the time being

This bowl of mussels was enjoyed on the very first Saturday, of the very first heat wave during the very first week of June. JUNE. I am slightly horrified that it has taken me this long to share it with you. Since we sat on the back deck and slurped up this appetizer with big hunks of freshly baked ciabatta, we have gone to Spain and back for our honeymoon, looked at approximately 10 terrible apartments, slogged our way through two more heat waves, packed up the whole of our worldly possessions and placed them in storage to move in with my aunt and uncle; and, finally, begun the process of buying a house.



So it’s been kind of a busy summer and one I have spent much of feeling overwhelmed, over heated and stressed out. When you aren’t sure where you’re going to live and you run into more problems finding a place than you ever possibly thought would happen you start to feel a little panicked and rootless. This feeling for me resulted in a stress-based reaction in which I combined equal parts laziness and avoidance with the addition of an increased intake of desserts.



But now we are settled-ish. For a bit. And there’s an exciting (!) light at the end of the tunnel. A place of our very own, where from we will never have to move. Ever again. We decided, at the invitation of my aunt and uncle, to come stay at their house for the month of August, because well, it’s one of the nicest places to be and it’s right near the beach. This proximity, as havoc-wreaking as it is on our commutes, is a reward to ourselves for a summer which was completely co-opted by the search for housing and the endlessly annoying task of sorting, cleaning and packing every single one of our worldly possessions and placing them neatly into storage.



So we are here for the time being and living like bourgeois gypsies in a very nice house on a very nice street just three blocks from my very favorite beach. My aunt and uncle have a good kitchen: a nice, functional space which will host Porky for the next few weeks. They also have a screened in porch and a propensity for having cake on the counter and drinking wine every night. So I think we will fit in just fine here. Though we are slightly uprooted we are far from rootless and we will be cooking as usual, just in a different zip code.


COCONUT LEMONGRASS MUSSELS 

2 lbs. mussels, scrubbed
2-3 tbs. olive oil
3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
1 2-inch knob fresh ginger, peeled and grated
3 stalks lemongrass, bruised and sliced*
1 can coconut milk
½ white onion or 1 small shallot, diced
1 ½ tsp. crushed red pepper or dried chili pepper
1 cup dry white wine (I recommend Chilean or French Sauvignon Blanc)
Juice from ½ lemon
1-2 tsp. lemon zest
½ chopped cilantro

Fresh baguette or ciabatta, cut into thick slices and toasted or grilled



*to "bruise" lemon grass, Use the flat side of a chef's knife to wack it, cracking the tough, woody outer layer, then finely chop the stalks like you would scallions. Chop yours smaller than mine, those giant slices were a mistake.

Heat olive oil in a large pot over medium-high heat, add onion and sauté 2-3 minutes; add garlic, ginger, lemon grass and crushed red pepper and stir together. Let simmer a few minutes more (2-3). Turn heat up a touch and pour in wine and lemon juice, stir together well and let reduce for about a minute, scraping the bottom of the pan to loosen any browned bits of onion. Pour in coconut milk and add mussels, clamp the lid on and reduce heat a bit to medium. Let cook, covered, until all mussels are open and broth is reduced a bit.



To serve: spoon mussels into a large bowl and pour broth over. Top with lemon zest and cilantro. Serve immediately accompanied by lots of bread to sop up the broth, a few cold beers and at least one to two good friends. This is a perfect summer appetizer if it’s not too hot to turn on a burner.

Ciao Porky! Part IV: TOSCANA

Bright and early the next morning, we woke up and loaded into the bus. We drove west, away from the Adriatic, over the rolling mountains of Umbria and into Tuscany. “Tuscany,” said my friend Tim when he prepared me for the trip “…is one of those places where my expectation was here (holds hand pretty high), because you hear so much. And when I got there, the reality was like here (holds hand as high as it can humanly go).” I got the idea. But I didn’t know, until I knew. Looking back at my trip journal I used the word ‘insane’ four times in one paragraph when writing about our ride through Umbria into Tuscany. It truly is that beautiful; or, as I put in my chicken scratch “the Tuscan countryside is so insanely beautiful it’s almost weird.” Now I live in New England. So I roll through beautiful landscapes on the regular; but Tuscany, like the Grand Canyon, is so mind blowingly picturesque that you feel like you could snap the cord at the bottom of the screen and the picture will roll up like a map, only to expose a dusty studio lot in the San Fernando Valley somewhere. It’s the kind of beauty where reality is so pretty it feels like fiction. So much so that I rolled through the hills with a lump in my throat, trying not to cry, because I felt so sublimely happy that my life had taken me here. How did I get so lucky?

