Bere al nasone

Kikka's mom, Alessandra Gotti, gave me a book in Italian about the things one should do in Roma at least once in a lifetime. Topping the list was "bere al nasone" which roughly translates as drinking from a spigot. However, nasone refers to a big nose or "hooter" so the Italian really conveys more than just drinking from one of the city fountains--there is an anthropomorphic quality to the fixtures themselves. There are lots of drinking fountains of this sort around the city where fresh water continuously runs. In fact, the connection of Roma and fresh water is as old as the aquaducts. However at the GIL exhibit, both the architecture students and I noticed the inconsistency of having continuously running potable water with global emphasis these days on sustainability. Francesco, an architect himself and Davide's studio assistant, responded that running water helps keeps the pipes clear so that water can continue to pass through the pipes; the argument that if you want to have running water you must have running water seems plausible given the high mineral content of Roma's water supply. OK, I'm convinced despite whatever prejudices to the contrary have developed as a result of my LEED accreditation. The first picture of me was taken at the Campo de' fiori. Let me simply add people do not drink directly from the bottom of the spigot where the water seems to fall at a rather lackadasical rate. Oh, no. You see there's a little hole on the top side of the spigot. You plug the main hole on the bottom with your finger which causes a high-pressured arc of water to shoot out from the top of the spigot and that's the water you drink. It's really quite an elegantly simple solution even if it isn't ADA compliant. Incidentally, Roman water is VERY good. I prefer it to Fayetteville's.

Drinking from a Roman fountain (and all of the gusto that is conveyed by that action) is a good seque to the rest of this entry. When I began my search for a Roman apartment this summer, I had in mind one that would allow me to entertain much as I do at home. We invited Davide and Diane and Francesco and Ilaria to our little soiree.

I must admit that it's a little intimidating to cook for Davide and Diane. Anyone who has had the pleasure of going to dinner with Davide understands the high level of expectation he has of the restaurants he selects. Add to that fact that his wife is French, well, you get the picture. And just in case you don't have a clear idea of the type of competition I faced last night, consider if you will, that Davide left the U.S. Ambassador's party prematurely to come to dinner at our apartment. Yikes!

Francesco and Ilaria rounded out the table. For the first time ever, they left their two daughters with a non-family babysitter just to come to our Roman home. I was really honored. Like Francesco, Ilaria, whose name translates to "Hillary") is an architect.

Recalling that there are times that we refer to our experience as "Baroque camping," I will try to recreate for you the challenges of doing a grand diner in Roma.

First of all, the menu:

Spiced pecans
Prosecco
Ace (a citrus/carrot juice)

Red potatoes with sour cream, smoked salmon, and fennel

Veal scallopini
Wild rice (almost)
Porcini mushrooms
Spiced cranberry sauce

Butter lettuce salad with bread

American brownies with Haagen-Dazs ice cream (dulce de leche)
Granita of lemon, orange, and pink grapefruit
Prunes (OK, dried plums) in a syrup of simmered red wine, honey, cloves, orange zest and cinnamon

Espresso

Grappa

Fresh fruit

OK, so that's the menu; now for some of the more interesting challenges. First of all, I decided to buy my spices at the Campo (see the entry "Bells for Roberta") because I could purchase smaller quantities. In order to do so, I had to translate the names of the spices. Even then, I didn't get exactly what I wanted. For example, I wanted chili pepper for my pecans and got cayenne instead. Hai chijuajua--or however you spell it!

I decided that my meal should definitely have a North American flavor--better to go that route when I fixing dinner for Italian and French guests, right! Wild rice and cranberries are about as North American as you can get. So when this brilliant idea crossed my mind early this summer (I plan ahead), I bought one box of Reese's wild rice. I had intended to get some more but I was so busy before I left, I never got back to Harp's. I figured that the international store here, Castroni's, would carry wild rice but it only carries a pilaf under the name of "Vermont rice." Americans take long-grain rice for granted, but for those at our dinner party accustomed to the creamy texture of risotto, I had to explain that this rice is prepared al dente. I also expected to find fresh cranberries at Castroni's, as well, silly me. I did find a jar of Ocean Spray cranberry sauce which turned out to be a remarkable substitute to which I could add my cardamom, allspice, and nutmeg.

We have a gas cooktop and oven in Roma. I think I've addressed the frightening qualities of this appliance before. You first must release the gas valve at the back of the cooktop, next you must turn the dial to let gas escape from the burner, and finally you must ignite the invisible gas with a match. Scary! Well, the oven works the same way. Now this oven is about half the size of one of my ovens at home. Also, it's impossible to open the door even halfway because the refrigerator is in the way. So, like the cooktop there's this invisible gas of an unknown quantity that has to be ignited by a match stick that's maybe 2 inches long. But because the door doesn't fully open, this contraption has to be ignited from an awkward position. Now before yesterday, I had never before ignited my oven; I always let Bill take the risk. However, he was suffering from a little cold, so I had successfully done this twice on my own. Now company was in the living room and I decided I wanted a warming oven for the veal and the mushrooms while we ate our first course when...VWOOOOM!!!! The gas was on a little too high and I burned my hand. Startled, I screamed. Well, phase two of the dinner went OK after that.

Soon it was time for dessert. Originally, I had two audiences in mind when I decided to bring my brownie recipe: the kids and Diane. Diane loves molten chocolate cake and kids are...kids. In fact, the day before the architecture students' mid-term review, I decided to back some brownies for THEM. Now I have never seen Davide eat a bit of chocolate save the Happy Hippo at our class party three years ago, and then it was like watching one of my kids eat liver...an almost painful experience. In addition, Davide has been on a pretty rigorous diet since spring. However, it turns out he loves American brownies. For that matter, so does Francesco. Together the two of them were looking for any architecture student to pass up a warm brownie that day. Needless to say, the brownies appeared to be a big hit. Bill and I ate the granita, one of my personal favorites. We also have a small container of prunes which no one opted for. Now I personally love it when the end of an essay returns to the beginning. That said, I think that Bill and I, like the water system in Roma, will have clean pipes as we polish off the prunes!