Believe it or not they actually cut off everyone behind me saying it was too late and no one beyond the cut in line could purchase a ticket. 

Breathe. Breathe. It'll all be ok. At least the lights are on. just close your eyes again, you are so tired just 24 hours ago you were waking up in Singapore. With no sleep this all seems worse. Think about it, a homeless gimp is really not going to club you to death with his wheelchair. Keep praying and maybe another miracle will happen. 

"That's just what I was about to do." laughed a man's voice.
Ok que to open eyes, someone is speaking to you in english and doesn't have an accent. "Oh yeah?" I say to the blond haired 20-somthing American walking past me toward the schedule posted on the wall. 
"Yeah we haven't slept and our train doesn't leave for hours."
I must seem desperate, and scared, I am grasping for any bit of conversation to keep this guy here. He says he has to run to get his fiance from the other side and they'll be back- this area is much cleaner, he says. 
"Clean-ER? Goodness."
"Yeah"
Oh Lord, thank you so much. I am saved. I am saved! hahahah oh wow. I don't know if these people are angles or actually exist. But whatever they are I'm just glad I am not so alone.

We deciding to walk up the stairs to a small cafe that had just opened, and force ourselves to drink water and eat something. Amazingly, I am so out of it, it's like I'm drunk. You'd think with the BO of a person who hasn't showered in a while, rode on a sweaty train, and been sitting in the much downstairs, it would be unlikely to get hit on. EEEEEEEE- wrong! So in this state of not realizing what is around me, I end up talking with a creepy local asking about hostels and internet. 
"Um, I'm pretty sure that guys is trying to pick you up." says my new friend.
"Really."
"Ha-yeah."
"Great..."

Can you believe it. UHHH! Some Italians! 

So from about 5am to 8am, this young couple from Seattle and I keep each other awake and safe while we wait for the sun to come up and the trains to start running. They are headed to Paestum, a place with ancient ruins about and hour and a half away. I am unsure still if I will continue on. If today was this bad, how much worse with the next month be? 

Just when I'm thinking I might catch a train to Hamburg and say I'm finished with all this hoopla. The gentleman's fiance, says to me, "You know, I think you are really brave. I know that I couldn't do this without him."
"Wow. Thank you."
"No I mean it, you are really brave, sometimes I want to quit, and he pushes me to keep going. I know that I could never do something like you are and be by myself."

Wow. Ok God, I got the message. I'll keep going. I guess I'm not really alone. Sometimes, I just can't believe that all these little miracles happened to get me this far... It's scary as all heck, but I think I'm going to keep going forward. 

I can do this.

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Leaving

Posted by Elizabeth Wednesday, September 29, 2010 comments (0)



Today, everyone is flying home . . . well, most people are flying home. A few brave tadpoles in this pool have decided to venture off into the wild and chance being eaten new habitats. I happen to be one of those insane individuals. I'm fly to Dubai to connect with a flight to Rome. Yes! ROME!! I am going back to Italy to learn about and explore the country on my own and any other that I might run into on my trek to Hamburg, Germany.


I am nervous and worried. I fear this trip may be more challenging than I had imagined before. I fear that maybe not all the fish in this new pond are willing to let this tadpole continue swimming and growing unharmed. Perhaps this new adventure will be the time of my life, changing me, and showing myself that I am stronger than I had ever imagined. Or will it be the event that tries my sole and finds me weak, uncertain, and false. The worst part is I am not sure what the answer will be.


There are so many "what-if's" that I feel like I'm jumping to my death. I am pretty sure that I will not be sleeping in the next 24 hours and that is making my really worried. I can't speak much Italian and that might be a problem along the way. What will I do and how will I get to Salerno and Amalfi? How will I ever figure this out?. . . I wish I was not so alone in all this.




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