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We weaved down to the southwest corner of Tuscany to a region known as Maremma, the DOC zone is Montecucco and the wines produced there have the benefit of cool breezes rolling up from the sea and the steep rises and valleys of the hills and mountains dotting the area. We drove through a teeny tiny town perched on the side of a hill where Bruno threaded a giant passenger bus around a corner which could not have accommodated two fiats at the same time. Now normally on the bus the volume level always rose and lowered in waves. Early morning was quiet, long stretches of drive, also relatively quiet, as we closed in on a destination everyone would perk up and chat, music would play and Vesce would get on the microphone reminding us to wear our name tags, introduce ourselves properly and other normal human behaviors that any adult would regularly perform without coaching, lest we forget. Feeling super stimulated by our gorgeous surroundings and anticipated arrival at Colle Massari, we were at like an 8 out of 10 on the volume knob. As Bruno slowly, carefully, with LIT-rally 4 inches on either side to spare, wheeled us around a hair pin turn surrounded on either side by buildings and more buildings, everyone grew quiet, then silent and then promptly burst into applause and cheers when he cleared the corner. Of course he did! As I mention in my first post: he’s a bus driving machine.

 

Our stop in Maremma was Colle Massari, a high altitude, high powered, up and coming winery with legendary Tuscan winemaker Maurizio Castelli at the helm of their ship. They are serious business. The owner, Claudio Tipa’s home, which he and his wife graciously let us briefly visit, is a meticulously restored 12th century castle perched on the top of a hill overlooking their 600 acres of vineyards. I want to know what this guy majored in when he went to college, because I really could have used his academic advisor. The drive up to the castle was crazy picturesque. Golden sunlight beat down, hawks soared overhead, Jess tried not to cry a little bit more so as not to be The Weirdo that Cried on the Bus, and we passed miles and miles of verdant green vineyards. Following a quick and truncated tour of the castle we headed “across the street” (i.e. back down a small mountain and around the side of a vineyard) to their winemaking facility.

 

Juxtaposed against the green Tuscan hills, it cuts a striking figure in the landscape: all clean lines and concrete. It is a stunning spot and the jewel in its crown has to be their award-winning cellar. Open segments of the wall expose the ragged rock that it was drilled into. Along the ceiling they had arching cedar planks to keep any damp funkiness out and periodically, pufts of steam would spurt out of vents made for maintaining perfect humidity. Oh, and there was also a waterfall to spit into, because why not? We got to drink straight from the cask (before you picture keg stands, it wasn’t like that, they used a pitcher) and then spit into said waterfall before we headed upstairs for our seminar, tasting and lunch.



Our visit to Tuscany was one of the biggest marathon days of our trip. It was also a study in contrasts in the best possible way. We loaded up after lunch and rolled 2 hours north straight into the heart of Chianti Classico to Vignamaggio. Picture this if you will: we leave Colle Massari’s slick, stark, futuristic building where the presentation was led by their polished and well heeled Dutch export manager and Maurizio, who is an intimidating figure in designer glasses, up to a burnt orange, rambling villa that’s so old that it’s shape softly leans into the hillside where we were greeted by two regular looking dudes in dusty jeans and soccer shoes. To say they were different is a bit of an understatement. But together, these two visits painted a perfect picture of winemaking in Tuscany: vital, deeply rooted in history and centuries of tradition, but forward-looking, constantly evolving and hugely successful. Wine trends come and go, but as long as the Sangiovese vines keep growing, Tuscany’s popularity as a place and producing region will go nowhere.

