Attention: Coffee Lovers

Caffeine lovers get ready, it’s finally here. The U.S. Barista Championship or USBC, the battle to the death for baristas nationwide. The USBC is the official United States competition designed to highlight the craft of the barista and takes place today, April 19-22, 2012 at the Oregon Convention Center in Portland.

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Meatless Fridays

Chocolate Bunnies, Dyed Eggs, Bonnets and White Gloves, as a child for me that was Easter. To be honest, it still is. I mean sure, as a young Italian Catholic I was dragged to Church to get ashes on the Wednesday that started Lent, I sported my new dress, saddle shoes and lace gloves to Church on Easter Sunday,  and didn’t eat meat on Fridays, but what did it all mean to me. Nothing. Continue Reading…

The Christmas Nut

A few days ago, notably a week before Christmas, the conversation with my mother went something like this:

Momma: So what are we making for Christmas Day?
Me: Turkey?
Momma: No.
Me: I don’t know, hmmm, roast pork loin? That’s always good.
Momma: Yeah, I suppose we could do that…now what on the side?
Me: Well, the usual, roasted red potatoes, apple sauce, broccoli rabe and of course…
Momma: Chestnuts!
Me: Yes, chestnuts!

Now if you knew my mother and I, you would know we are not the type that finishes each other’s sentences. Rather, if I had to describe our relationship, I would say it’s more along the lines of we love each other to death with an emphasis on “death.” No, seriously, we are best friends, but the kind of best friends that love each other but don’t necessarily “like” each other all the time, if you catch my drift. Hey, we can’t help it. Continue Reading…

A Taste of an Italian American Halloween

When I think back to my first Halloween, like the rest of us, I can’t remember it. Sure there are the bits and pieces my mom tells me about, but those are her memories. I , personally, can’t recall what my first piece of Halloween candy tasted like. I don’t know if it was chocolate or fruity, if it melted in my hands or if I rubbed it all over my face, my mom and then through my hair. I probably did. I’m not sure if I went trick or treating or how my mom dressed me up, though there is an old picture floating around that will probably haunt me for the rest of my life. It’s me, as a baby, in a clown outfit. Red shoes. Red nose. Red mouth. Sticky fingers. I may not remember, but I know I did not like it.

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Book Review: Aftertaste-A Novel In Five Courses

Cassoulet? Hmmph, sounds like Casserole. My first thoughts as I rumple through the last few pages of Meredith Mileti’s new book, Aftertaste: A Novel in Five Courses. Cassoulet, biscotti, mixed green salad, anti pasti, pizza…all recipes. A nice touch for a book about food, but not much of a help when you’re trying to figure out how the book ends.

My initial attempt to review Aftertaste brought me right back to high school. Back then, the trick for completing an in depth book report involved reading the last few pages first to find out how the story ends, then flipping through the rest of it, skimming chapters and reading only enough to sound authoritative when writing the paper. See my dilemma? Recipes were not going to tell me anything about the book…or so I thought.

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What’s In A Name? Sauce vs. Gravy

I was always an inquisitive child. Inquisitive, nose-y and easily perplexed. The aerodynamics of birds. Where babies came from. Lint.  In general, these were the compelling mysteries of my life as a 5 year old. And as an Italian, born and raised in Brooklyn,  NY, the mecca of Italian-American cuisine, it only makes sense that the source of a lot of my questions and confusion was also linked to food in some way, shape or form. Continue Reading…

A First Taste of LA at The Taste LA

I once had a dream, a marvelous dream that anyone who lives and eats in LA would appreciate. It starts out with me strolling down the city’s busy streets, moseying along and taking in all the unique sights, sounds and smells that only LA can produce when suddenly I am stopped dead in my tracks, caught by a most catching aroma. Fresh bread.

As an Italian, born and raised in Brooklyn, New York,  the epicenter of bakeries, the smell of fresh bread for me is unmistakable. It hits you like a big, fat hug from your nonna or favorite aunt Marie who’s trying to kiss you, wipe something off your cheek and get you to eat something because you’re too skinny all at the same time and no more than four seconds in the door. In short, warm, nostalgic and inviting. Continue Reading…