 

Vignamaggio’s winemaking facility is located within a 14th century villa, which just so happens to be the home where Monna Lisa was born. It is also the place where she lived while her famed portrait was painted over the course of several years by Da Vinci; in fact, the view from the front terrace, our host pointed out, was the original background for the work. Sandro, our main host, was not only adept at pointing out all the wonderful unique things about the property itself, but also had the added bonus of being completely hilarious. He had so many perfect one liners and such boundless energy that I pretty much ran out of room in my notes to include all the gems he was spurting out. My personal favorite though was when he was speaking about being careful not to kill their wines with too much oak aging and he said "We believe that a wine should be tasting of a fruit, not of a chair."

 

Their wines however, are no joke: refined and focused, they are a perfect example of why Chianti Classicos are so very popular. Elegant, balanced and food friendly, Vignamaggio's portofolio showcases of course a few top notch Chiantis, but also illustrates the success that they've had working with different types of grapes, most notably, their knockout Cabernet Franc. The vintage we tasted was everything a red wine should be: lush, layered, inviting and complex, perfectly in balance and ready to drink now, or several years down the road. Now at the end of a marathon day, driving hours in hot, sunny weather, such as we were, it can feel "tough" (I'm using the term with sarcastic quotations around it on purpose, because I know it's ridiculous to even hint at. I'm sure you a feeling a ton of empathy for my 'tough' day, riding through the countryside drinking wine; but I only mean that at 5 p.m. on a hot sunny day you probably want some water, maybe a beer, but instead you will taste red wine and several of them, because this is your job. i.e.: not tough at all) to saddle up to a table filled with red wines to taste; but Vignamaggio's offerings, being what they are, and Sandro, possessing that particular type of infectious energy of a man that truly loves what he does, brightened us right up and enthused, we happily slurped away. It also helps when wines are out of sight good, which these were.

  

After our tasting we toured the rest of the grounds and facility, wandering through the intact Renaissance style gardens, down through their fermentation and barrel rooms into their cellar, which was really something else. At 700 years old, I am guessing it may be the oldest cellar I will ever set foot in, and certainly was the oldest that we saw on our trip. It still looks majestic and regal and apperpo to be storing such terrific wines, albeit, a little bit spider-webbed, which only added to its charm. The estate felt almost frozen in time from the outside, with its meticulously maintained gardens and sweeping views from every terrace; and hidden underneath was a facility just as modern as any seen on the trip. But further down still was the cellar, the heart and soul, untouched, unspoiled and a perfectly preserved piece of history. At one point during his presentation, Sandro spoke of wine making in Tuscany and said "In Tuscany wine is not a job, it's our life." Taking a look out at the rows of vines stretching in every direction, breathing in the sweetly perfumed air and sipping wine just steps away from where it was grown, I thought to myself that it's got to be a good life surrounded by beauty like this. As the sun dipped further down in the sky, we packed back up into the bus and eased our way down the hill on to the road towards Florence. Tuscany is a place that not only lives up to its hype it surpasses far beyond it, a beautiful place filled with beautiful people living a very good life. It is a place worth seeing again and again. I can't wait to go back.

 
For more on my trip, see parts I, II and III.

Ciao Porky! Part III: LE MARCHE

After we spent the morning in Puglia, craning our necks at the wonder of Castel del Monte and kicking rocks in the vineyard we hit the road for a few hours’ drive, straight up the Adriatic Coast towards Le Marche. Le Marche is a gorgeous, seaside region and the views up the coast were breathtaking. The teal blue waters of the Adriatic flanked the highway to our right and out the left-hand window we could see peaks of mountains covered in snow. One of our tour leaders mentioned that you can snowboard in the morning and surf in the afternoon in Le Marche. Not a bad way to spend a day if you’re into extreme sports. Me, I spent my time in Le Marche doing MY favorite extreme sport: seeing how much fried food I could eat before something bad happened.


We rolled into our hotel in the late afternoon, and had time to clean up before dinner. We stayed at a place called Hotel G, which were definitely our most posh digs over the course of the trip. Unfortunately, my shower door was dangling off its track and when I tried to right it, I almost lost the suck all together. Not wanting to smash a 70 pound glass door and sustain a life threatening injury abroad, but wanting very much to be able to take a shower in the morning, I was faced with one choice: explain in terrible Italian to the front desk what was happening in my room. I practiced "el porto del la doccia es rotto" about 17 times out loud before heading downstairs. At the front desk, I shyly inquired first "parle Inglese?" and naturally she did. So all my preparation was unnecessary, but still I felt some what more worldly since I could now say "shower" in Italiano. Once everyone was ready, we rolled just down the road to Umani Ronchi where we were greeted by Massimo, the owner, and Giorgio, their marketing manager. We toured their facility and checked out their stunning cellar, which was designed to look like a mine. The symbolic idea being that the wine they create is their gold. A cute idea that resulted in a remarkable structure. We ran through the typical information about the wines in their portfolio and had a formal seminar and tasting followed by a hop back on the bus and a ride through the hills about 45 minutes away.



Now the last thing that a group of people who have been on a bus for five hours really want to do at the end of the day is get back into the bus for close to another hour. But this trip was worth it. At the end of our journey, Bruno edged our giant bus up a 45 degree incline lined with trees and at the tippy top of this steep hill was the beautiful villa where Massimo and his wife make their home. Stretching out in every direction were rows of Verdicchio vines and we watched the sun sink behind them as we finished our tour. On the back patio of the house we were greeted by what I can only describe as the most indulgent and amazing cocktail hour of all time.



Now I had been prepared by my friend Tim about this particular cocktail hour, but that didn’t make it any less awesome when I turned the corner to see two dudes manning big kettles of red hot olive oil preparing various fritto misto right on the spot. They were just throwing everything in there! Fried stuffed olives, squash blossoms, sage leaves, rosemary, fennel, asparagus spears, fried cheese, fried cream (yes! Fried cream! It was sweet, it tasted like a liquid donut hole if that makes sense to you). You name it, they fried it and we gladly scarfed down every bit.



Now it’s a good thing that this trip occurred after my wedding was completed; because, I may have driven myself and Paul crazy trying to arrange for live deep fryers at our reception. What could delight people more than delicious wine and all matter of fried foods? Not much for this lady. Now, here’s the insane part: after all this, we went inside for dinner. Yes that wasn’t our dinner. That was an appetizer. Dinner was two courses: a cheese and herb ravioli in a light cream sauce and then a plate with a variety of vegetarian tastings. Dinner was fine, but nothing is going to light up my food description capabilities quite like the live deep fryers, so I will just say that it was quite nice.



Following dinner we retired down to their tasting room, where an impressive spread of desserts was set out. With the sweets we were served Maximo, their sauternes-like dessert wine made with late harvest Sauvignon Blanc grapes. As per usual, espresso and plenty of grappa were set out and I smartly indulged in neither. As we all loaded up into the bus, the lot of us fairly well toasted, Massimo came on board and grabbed the PA system to wish us good night. As the bus squeezed back down the hill, we left him and his staff with a rousing chant of MASSIMO! MASSIMO! Because, no one loves a nice chant more than a bus full of drunk adults. It was safe to say that people were getting comfortable together and loosened up; of course, unlimited fried cheese and wine is social lubricant like none other, so we had some help.

For more about my wine trip to Italy, see Parts I and II, here and here, respectively.

everything it should be and nothing it should not

I find it sort of incredible that my whole entire life has happened in at and around North America, specifically concentrated on the east coast and even more specifically mostly in Massachusetts; and then still, mostly on the south shore. And then I, Jess Benson formerly known as Jess Pithie formerly known as the Python formerly known as Porky Dickens and also currently known as Porky Dickens takes not one but TWO trips to Europe in the span of less than a month. Who brought Johnny Jet Setter to this cookout? Not me. No way.



I’m actually kind of surprised I didn’t get flagged by US customs for being a suspected drug mule. They must have been able to spot my weak gag reflex and inability to lie from behind their desks so they didn’t even bother to get up. But anyways, I’m sorry for the absence last week, we were in Spain for our much anticipated and long awaited honeymoon. The trips were totally terrific and completely, opposite-ends-of-the-spectrum different and I have NO idea how I got this lucky to be able to have two such awesome travel experiences in such a short span of time, but please do not tell the people in charge, because they might come and take it all away!



So I am back with a capital ‘B’ and I have been cooking at home quite a bit (read: broke). As always, I am prepared to share. What I’ve brought today is a terrific summer side dish. Yes, summer! Yay summer!! While we were gone it came! And since summer is the time of year where we wear less clothes but eat more hot dogs, I brought you something to serve along side (the hot dogs that is, not your unclothed body, weirdo). I love pasta salad but I’m often afraid of it because the pasta can be tragically overdone and the mayonnaise based dressing has usually been kicking it at room temp. for a while before I’ve gotten to it. So what I put together for my friend Michelle’s cookout a few weekends back was this: a rock solid delicious pasta salad packed with flavor from briny olives, sweet sun dried tomatoes, salty salami, delicious fresh herbs and veggies in a simple vinaigrette. It’s everything a pasta salad should be and nothing it should not.



PORKY’S PASTA SALAD

1 box rotini, penne or any other shape pasta
½ bag frozen peas
¼ lb. asparagus or green beans, trimmed into bite sized pieces
¾ cup sundried or slow roasted tomatoes in oil, drained and chopped
½ cup pitted kalamata olives, chopped
½ cup diced dry aged salami
1 bunch basil leaves, washed, stemmed and torn 
1 bunch chives, minced
½ package feta cheese, crumbled
½ cup red wine vinegar
¾ cup extra virgin olive oil
½ tsp. Dijon mustard
Pinch sugar
Salt
Pepper



Set a large pot to boil. While the water comes up to temperature, clean and prep vegetables and herbs. Both the frozen peas and asparagus can cook in the pasta water and all three can be drained at once. This is a really simple time saver that essentially helps this whole salad to come together in the time it takes to cook a box of pasta. Once the water is boiling salt well and add the pasta, set timer according to the package directions. When 4 or 5 minutes are left on your timer, add the asparagus (4) or the green beans (5); at the 2 minute mark, dump in the frozen peas. Test a piece of pasta for doneness and if it’s nicely al dente, drain the whole pot. It’s okay if the green beans/asparagus retain a bit of crunch, you just want them to be lightly blanched and not raw.



In a jar with a tight fitting lid, combine the red wine vinegar, oil, Dijon and sugar. Season with salt and pepper, clamp the lid on and shake vigorously to emulsify. Set aside, shaking again before use as needed.



Drain pasta and veggies together in a colander and set aside to cool for a few minutes. Dress the pasta and veggies while still warm (but not scorching hot) with about 1/3 of your prepared dressing. Toss well and let cool down to room temperature. Add all remaining ingredients, another generous drizzle of dressing and toss everything together gently with your hands. Taste and adjust seasonings/ dressing if necessary. Store in the fridge until ready to serve. This is delicious chilled or at room temperature so feel free to make it just before you head out to your cookout or picnic. Bring any extra dressing and add if it dries out at all.

Ciao Porky! Part II: APULIA

At noon on Sunday we loaded up into the bus, which more than any hotel room, would be our home for the next week. Our driver for the week was a man named Bruno Grasso. I know a few things about Bruno and these are them: he loves wraparound sunglasses, he speaks no English, but still gets all the best jokes and he possesses bus driving skills so powerful, that he may not even be a mortal being. The very last night of our trip I was seated next to him for dinner. As I mentioned his English skills are nil and I speak zero to little Italian. We both speak Spanish rather poorly, so we communicated with entry level Spanish and lot of hand gestures (the number and scope of which on my part most likely increased with each glass of wine I had). But enough about that, here’s the one thing I want you to know about Bruno Grasso: homeboy knows how to drive a bus. This may not mean much right now, but it will eventually.



We drove south from Rome towards Naples, hanging a left past Mount Vesuvius to hook diagonally southeast across the lower half of the boot, heading towards the heel. Our destination was the Rivera Winery- our first, and one of my favorite, visits. Rivera is located right in the middle of Puglia, which comprises the heel of the boot and the part of Italy that is nearest to Greece. For years, Puglia has functioned as a bit of an agricultural ‘mine’ for Italy’s biggest exports. Supplying the rest of the country with bulk grapes for low cost wine making, wheat for pasta and olives for oil; most people come through this particular area to catch a ferry to the Greek Isles and only in recent decades has Puglia become a winemaking region that’s coming into its own and worth exploring.



We were lucky enough to be visiting the very first winery that, three generations ago, had the foresight and vision to get out of the bulk production game and see if they could grow some estate-driven, proper wines worth putting their name on. The Rivera Winery is run by the DeCorato family. We were greeted by sons Sebastiano and Marco, and their parents Marilla and Carlo in their stone courtyard. Much like their wines, the members of the Rivera family were all, in their own ways, both elegant and approachable. The men, looking sharp in their perfectly tailored pants and slick suit jackets, welcomed us; first, Carlo in Italian and then Sebastiano in English. At the family run vineyards we visited typically the parents speak little English and the sons or daughters, who handle marketing and exporting, speak perfect English with a terrific Italian accent. It’s kind of a clear generational line as far as language goes and I find this rather sweetly symbolic. The elder generation stays rooted in the land and winemaking traditions typical to where they have lived their whole lives; the children are responsible for expanding the wines' place out in the world.



Following our tasting and tour we were treated to a meal that was prepared by Mama Marilla herself, who looked so chic in her crisp white shirt I would have not believed she had been working in the kitchen all day if I hadn’t peeked in the window as we walked by and seen her hard at work with my own two eyes.The food served was simple and satisfying and paired beautifully with each of the wines they presented. Before being seated for our full meal we sipped their Sauvignon alongside some crunchy donut-shaped taralli flavored with ground sesame seeds and indulged in a lot of their delicious, bright green olives. These olives are somewhat like Sicilian style olives in that they retain a more verdant green color and meaty texture by being cured in ash rather than brine. They are fresher tasting and more textured than typical brined green olives and I hammered back so many that I was quite confident I would wake up the next morning with my eyes sealed shut.



Once seated, we had a lovely four course meal which started with a barley ‘risotto’ dotted with thick, salty mussels, followed by (my favorite of the night) orchiette in a smoky tomato sauce. For the main course we had slow braised rolled beef (a bit like braciole) in an onion sauce with wilted local greens. This was followed by a sampling of two local cheeses, one cow’s milk, one sheep’s, and a dollop of Marilla’s ‘burnt’ orange marmalade. After cheese we were gifted yet another plate, this time with a crumbly piece of almond cake with a drizzle of creamy sauce and a few gigantic red strawberries. This meal, as with every meal for the rest of the week, ended with espresso and grappa. In case you were not aware, Grappa is Italian for “unnecessary shot of grain alcohol following your meal,” some nights I indulged and some I didn’t.



The next morning we spent a few more hours out in the Puglian countryside with Sebastiano, who gave us a tour of the famed Castel del Monte, which is not only a very cool 13th century castle, but the emblematic symbol of the Puglian region. It was a stunning sight, well preserved and unique in its architecture and surrounded on all sides by breathtaking views of Puglia. The hilly landscape was bright green, dotted with bursts of bright red poppies and to the east you could see all the way to the shore of the Adriatic. On the way up to the top of the hill we had hit a traffic jam of sheep being herded by a gang of local mutts and a weathered shepherd in a well worn hat, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.

  

Following our guided tour of the Castel we stopped for a few moments in some of Rivera’s vineyards, to admire the tiny baby bunches of Sauvignon and Chardonnay grapes and kick our heels in the gravelly soil that is the very source of their excellent white wines. As we loaded the bus to head out onto the road again, Sebastiano climbed in with a fist full of wild grown arugula snatched out of the vineyard. The pungent smell filled the bus and left me wishing I had a plastic bag to snag some for the road and make a salad for lunch. Southern Italy was beautiful and bucolic. The Rivera family made us feel entirely welcome, fed us well, showed us the sights and then sent us on our way, the peppery scent of fresh picked arugula plucked from a hillside vineyard filling the bus. We could not have asked much more from our first visit than that.



To read more about my wine trip to Italy, see Part I, here.